I was diagnosed with depression over 30 years ago, shortly after my exodus from the US Navy. My life was a prime example of one doomed to depression and everything that goes along with it, after all the abuse I suffered as I grew.
The good days and the bad days all seem to run together. I am not bipolar but I do have my highs and lows. The lows have caused me to go to some extremes with my life, and the highs have resulted in my being over-medicated.
Today, actually the past couple of weeks, I’ve been running on a low. Today, my therapist wanted to have me hospitalized, but I refused. She got on the computer, looked up SAIL, the local crisis center type of place, to see if they had any space available.
They did, then asked to speak to me, asking some questions, then decided I would go there. Then she told me what to expect when I got there. I was to be stripped of everything, take a shower, then be issued scrubs, to be worn at all times. What about my phone? My computer? The Internet?
I made a decision and then had to defend that decision. I am ok. I am just going to sit and play my guitar, eat pizza and watch TV. Still doubtful, huh?
Well, I played some guitar, ate some pizza, obviously I am now on the Internet, and around 10pm, I’m going to fall into my own bed, and I will sleep soundly in my own bed, without waking up with a backache.
Why must everyone make such a big fuss if I am pretty down this day or that one?
~ van ~