Goddamn, leave the ward for a few hours to go to CBT and what happens when you're back? They LOCK THE GODDAMN COMPUTER CABINET, that's what. Brutal!
OMG that woman who runs the CBT is fucking amazing. She is likely the best therapist you'll ever meet ever. Seriously! I've heard all this stuff about her and was doubtful (because it is my Nature to be Dubious, as has been tested multiple times Scientifically) but wow. Running a group for 15 or so acute psychiatric patients and somehow pulling together a narrative that makes sense for anything someone throws out there as "their own personal problem" has got to be some kind of virtuoso performance worthy of an award. I'm impressed.
That having been said, the ativan kicked in about 15 minutes in and I found myself staring slackjawed out the window. Bgllllaajjrrhhh *wha?* Still. I took notes on what she was saying and contributed mightily using my Own Personal Anecdotes.
I find that I am so whirled around that I don't have my usual bravado in situations like a group class. Normally I sort of observe with part of myself the inner workings of the class itself, a critical eye toward the tide of the narrative and the group dynamic, but right now I'm so deep in the ocean that I'm subject to the group itself. I'm part of the school of fish, in other words.
Just to extend the metaphor. Hey, I'm allowed. My blog! My crazy! Woop! Woop!
I talked about what my goal is; to be less intense, or at least less subject to my own intensity. Not that I will put a lid on it, to suppress myself for being somehow "bad" or something, but to be able to have a stable sense of reality, a stable sense of myself as having achievements, contentment, of progress through life without a constant sense of crisis or epically-proportioned epiphany. Know what I mean?
Seems like something I can work on. Dude.
I can't believe I'm still here. My book will be called "Two
Years on the Mast Weeks on the Psych Ward, Without Readily Available Fish Tacos" (a tragicomedic romantiphallacy in 14 easy parts)