It’s MONDAY and we’re off to the races. We had a bit of slow start getting into to Splataaah, but it’s all good. I made a B-Line for stall 4, which I will no longer be using, but more on that in a minute. I woke up with the slightest bit of SI. Like, I said outloud, but I didn’t mean it. And anxiety could be down, just a touch. And I mean, down from like 9/10 to 8/10. I don’t know. I don’t want to be too hopeful, but I also don’t want to be negative about the whole thing. Polly is chipper. That’s good, they haven’t been up this early in weeks, so I think that’s a good sign that they are ready to go. I’m excited for them. We’re all excited I guess. Gotta look for the positives. It’s going to be a good week. This week, I’m going to Phase II damnit. Fuck, what’s her name, the BHT. I like her. She’s another tough one, but she’s really nice. She’ll sign off on my Phase II app. I know Alana will, too. Courtney will, she basically said as much last week. So then it’s up to Dr. Parsley. For him to sign off, my anxiety has to improve. But I don’t want to lie or trick myself. Renee. That’s her name. How does Polly remember all their names?
Polly is reading off “motivational” stickers that sound like they’re designed to inspire factory workers. “Work more, Talk Less”, what kind of communist bullshit is that? Geez, we’re supposed to be up and excited and motivated to do things. Those actually remind me of my freshman high school English teacher. I was always stirring up trouble there. But I could write a paper and memorize Shakespeare, so she liked me. Actually, my friend Joe was in that class with me. And she determined, freshman year, that Joe was a bad seed. As it turns out, he was. I’m pretty sure he’s in prison now. If he’s not, he’s definitely on parole or some kind of probation. If he’s not, I’m sure he should be. We called him Opie, because, well, he looked like Opie. But the last time I saw him, he just looked strung out and had a shit attitude. I’m all for shit attitudes in the right place and time. But you have to be willing to adjust. Adaptation, that’s the goal, right? Perseverance, that’s the other one. Find you a way to adapt and you persevere through the bullshit to get to the end goal, right? This should be easy, I’ve done it a thousand times. This is no different. You find a way. I will find a way. I make things happen. Magical, amazing things. Just because Danielle stopped believing in me doesn’t mean that it’s no longer true. I just have to remember my values. Remember my goals. The motivation comes from within. I can feel it, maybe. I’m trying at least. Maybe that will be my motto today. I’ll try again. You only fail when you give up. I’m not giving up. Not today.
My ‘friend’ (term used loosely) in college use to name the days of the week by the drinking specials at bars around town. Examples, Manic Monday, Two for Tuesday, Wacky Wednesday, Thirsty Thursday, Freaky Friday. There are no specials on Saturday or Sunday, you drink because it’s a weekend and if there’s football on, you drink because of that. It’s basically an alcoholic’s guide to being an alcoholic. John was 9 years older than me when I started school and he didn’t like me very much. He called me a snake in the grass and said I had shifty eyes. It made me very self-conscious around him. He was my roommate Michael’s ‘best friend.’ Michael told me he only kept John around for the entertainment factor. We lived together for about 4 years pretty happily, but eventually John became too much for me. He’d come over and criticize me, then watch my TV, play my playstation, eat our food, drink our beer, and smoke our weed. None of those things were much of a problem, except that he was rude to me and talked shit about me behind my back. So, I banned him from the house, which Michael hated. He ended up not renewing our lease and he moved out as a result. That sucked because I didn’t want to live alone and he was actually a pretty good roommate. He taught me a lot of life skills that my parents and brother or other people didn’t really teach me. Like, for example, keeping the house tidy. It’s not like we were clean freaks, but Sundays, before football, we would take out the trash, clean the litter boxes (we had 3 cats), vacuum, empty ashtrays (damn right we smoked inside), etc. Once a month we’d do a trip to walmart, together, we’d both pitch in financially and get supplies for the house. Shit I wouldn’t have thought to buy. Trashbags, mopping solution, bathroom supplies, etc. We both had cell phones and we had a house phone with an answering machine.
