My Stay at Seven East: Day Three
by Noise Pollution
Okay, here’s day three for everyone. I hope this is at least a little bit interesting, but if not, you’re going to have to deal with it for a few more days. I was in there for a week, though I didn’t write anything the day I got there and the day I left.
I think it’s Friday, June 6th, 2014
I am way too sensitive to relationship issues, mine or not mine, real or not real. Particularly those of the really cool “turn around and she/he is with someone else” variety. Just a mention of that kind of betrayal makes me tear up.
I don’t know why, but I can’t fucking handle it. It’s such a horrible thing. People should never betray each other.
[This was brought on by a book I was reading, not anything that happened at Seven East.]
[Redacted] is seriously so kind. And he’s had it so fucking rough. He doesn’t have a home to go back to after all this…
Remember how I was talking about the girl with severe anxiety?
I have no idea what happened to her. Her parents were visiting last night, and she went to the bathroom, then I heard her scream. I saw the nurses rush to the room, and I know nothing else about what happened. I haven’t seen her since then.
I hope she’s okay. she was really nice.
The ending of the book series I was reading was really fucking weak.
I went to a chemical dependency group today, and it was weird. Between the three of us who were there, we manged to be a group with more issues than she usually had all in one room. which is odd, when you consider the fact that she makes trips here to do the meetings on a regular basis. Everyone here has it pretty fucking bad.
I’ve been completely sober for a while now, so I don’t know what good these meetings are doing. The only thing I’ve had an urge to do since quitting it is smoking cigarettes, and I still haven’t done it yet.
Ugh. My head aches. This medication is kind of tough on me. It’s better than having the Klonopin, though. That crap made me want to and actually made me cut my arms up. Fuck that pill. Holy shit, I hate Klonopin.
Everybody Loves Raymond is fucking terrible.
Sometimes, to speed the seemingly-slow passage of time here, I let my imagination go a little. Today, I pretended that the floaters in my eyes were stars, and I was trying to catch them. In my imagination, it was beautiful, but in reality, I was a guy in a psych ward grabbing at the air for no discernible reason.
New girl came tonight. I’ve heard bad things about weekends at these kinds of places. If they’re true, then she came at an unfortunate time. I haven’t spoken to her, but then again, I rarely speak to anyone. I guess I’ll find out more about her tomorrow.
You learn people’s stories in this place, even if you don’t want to. It just happens. Nobody asks, at least not in a one-on-one situation, but people do tell, eventually. A lot of these people have seen some things. They’ve had a rough go at life. I guess that’s why they’re here. I guess that’s why I’m here.