A wise man once said:
“Find a girl that loves to have sex, because then once you’re married she'll still actually want to have sex.”
I heard this quote just a few months after my first (and kind of pathetically) only girlfriend up to that point decided to trade me in for a newer model. I took the breakup not so good and was looking for some solace of some sort. It was the summer of my sophomore year in college and I had always been under the assumption that I was different in some way from my gf (and everyone else for that matter due to my limited exposure) because I seemingly always wanted to have sex and she didn’t.
So of course when I heard this piece of golden knowledge above I decided to test the theory out for myself and hopefully find the solace I was looking for in a physical form. Well come to find out that there are a number of young ladies out there that share a love for sex as much as me (awesome). And needless to say it felt great to find others who were “different” like me; almost like I wasn’t the different one.
So back in Denver when I first awoke in the Porter Hospital Psych Ward I was completely out of it and convinced I was placed in some kind of governmental hiding/protection program (don’t you hate it when that happens). But after a couple days I was able to come out of my delusions and step back into reality enough to realize that I was committed. I’m not sure how someone is supposed to feel when they come to this realization. Would shame be the appropriate feeling? What about embarrassment? Or maybe even disappointment? Suggestions anyone?
But the weird thing was that I didn’t feel any of those feelings and still don’t to this day. I almost felt a calm and peace with the entire situation, like I was meant to be there. I knew, and still know to this day, that those two weeks in the wards will always make me different, even if it doesn’t really make me feel different. I’ve contemplated this for awhile and have been trying to put my finger on why this would happen.
I think I figured it out sometime last week when I was cruising around (Jeep wave) and that reasoning is that the very thing that made me different was what made me the same in there (just like sex did back in the day, see where I’m going with this). My days in the wards (especially in Southside! due to holiday limited staffing) were mostly filled with free time. Which to psych ward patients isn’t always the best thing (I really didn’t need any more time to think, I was all good with my manic racing thoughts as it was) so you end up spending the majority of your time with the other patients. I literally didn’t even see my ward’s doc in The Nasty until the day before I was released and so this inevitably causes you to lean on each other.
I mean who else can better understand what hell you have just been through than the ones who were walking in it along side with you? We only had each other in there to get better because we are the only ones who understood how to get back. So maybe it’s what made me different that made me feel so at home in the wards, because what was different was all around me.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
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