Bipolar and Candy

Well 6 days later, and I'm out of the hospital.  I'm not really sure how I feel about being out. Obviously its nice to be back with my cat, and people who listen to me more, but also the hospital can become a safe place.

This hospital was pretty nice, and really not bad for a hospitalization.  As per usual I made friends who I now miss.  I feel like being as comfortable in a hospital as I was must say something about my sanity.  But it's kind of nice to have a wing of the hospital be your world, it's small, it's fairly exact.  They give us our meds, they wake us up, and give us more, they feed us, and give us more meds. We attend the groups we want to.  We share our lives with each other, and spend our free time reading, watching tv, or drawing.  I can look out the window, but it never actually affects me.  As far as life goes, this is the baseline of existence.  To leave means having to actively live more.

I introduced myself with my new  name, "Kalena". I talked to my friends, or sat in a corner and cried  when I was down.  When I was manic we entertained ourselves doing silly things, like making a doll out of a hospital gown, and acting crazy with it.  You promise to stay in touch, you talk about giving each other tattoos, and dreds, but will it really happen?  We share candy with each other, give away food you don't like.  It's a small working community.

The doctor spends his daily few minutes with me starting intently at the paper he never stops writing on.  He asks me a few questions, he adjusts my meds.  He lectured me when one med was making me do crazy things, he put me on one on one.  A staff member always had to have me with them.  I awkwardly peed in front of them too.  My meds are all over the place, he's pretty sure I have bipolar as well as BPD.  I'm pretty sure that my life is over.

They say that you are not your diagnosis.  But take that away, and what's left to me?