In December 2016, the agency did not look like a movie.It's like a small home, comfortable and comfortable, except that everything is limited to a huge room, so they can look at us.There is a front desk where the lady who is now checking in is sitting.
She switches between scrolling on the computer and scanning the American madman.Next to the table is an imitation living room with sofas, chairs, tables, carpets and colorful books.After the living room was a kitchenette and got this: we could check out at the front desk!Bread knife, cheese knife, steak knife, meat knife, oh, mine!So they think I'm crazy enough to be locked behind the door indefinitely, but can't be rejected for sharp items, isn't that too crazy?It seems a little contradictory.
Maybe part of the receptionist job training includes seeing how fast they can run to the kitchen if one of our lunatics starts cutting out food.My roommate was in bed most of the morning, facing the wall, and more importantly, away from me."It's time for the group," chir tweeted in the hallway .
".
I sat alone in the corner and got up slowly.Nothing is my role here: don't talk to anyone, don't listen to anyone, avoid my exams, fix it down and go home.I don't have time to be with friends.Anyway, there's nothing these madmen can give me.
I don't want to be one of them.
I'm not one of them.
I "just had a hard time.
That's what everyone said to me.
"It's just a difficult time.
My new patient-Although I don't know what is normal, the partner looks surprisingly normal.They are mostly blue-collar, mostly white, in pajamas.Although our current housing situation is normal, they are basically lonely.
I asked someone who likes the faded green mohawk of sports, but I have seen a lot of very strange things before.No, no.I punish myself.They can't be normal.As long as I continue to think they are crazy, I will not become crazy.On the other hand, I'm wearing a black sweater, black leggings and black boots, which almost describes my current mindset.
I stare at them.
As I felt them staring at me, I twisted in my seat.I'm the new kid in the block, at least today, the most interesting thing that's going on in this place.They all think there's something wrong with her.
Why is she here?I'm an outsider.
I want to keep this way.
We lowered our heads and entered the "collective room" with a strange silence ".We are a frustrating group.I think that's the point.A girl walked very late and she checked me for the longest, hardest and strongest time and I couldn't help but find myself checking her back.She can't be much bigger than me, but the circle under her eyes makes her originally flawless face grow old.
She wears three.
day-Old makeup, forever frown.
I was wondering what happened to her and maybe she was wondering what happened to me.My first group treatment.So far, I have confidently dismissed the idea of group therapy.I know that no one has the same problem as me, and I definitely don't want to be smothered with other monsters.
But I'm here because I don't have any other options.The first, er, teacher is not comforting my heart.He is boring: thin, mediumHeight, white hair, about 40 of your classics-going-through-a-mid-life-Year of crisis.
But don't worry;He remained optimistic.
I recall the days I was with the cookie cutter when I was justCrazy, no lock.her-up-and-throw-away-the-key crazy.“Hello!What's your name?No one answered.I turned my head absently to the center of the room and realized that he was looking at me with the stupidest smile I had ever seen.“Oh.I’m, um, Cat."Hello, cat.Are you near here?“No.I mean, I went to school here.But I'm from Arkansas.“No kidding.Me too!” No.No way.We already have something in common.This means that the dialogue should continue.
He waited eagerly for me to respond, one, two, three, but I didn't want to talk anymore.So he gave up and turned his stupid smile to the whiteboard on the wall."Today we will begin to explore dialectical behavioral therapy.
This treatment takes a long time to perfect, much longer than we have been together, but once you leave, we offer a free DBT group every week, open to the public."He kept describing the psychological voodoo with his hard-to-distinguish, easily overlooked baritone.I feel my eyelids swinging up and down.I leaned against the chair, frowned and waited impatiently for the class to be finished.
I thought I was going to drop out of school, not to sign up for crazy 101.The therapist opens the floor for a conversation.The hustle and bustle of the wild began.I woke up scared.Crazy people can talk after all!Not only will they speak, but they will easily tell the secrets deep inside of them, the Demons deep inside of them, just like talking to acquaintances in the morning coffee and donuts.