Anyways, being here reminds me a little bit of that. I’m learning how to be a functioning adult mentally. I’ve let my mental health decline for years now and I’ve never been truly mentally healthy. So, my goal for being in residential treatment is functioning like an adult. Just like I had to learn how to be a good roommate, I have had to learn how to be on this unit, especially with all the other women. See above, rules apply. But at the same time, I’m trying to make my brain healthy. The tricky thing about an unhealthy brain is that it wants to stay unhealthy. It gives you all the reasons in the world to stay sick. It argues with you, makes shit up and lies all the time. It distorts how you see yourself. It tells you to hate what you see. It makes mildly annoying things seem like the end of the world. It keeps me from being authentic. So my goals for the day and week are as follows:
Perseverance
Adaptibility
Authenticity
I am resolved this week to make progress and not let my sick brain hold me back. I am going to stay strong and persevere. I am going to make the best of this week that I can and adapt to the upcoming changes. I am going to be myself and not feel ashamed or embarrassed. I’m going to continue to let my inner child shine through, especially on days when I’m feeling down. I am going to talk back to my sick brain and remember my values. I won’t let Mr. Negative scare me away from making progress. I’m going to hear his voice and tell him to shhhh… he doesn’t own me. He doesn’t control me and his voice, although he wants to be protective does not help me achieve my goals.
What does this mean? I need to focus my energy on getting better. Focus was something I used to be really good at, but I’ve lost my way. All my best work was done with laser focus on a single solitary task. So, I’m announcing here and now, I’m going to focus my energy on getting better and going to the next step. I may not be well enough to go home, but I’m taking the right steps, I’m going to show up and I’m going to do my very best. That’s all I can ask of myself. It’s what Juniper would ask of me, because it’s what I ask of her. I am trying, I have tried, and I will try again. It’s perseverance that has gotten me through the toughest tasks and biggest goals. I’m so sad, but I will adapt. I will sit in the pain, so that I can get through the pain. I won’t avoid it any longer. I am determined to win. That’s what I do, I win. And this is just another opportunity to prove everyone wrong. Keep underestimating me. Do it. I dare you. And when I succeed, I will be smiling ear to ear. And you can stomp your feet and be mad or angry or sad. But that won’t affect me.
It’s like I forgot that I know how to win. It’s not by being afraid, it’s by being fearless. There is no fear that can hold me back. Not any longer. I refuse to let fear defeat me. It’s Mr. Negative that tells me to be afraid and Mr. Negative, while seeking to protect me, holds me back from reaching my full potential. He tells me I don’t belong and that I can’t do things. He makes me look in the mirror and find my flaws. Fuck Mr. Negative. You’re not my friend, you are my enemy and I will see you caged and silenced, so help me, I will. You’re the dPolly of horrible anxiety. You make me question myself and talk negatively to myself and that does not help me achieve my goals. Your values are not my values. Your values are shame, guilt, embarrassment, fear, anxiety. You see the world through a dark lens, where no one can be trusted and everyone is out to hurt me. But this isn’t correct. Most people are good. Many, many people love and appreciate me. I hear you speaking to me now as I type and I know that this is just you trying to survive. But I’m telling you to stop talking. You words are meaningless, they don’t reflect my reality and it’s my reality that matters.
In my reality, the real reality, I am not the villain. I am not afraid. I welcome change. Change means opportunity for improvement. Change means a chance at happiness that I’ve been denied my entire life. Change means I talk pretty to myself. Change means I’m Juniper’s real Mom, because Danielle doesn’t know how to be a Mom. Change means the criticism is done. Change means I don’t have to believe everything that Danielle said to me. Change means I don’t have to tolerate being put down, belittled and abused. Change means I’m no longer going to let the trauma bond that we formed break me. I’m standing up to you by being myself. My true, beautiful, authentic self. Change means that the trauma you imposed on me does not run my life. I will process it and I won’t ruminate on it. Change means accepting green light behaviors. Change means being confident. Change means being kind and patient. Change means loving unconditionally. Change means I don’t have to tolerate people in my life who treat me poorly or refuse to accept me as my authentic self. Change means letting go of the fear brainwashed into my head as a child. Change means being honest with everyone, including myself about who I am and what I’m about. Change is going to lead to a better life. I will not fear change, I will embrace it and adapt. I will persevere.
