My McMurphy Moment

Today sucked.

Today sucked because I found myself in a place I never thought I’d be, surrounded by people I never thought I’d have anything in common with. I know it was my own fault for putting myself there to begin with; believe me, I kicked myself for it the entire seven hours I was there. I wrote on Facebook a little while ago that I never want to relive this experience ever again. And I’m damn sure going to take steps to make sure of it.

My frame of mind hasn’t been the best lately, but today it seemed like it hit rock bottom. Sitting in the waiting room all day -- listening to one person proclaim he’s God, while another screamed like a banshee that zombies were after us all -- made me realize that I am not one of them. Which is to say, I’m not the kind of person who should even spend seven minutes in a psychiatric hospital, let alone seven fucking hours. To be clear, I’m not disparaging those with bonafide mental illnesses or mental health facilities; my point is that simply my circumstance needn’t have gotten this far. The truth is, I fucked up: I didn’t ask for help in the proper manner. Under the influence of some irrational, impulsive, angst-ridden emotions, I took to Facebook last night to post some things that apparently scared the shit out of a lot of people. Rest assured I won’t be making the same mistake twice.

If there’s silver lining to today’s dark cloud, I think it’s that today’s experience taught me that I am loved. Like, truly loved. Again, with my current mindset, that’s still a hard concept to grasp, but I know it’s true. All the nurses and doctors I talked to today knew it too, and they knew I didn’t belong there. I knew it when I saw my sister in the waiting room jump up to hug me as I walked out of the discharge center, and I knew it all the times she hugged me and told me she loved me when we got to my front door. I knew it when the person who inadvertently put me in the cuckoo’s nest called me after I got home to confess her deed, all the while choking back tears telling me how much she loved me. So while I still have a ways to go to feeling “normal” again and making changes for the better, I know that, in this moment I’m resting comfortably, in front of my Mac, doing what I love and do best. I’m home, I’m safe, and I’m loved. For now, I am content, if not completely happy. In any case, the moral of today’s story is crystal clear:

Lesson learned.