Collective therapy is transformed from a psychology class to a compilation of every crime show.Abuse, beating, incest, robbery, murder, imprisonment, War of detention, foster family.I have never heard of a person talking about food stamps before.
I don't know the real people live in the trailer.I try not to react to their stories, some of which are terrible, but I won't fool anyone.I am ashamed of my ignorance.Even our therapist has a problem.He acknowledged his dependence on alcohol and explained that no matter how many years he had been awake,Test him every day.
I didn't expect this.
Before hearing his story, I assume there are two types of alcohol drinkers: alcohol drinkers who can stop drinking and alcohol drinkers who can't.I think once you have left the liquor store and attended quite a few AA meetings, you are finished.Finished.Fixed.On the other side.Not a problem.Never again.Our therapist refuted my assumption.He said that anyone who drinks alcohol can stop drinking, but it is likely that everyone who drinks alcohol will have this desire for a lifetime.
After all, not so black and white.
He began his last speech in the morning.
"The public is largely convinced that alcohol and drug use are serious misjudgments or personality mistakes, but not diseases.However, we now know that dependence will affect and change your brain like a mental illness.Drugs—Whether it's alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, anti-depression or lithiumIt affects the neurons and changes the signals of your brain.
Like alcohol or illegal drugs, a sudden cessation of psychiatric treatment can lead to similar withdrawal symptoms."Recent medical breakthroughs have changed our understanding of alcohol abuse.Drug addiction is now often considered a double diagnosis.
This means that dependence is formed by the presence of another underlying mental illness.If depression, Division of mind, post-traumatic mental disorder, bipolar disorder, or other dependent conditions are not first discovered, the treatment of alcohol abuse is basically unsuccessful.Recovery is more than oneIt is a step-by-step process to reduce recurrence and hold addicts accountable through medication, treatment, AA meetings and support for all to work together.
The person in the room nodded to understand.Later I will find that most patients and a considerable number of therapists are struggling with dependence.The first thing I heard from an addict's mouth was "don't drink the first glass of wine.
Or swallow, hum, or smoke.
My biggest concern is the addiction.
Sleeping pills.
Like I Oleptro.
Before that, my Ativan.
Anything I can find in my medicine cabinet before that: melatonin, benajo, Nyquil, Unisom.Anything.I don't sleep without taking medicine.My pills put me in the dark before my body had time to protest.I understand the addiction to sleep.I resonated with this.I just get it.I live because it is possible to disappear every night, under drugs that make insomnia, dreams, nightmares impossible.
Nonexistence.
Nothingness.
The therapist reminds everyone that there is an anonymous drug conference tonight and recommends that even people who are not addicted come and attend.Maybe we will learn something.I like to study.I am very interested in drinking classes and I would like to know more about them.I'm curious and I guess, I hope, I never get a chance and don't need to attend another meeting.
When everyone says their name, I listen politely and admit that they are also addicts, what exactly should I say, except now that it's my turn?Should I lie?What if they feel my bluff?Will they feel uncomfortable with me?Will they think I'm judging them?I don't have time to think.They're waiting for my reply."My name is cat. I'm not an addict.Stupid, stupid, stupid.There was a silence in the crowd.I looked around hoping someone would welcome me and say it's OK but no one would.About 1 million years later, the people on my right spoke and relieved me of my pain.
I listen to everyone's story and watch adults cry and I'm fascinated by the fact that these are also normal people.So, where would crazy people go if they weren't institutional?Maybe I'm the Craziest One. everyone is afraid of me.Maybe they feel the indifference in my heart and know that I am the killer of the future, the disaster of mental illness, the madman, the nurse will one day pray for my destruction.
Maybe everyone knows this except me.
I just haven't realized it yet.
At the end of the meeting I got a NA bookmark, a participating trophy;Let the crowd roar. thank you. thank you.NA leader hugged me and told me that she was happy to be here.I thank her very much.She relieved the embarrassment on my shoulder, and that's it, she didn't even know.
I just want to get into those crazy people.Just for tonight