Everyone gathered around to wish Polly good luck. I want to cry, I did during breakfast a little. No one saw me, but it was there. But I’m going to reframe. This isn’t losing a friend, it’s watching a friend grow and excel. It’s ok to be sad and miss a friend, but it’s not ok to let that sadness dictate my success or theirs. I want to be a good friend and be encouraging. I want to see them leaving as motivation to go to phase II. I want to sit at the senior table and get some adult privileges back. Phase II means I’m a step closer to holding Juniper every night. Phase II means I’m a step closer to spending time with Brandon. Phase II means I’m a step closer to PHP and joining my friends there. I want to go to phase II. Embrace the change. Accept it, embrace it, adapt to it. It’s going to be worth it. Consider that the joy the PHP letters talked about is real. Remember what my peers said. Rose, who knows people in recovery said none of them regret recovering, but those that stay sick do have regrets. Polly said they want to live a normal life. I do too. I don’t want to stay sick any more. I want to heal and get better so I can live. There’s more to life than these walls. I can find safety in other ways. Danielle is no longer part of my life, she can’t hurt me any more. I can grieve the loss of my friend, but change means I am no longer bound to the trauma. I will accept and embrace the change. Danielle, this note is to you. I am not a villain. I was trauma bonded to you and my reaction was that of someone that was trauma bonded. I did not attack you. I was not trying to hurt you. I was trying to make amends, because it was Christmas and I desperately wanted us to heal. But it was a pipedream. Your brain is sick, too. Very sick. You’re not taking the appropriate medications and you won’t get appropriate help. You will continue to blame me for all of your problems, until you realize I’m no longer affecting your life. Then you’ll find a new target. Your mom, one of your sisters, or maybe O’Flynn. I kind of hope it’s him, but it doesn’t matter. You have to blame your problems on anyone but yourself and you are choosing to stay sick. You’ve pushed away the people that love you most. I was not trying to hurt you, I was trying to make things better because staying upset makes me feel like my whole world is in chaos. I kissed you because you were saying the most vile, hateful things you could think to speak and I was telling you that I loved you anyways. I did not put my hands on your neck. You made that up. It’s a fact. I did not do that. I did not pull at your legs or try to keep you from leaving. I kissed you, twice. The second time you bit my lip and wouldn’t let go. I bit you back because I wanted you to let go, not because I wanted you to be hurt. You punched. I took the first few punches as my punishment. Then I held up my arms and tried to block them. You hit me in the head 9 or 10 times. I had 2 black eyes and lumps down the side of my head. I dropped to the floor in the fetal position and covered my head. You continued to hit me. When my face and head weren’t a good target any more, you started kicking me. You kicked me so hard in the ribs that you probably broke a rib. I couldn’t sleep on my side or stomach for over a month. If they were to take an x-ray, they would probably find a broken rib or maybe multiple. None of the things you did were in self defence. They were done in anger. You were not trying to get away, you were trying to hurt me. You think because you’re a woman that you get to use violence any time you get angry. And anger is the emotion that you know best. It’s how you process sadness, grief and fear. You are a dangerous person.
