I was finally discharged from the hospital today after three long weeks. You would think I’d be feeling glad about that but I’m not. Something that is very common, but not often talked about, is how difficult life is after being discharged. It’s a rough time for most people, and I’m no exception.
Right now I’m sitting here watching the kids play the Wii U and writing this You would think that would make me feel all warm and fuzzy, but it doesn’t. As my grandmother used to say, “I feel like ten pounds of crap in a five pound bag”. And yes, she really did used to say that.
They never keep you until you are well, they keep you until they figure you can go home and continue to recover on your own. Can I continue to recover on my own? God, I hope so. I don’t want to end up back in the hospital, but if I’m being brutally honest, it wouldn’t surprise me. The adjustment is always hard, but it’s especially hard this time because of the nature of what happened. I feel kind of like I am being expected to run a marathon on two legs that only just now had the casts removed. Does that make sense? The things that happened this time have never happened to me before and I’m still trying to process it all.
All I know is I am off to Cape Breton for a book signing. We are leaving tomorrow but the signing is not until Monday, so I’ll have the weekend to kind of see people and maybe relax a little. That will be nice.
I have to say that I absolutely hate the fact that my illness has progressed and it makes me very scared. I’ve never really been unaware about what was going on around me until this last go round with this pain in the ass called, Psychotic Depression. So now I feel like I could drift off into that other world again. Quickly and without warning. I don’t like this, not one little bit.
I’m not really sure what I’m trying to say here, perhaps I just felt the need to vent a little about my fear of the future.
Take care minions! And to those of you coming to the book signing, I’ll see you soon! ❤