I have turned down my dose of Seroquel because Dr. _____ isn't here yet and I know if I take it, there is no way I will be in any condition to talk to her. I drift in and out of sleep. She finally appears at my door at around 2200. She takes issue with my ARBEIT MACHT FREI sweater and questions me about it. I tell her it is in memory of history's most terrible irony, which is true. She understood, but I think it disturbed her that I identify with such a dark concept. Mishearing her greet a patient as “I am Churchill' probably didn't help (I thought it was a joke!). I fear maybe I've made myself look crazy. Whoops. I told her
Toast has postponed group by shouting nonstop after a staff member named Kathy. It sounds like she is destroying something. Just imagine Cartman in a hospital gown and a wig, shouting 'Kathy'. Go ahead. It's pretty funny.
Suspicious Woman has started carrying around one of the coloring books because I am carrying a sketchbook. How cute! Aren't I the trendsetter.
Despite strange new patients and Heroin Kid's continuing self-absorbed spiral into obscurity, the groups today are the best I have had all week. I spent most of the day active and in a good mood. Unfortunately, I think the reduction in my dose of Seroquel may not reac
I can't remember whether I lost the last page of notes from Laurel Ridge, or if I never wrote a last page at all. In fact, I didn't remember a lot of what is written in those notes until I pulled them out of the drawer where I store my drawings, and read them. I do remember a little bit about what happened on that last day.
We had music therapy again that afternoon. The woman leading it was young and blond like the other members of her clone herd, but surprisingly thin. She sat down, pulled out her acoustic guitar, and began walking us through a run-of-the-mill relaxation exercise – tense your neck and shoulders. Feel them.