Your reality is a warped reality and facts support this. You must paint me as a villain to excuse yourself for doing the cruel, vile and hateful things that you’ve done to me. You wanted to give up your responsibilities of being a parent. That’s a vile thing to do. If your brain wasn’t sick, you’d see that. But I must be a bad person if you are to excuse yourself. You promised me forever, multiple times. You said you love me, the person, multiple times. You’re a liar and you know it. The only way to excuse yourself is to make me a villain. I am not the villain. I’m not a bad person. I am a traumatized person. You are the source of much of my trauma. Your abuse is the source of my trauma. Yelling at me for hours is the source of my trauma. Criticizing me for hours is a source of my trauma. It is abuse. You are an abusive person, just like your sick father was to you. You’ve become the exact thing that you hate. You are no longer capable of loving me or anyone else. You’re vile, bigoted and mean.
You choose to stay sick. You refused help when it was being offered. You are in denial about how sick you are. You’ve been getting sicker since you stopped lithium. You are still bipolar and the meds you were taking were not working. You are in denial about being sick and needing help. It’s not your fault that you’re sick. But it is your fault that you choose to stay sick. It is your fault that you cheated on me and stopped trusting me. It is your fault that you lied about what really happened to your friends, so that they would convince you to leave your family. You’re selfish and so are they. It’s your fault that you are disregarding everything you learned at camp that made your brain healthier. It’s not your fault that you have cluster B behaviors, but it is your fault that you refuse to do anything about it. You know that you’re abusive. You know that I’m scared you’ll hit me. You’re controlling and use manipulation to keep me controlled. And you choose to stay sick. That is your fault and no one else’s.
You’re wrong about me. I deserve treatment. I am worthy of it. I am worthy of recovery. I am not just saying what they want to hear to get through the program. I’m doing the hard work. I am following the exact guidelines that my team has set out for me. I deserve to feel joy and happiness. I deserve a chance at being myself without being made to feel guilty. I did not do anything wrong by coming into the bedroom that night. I was asking to make amends. You yelled at me. Abuse. You put me down. Abuse. You attacked my character. Abuse. You are an abuser. I am not a bad person for being myself. I was willing to stay married and make it work, but you are violent and dangerous. I do not have to tolerate an abusive relationship. I am more than just our relationship. I am intelligent, funny, kind, witty, encouraging and lovable. I’ve made new friends and that’s how they see me. They don’t think I’m a bad person. They see a good person and they care about me. People care about me. I am getting the help I need to thrive and to have a good life going forward. You have no power over me any longer. You’re not in control of me. I will never let someone control me like you did, ever again. I will survive and thrive. I am not a bad person. I am not an abusive person. I am not a scary person. I am kind. I am empathetic. I feel what others are feeling and relate. I have emotions other than just anger. A whole range of emotions and that’s ok. I get to feel those feelings. I can feel the sadness, so that I can feel the joy. I am worthy of recovery and I want to get better. I am worthy of recovery and I will get better and you can’t hold me back any longer. You have no more power over me. I am free from you.
I just had a meeting with Alana and Courtney and I hate our meetings, because I never feel like we’re on the same page. Courtney is threatening to increase my meal plan again and I basically told her, “don’t”. Our goals are not aligned and if you increase our meal plan, I will restrict. I don’t trust her. And they want me to step down to PHP in 2 weeks. That seems really, really fast. I don’t think I’m ready. I’m just barely beginning to accept the idea of treatment. There’s a part of me that wants to do it, because a little more freedom, more walks, more chances to see Juniper. But the biggest part of me knows that I won’t be ready in 2 weeks. The love to just bombard you with things and then ask, “so what do you think about that?” I think that’s too soon. I think I want to skip dinner and lunch and snacks. I think if I get a meal that looks gross, I’m definitely restricting. I think I hate this fucking ideal. It sounds absolutely wretched. I’m hiding in my room now, they didn’t lock it today. I’m hiding from the last group, I don’t want to go. I was feeling fine until they sprung that shit on me. Now I’m full of self doubt. I would be in full panic mode if I hadn’t taken the benzo. My feet are going a hundred miles an hour. Like OMG, no. No, no, no. Just no. And what sucks is that I won’t be able to talk about this again until Thursday. I’m not ready. I need to feel safe. I don’t feel safe outside of these walls. I don’t know if I ever will. I need to heal more. My brain isn’t ready. I’m not safe. It’s not safe. What a fucking thing to spring on me in a 10 min session, which is fucking bullshit, btw. I do not trust Courtney. I do not trust Alana. This is fucked. They said they wouldn’t push me out if I wasn’t ready and I’m definitely feeling pushed out. So here’s my fucking plan. Go hide in a corner by nursing. Try and avoid group, I don’t want to go. Go and hide and skip dinner and skip HS snack. Get my meds early and go to bed. Restrict. Restrict. Restrict. This is a protest. I don’t think I’m ready. I can’t lose the safety, not yet. PHP won’t give me what I need. I need these walls. I need these cameras. I need this community. I’m not ready to leave. I don’t want to order-in a meal. I don’t want to. I think that sounds disgusting. I’m not ready. I’m not ready. Why did they do this? Why did they go behind my back and make a plan that I don’t approve of and shove it down my throat? I’m not ready for this. I want to hide. This is disgusting.
