I'm in a mode where I'm very much in my own head. I can't help it, I keep thinking about the hospital. It's as if I'm reliving the days and nights spent locked down in the pysch ward, and I can't seem to un-hitch my brain from thinking of those nurses, mental health workers and other patients. I see the hallway, the rooms, the nurses' station.
My therapist says it's not the hospital itself that I'm thinking of, it's the feeling of safety and being taken care of, the feeling of being cared for and watched over. She says to remember that I have that safety at home with Joe and encourages me to work on this; so I'm working on it.
This week I saw an orthopedics doctor, my first one. My left shoulder has been killing me for eight months, and "waiting for it to get better" hasn't worked. They took X rays and they think I stretched out my ligament. I think it happened the day the paramedics carried me away on a stretcher, because I remember in my fit I reached back and over my head to grab the chain link fence. It hurts. Now I have to go to physical therapy twice a week for eight weeks. That's going to hurt. But then it'll feel better.