I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, that he may hear me. In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord; in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying; my soul refuses to be comforted. (Psalm 77:1-2) ............................................ A journal chronicling my struggle as a woman, to find my way out of an abusive relationship, and to find myself again.

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Location: Georgia, United States

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

Home again, home again...

I got home from the hospital Saturday evening. Dale came to get me after he'd
gone to Macon to see Emily. Doc would not let me out before then, because he thought that seeing her would upset me too much. Probably true, but I did want to see her. I think we may be going this weekend. Dale says she is doing well, considering, so maybe it will be OK.

Ah, the mental hospital, the loony bin, the nuthouse, "the womb", as Dr. Connell calls it. I suppose it has some womb-like qualities. It also has some jail-like qualities. And as always, I met some very brave, very tough, very sad people. Strong people, even the ones who probably couldn't tell you what day or season it is. But they are still alive, and still coping, in their own ways. I love the old folks. Betty, 70+, in her ruffly, pink seersucker pajamas, always with a smile, was my favorite. Her walker had folded up on her, so she was afraid to use it, and she held my arm as we walked back to her room after smoke break. What a lovely familiar feeling, an old lady's trembly arm in mine. Yeah, somewhat womb-like.

I got sick (physically) my third day at Laurelwood. Maybe a sinus infection? I don't know, but it was plenty crappy. Sneezing, coughing, sniffling, fever. Now I'm home and still sick, even though I've finished a course of antibiotics. Feels like whatever it is has settled in my bronchial passages. Feels like bronchial pneumonia. If it lasts another day, I'll try and get to a doctor.

The good thing? I can't smoke. My bronchus rejects the smoke as if I was trying to stuff cotton down my windpipe. So I sorta 'sip' a cigarette when I want one, which is seldom. Hm. Wouldn't it be an amazing thing if I was able to quit smoking? Mysterious ways and all that.

More later. I am so exhausted from coughing, and my brain is not functioning on all cylinders.



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