Lindsey makes the strangest sounds in the bathroom. She uses my shower stall, too, so it’s kind of concerning. There was hacking and growling and coughing and well, she’s definitely violating one of the rules. DO NOT BE GROSS Lindsey. She’s had a day. She’s shown up late to every single fucking meal, except one. She’s not come to any groups. And she’s been on the phone all day, talking to her probation officer or something. Apparently, there are some shop lifting charges. So it turns out that sticky fingers was a busy little bee back in Jacksonville, FL. She allegedly stole a black 2024 Porsche, went to Target and stole $2500 worth of shit. Got arrested and charged with grand theft and grand theft auto. Bitch has sticky hands, palms, feet and apparently very good taste in fine German machinery that she can’t afford. She is a DR., but who knows if she’s still licensed to practice. She must be some sort of klepto or something. OMG, I can’t believe that they let this bitch into our unit. Like, seriously ladies, lock up your shit, she’s coming for it. Now to be fair, I wouldn’t have dug this deep if I hadn’t heard her announcing to the whole unit that she was on probation and about to get off for all the charges. She even has an article in People magazine. And based on her stealing habits here, it doesn’t look like she’s learned much of a lesson. There’s something about her voice that makes me absolutely insane. “It’s not fair. That’s not fair. Blablabla.” It’s like she just can’t stop the bitching. It drives me fucking nuts. I guess she thinks she’s a celebrity, because People magazine did an article on “The Dr. Caught Stealing at Target”. Maybe that’s where the entitlement comes from. Jesus. Why are we so lucky? At least she’s moving to 2E permanently after tonight, supposedly. And she just doesn’t stop. She’s late to every meal. Being late occasionally, I think we all get. But every fucking meal. Come on. And that hacking in the shower, GAAGGGGG. So fucking gross. DO NOT BE GROSS BITCH. It’s like rule #2, right behind DO NOT BE A BITCH.
