I can’t shake my hospital stay. It stubbornly lodges behind my eye lids. interrupts rudely and uncalled upon. Some are images, others sounds. Most are complete vignettes of experiences during the week. Most of all it is the feelings. The fear. The filthy tarnished can’t get clean feeling of being treated like something less than worth a damn. It sticks to you. Holds tight and doesn’t let go. Our experiences as humans are based on our interactions with others. Our connection. Our sameness. This was devoid of that for the vast majority of the time. Whether it was the inability to communicate because those around me were far too lost in psychosis or catatonia or worse from the people “caring” for us that couldn’t be bothered to make eye contact, or even say something. Anything. I withdrew within myself and found solace in drawing. There were no pencils allowed and only safety pens. I created a world of black and white. Of line and form. No erasers to fix. I sat alone in tears with only these images. I was not asked if I was okay. The staff felt unapproachable and for the most part uncaring. I kept to myself. But I cannot unsee what I saw. or unhear what I heard. Those will stay forever. As I sat talking in session today I realized how deeply this has rocked me. This has traumatized me. How sad. Beatrice asked I write about my experiences. To capture these flashbacks. To write each so we can go through and process them. To get them out of my head so they cannot fester up there. I will try and break them up into pieces so these blog posts are not epic and too drawn out.


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