October 22, 2014

        I was just informed that I could leave here within the week. This was meant as good news. It meant I had proven I was sufficiently rehabilitated and could re-enter society. I had conflicting emotions about leaving. I did feel a swelling sense of achievement, real achievement, not the kind I had always pursued. And I was excited about the prospect of homemade food, being able to sleep in a bed with crisp sheets, and taking warm showers in a bathroom that didn’t mimic a dilapidated housing shelter facility. Yet, I also felt trepidation about checking out. I had grown attached to this place, the mental institution. It’s funny; the place I so....continue reading