I feel pretty good, I get to see Juniper tomorrow, something to look forward to and I know she’s looking forward to it, too. I’ve been better about calling today. Sometimes twice a day. I don’t have to wait until I get home to start being a better parent. “Remember your core values.” That’s easy. Juniper. Juniper is my core value. She’s what matters most in the world to me and I matter most to her. I need to get home to her and the only way I do that is if I progress. And I only progress if I follow the plan and the plan says, eat 100% three days in a row and my dietician will sign off that I completed 100%. It’s surprising that they are letting me write in so many “meals.” A peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a salad are dinner many nights. It’s better than that disgusting blob of dough and cheese that they call pizza. That shit is intolerable. There is never going to come a point where I find that to be edible. Yes, I’m just that picky. Yes, I will eat walnuts with my cereal, but if they ever try to feed me that much cottage cheese again, I’m going to spit it in their face. I don’t even like cottage cheese in small quantities. I was going to suffer through because I didn’t see another option. At least for now there’s no meal plan increase, I pushed back pretty hard on that. Courtney tried to say it had to happen and I just said, “no, I don’t approve.” Apparently that worked, because then she started trying to bargain with me, “you could have a C+ snack” which she called, “the same snack, with a few extra ingredients.” So probably some sort of protein powder or fat powder. Which, by definition, means it’s not the same snack, it’s a bulked version. Jesus. I’m not fucking stupid. Quit treating me like I am. And as a matter of fact, I don’t give a flying fuck what the Dr. says my weight needs to be. There is nothing that that shady douche is going to say to convince me that I need to be overweight. I stay between 135-140. I wasn’t really using ED behaviors until I got down to like 132. THEN it went into high gear and I dropped like 10 lbs pretty quickly. That’s the point where I was reaching no return. Either they just suck at their jobs, or they don’t know what they are talking about. Or maybe they do and I’m being obtuse. But I’m never going to be comfortable gaining that kind of weight and if you fuck with my meal plan, I’ll just restrict. I’m already eating too much. I’m too full all the fucking time. I hate how my body feels. I hate how it’s functioning and you guys suck at convincing me otherwise. Like, the girls really buy into this neutral body image bullshit? How? Why? It’s literally this idea that you have to not care about how your body looks and feels. How the fuck am I supposed to do that? And how is that even healthy at all? It doesn’t make any sense. It’s completely irrational.
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Some of the other things we were talking about today were kind of reasonable. We talking about the FEAR acronym, which basically means making unrealistic goals, ruminating on thoughts, and some other shit that I could actually agree with. And whatever the opposite was. Shit, I don’t even remember. But it basically said do the opposite of FEAR and feel your feelings. Yeh, ok. Feel them. My question was, “how?” How the fuck are you supposed to sit with these awful painful feelings that send me into a panic attack or make me start crying like a baby. Monica says, “the answer is compartmentalization.” Right, just compartmentalize, feel all the feels, and don’t dwell on the thoughts. I guess I’ve kind of been doing that. I cried this morning. I cried last night. I’ll probably cry again tonight.
I was right about one thing, Polly leaving completely changed the vibe of the unit. They have a childlike quality that made every day a little brighter. And now that light has moved across the street into an apartment to be an adult and normal. It feels terrible. They were missed at lunch and dinner. They answered the dinner question and said something really sweet and something funny. It made us all sad and happy for our friend. That’s the nature of these types of places. People come and go. We were lucky to have them here for as long as we did and we’re fortunate they walked out the front door to PHP. That’s a good thing. That’s a happy celebration. I have to remember that and remind myself of that every time I get sad. And we have new friends here. Katy is cool. They are gender diverse, so we have that in common. They like really fucking good music. And they are really motivated and very smart. And they think I”m funny, too. So the big litmus test will be, do they call me Claire, or CLARA. Why don’t they pronounce the A. There’s an A there and this is english and we pronounce the final vowel (except E) and consonant in American English. We’re not some weird Brit English shit that thinks we’re French. But even if we were, WE WOULD STILL PRONOUNCE THE FINAL A. Who the fuck shortens Clara to Claire. If I wanted to be Claire, I would have picked the fucking name Claire. But I didn’t. I picked CLARA, for good reason. I picked a French name with the English pronunciation. It’s not rocket surgery fellas. You just sound it out. Hell, even my mother gets it right, when she’s not deadnaming me. Grace… you have to give her grace. But I don’t have to give every other motherfucker here that calls me CLAIRE grace, because it’s writting on all the fucking paperwork. CLARA. CLARAAAAAAAHHHHH. Say it like you mean it and mean it when you say it. Goddamn. I don’t mean to be so moody, but I’m just saying…
