Big Mistake

HBO had Girl, Interrupted on their OnDemand channel listing, so I told myself I'd watch it, when Jb wasn't home. And it's not me, it's not what happened to me, or where I went. It's the 1960's for Christ's sake. But there's so much there that rings true, and when the head nurse dumps Winona Ryder in the bathtub... I had to stop the fucking movie.

Valerie: You know, I can take a lot of crazy shit from a lot of crazy people - but you... you are *not* crazy.
Susanna: Then what's wrong with me, huh? What the fuck is going on inside my head? Tell me, *Dr. Val*. What's your diag-nonsense?
Valerie: You are a lazy, self-indulgent *little girl*, who is driving herself crazy.

Is that all I am? A lazy, self-indulgent "little girl?" Because I don't fucking feel crazy. I don't talk to myself, I don't cut myself, I don't lose complete touch with reality. But I can't stop crying, and part of me wants to be back in the hospital, back where I had friends, where I knew people, where seeing someone get discharged was enough to blow you over so that you were lying in bed all day. And each day new people rotate in and out, in and out. But you know the score, and when you snap, the staff is paid to deal with it, not like your boyfriend, not like the ones you love. And every day gets harder and harder.

Jb and I had a fight last night, and he walked out on me this morning--without even a word. Got dressed and left. And it's my fault. It's my fault. I feel like I'm going to explode. Like that game you played with dandelions, singing, "Mama had a baby and its head popped off." At least in the hospital, you all spoke the same language, and when someone broke down, you understood. No one judged you, no one asked anything of you, no one cared what you did as long as you took your meds and showed up for meals. But now things matter, and I can't even commute to the therapist without feeling like I'm going to throw up.