Priscilla is such a dollbaby. I poke my head out of my room and she’s standing at the counter talking away to the BHTs. Lindsey is standing right next to her and she says, “Getting lots of content for your novel.” “So much content, Priscilla.” Her smile is just adorable and I love her energy. If I could have a little sister and spoil her like crazy, I think it would be Priscilla. I mean this kid thinks deeply. And I know we’re not supposed to glorify perfectionism here, but I love her comment about, “if I get a 99 on a test, I’m going to be obsessed over the one that I missed.” That’s not perfectionism, that’s demanding excellence. I love people that demand excellence. We just can’t do it with our bodies, Priscilla. We have to feed ourselves. You and me both, we have to eat and our bodies have to function or else we will die. It will kill us. And I don’t want Priscilla to die. She’s got as lot to offer this world. She’s smart, she’s funny and she’s insightful. And her shopping obsession is so cute. She’s all Lulu Lemon. I think she FINALLY got her package today that she’s been waiting on since she got here. I know those feels. But my favorite thing is that she treats me like one of the girls, like literally, 100% I’m just a girl and we’re just talking about shopping, cute boys and cute girls stuff. I’ve been pretty well accepted here by most of the girls. I mean we’ve had our ups and downs, but the fact that Priscilla comes in and shows me her Lulu shopping spree and gossips with me is really fun. Priscilla, you would make an awesome little sister and I would take you shopping every week. We’d hit Lulu and Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus. I’d expand your world into designer bags and sunglasses and white works. Oh and jewelry, lots of jewelry. Every girl should be dripping in bling and shiny things. I like you a lot. You’re super cool and you make me feel young. I love your vibe and energy.
I had a really nice dinner tonight and made Katy feel really good. So, one of the dinner questions was, “who inspires you?” Everyone automatically knows my answers because they long and drawn out and I say way too much… But my answer was as follows (paraphrased), “I’m inspired by a lot of people. Katy Perry inspires me to get up in the morning and sing and dance. Lil’ Wayne inspires me to be myself, fuck what everyone says and thinks. 50 Cent inspires me to drive a Bently and hide my money in an offshore account, so my ex-wife can’t get it. But this week Katy inspired me to journal more, so I’m going to go with Katy, final answer.” It was cute because Rachel said something to the effect of, “I’m not reading this novel”, and hand the note to Katy. Katy read it and was giggling all the way through, until they got to the bottom and saw the part about they are the one that inspired me me this week. They asked me to keep the note, and I said, “of course.” Their reaction really made my night and my note really made theirs. It was cool. It’s neat when you can touch someone and hopefully make a new friend. They are my new couch buddy, since Polly sat on the floor all week and we are getting accustomed to each other. But I think we’re going to bond. They are a libra, so we’re kind of bound by the cosmos. I need to find out their birthday. So help me, if it’s between Oct 5 and Oct 9, I’m going to freak out; I like libras and they like me. We also think a lot alike when we’re play Contexto and other cafe games. It’s fun. Katy, you are way too fucking cool. And your favorite band is Nirvana. Nirvana changed my life in 4th grade. I stopped listening to pop music and became immersed in the seattle music scene, to the extent that I could, from Nashville, TN. I learned to play guitar and grew out my hair to be like Kurt Cobain. And on the day he died, I saw it announced on MTV new and I cried. That was my hero and he should still be alive. He was brilliant as a song writer, but even more so as a philosopher. Anyone that appreciates Nirvana is Okay in my book. You’re cool and I can tell you have a good spirit. You’re here to do the work and seeing how diligently you take notes throughout the day is really inspiring. I respect you. And the fact that you’re gender non-confirming means we have something in common. We are others and we’re not afraid. I get to be me and I know you’re not judging me for that. It’s cool. I lost my friend Polly today, but I think I gained a new friend and that makes me happy. Hopefully, for the rest of my stay here, I can make you laugh and you can make me think and we’ll find a special bond.
OMG. Night meds are starting to kick in, i need to brush my teeth before i pass the fuck out.
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