“Seriously? Why are you advertising this? Are there that many people who want to join?”
“What is it with alligators?! They don’t need mushrooms. They need weed to help with that aggression.
I hope you’ve enjoyed some laughs like I have. Sometimes you have to take timeout to laugh. Thanks for reading! And please share with a friend.
Affirmation: I allow myself to laugh often and without guilt.
***Don’t forget to watch the video!***
#Thispuzzledlife
“In ancient times cats were worshipped as gods; they have not forgotten this.”
-Terry Pratchett
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today, I want to talk to you about what it’s like living with Piper. She is finally coming into her own and getting bigger every day. Check this out!
Piper: “Momma help me!”
Me: “What is the problem, Piper?”
Piper: “Tink bit my butt for no reason!”
Me: “Did you do anything to her?”
Piper: “No! She just bit me for no reason!”
Tink: “Piper you cowabungaed my head!”
Piper: “No I didn’t! Fluff off!”
Tink: “What did you say? You little feline fluff ball?”
Piper: “I promise! I did nothing wrong!”
Me: “Piper, the collected evidence shows that you, in fact, jumped on Tink’s head without provocation.”
Piper: “Momma, I’m just a little kitty!”
Me: “And you are responsible for your own kitty actions.”
Tink: “Ha! Ha! I told you, you little snack stealer!”
Piper: “Momma said that I was growing and needed more than anyone else.”
Me: “Piper, I did not! Coco, do you care to chime in?”
Coco: “Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil.”
Piper: “Well, that’s what I heard you say.”
Me: “When, ma’am?”
Piper: “The other night when I was asleep.”
Me: “Piper, that must’ve been while you were dreaming.”
Piper: “Well, you still said it no matter if I was awake or asleep.”
Me: “Piper, you must share your snacks just like you want me to share everything that I eat.”
Piper: “Well, I’m just curious and want to know what you’re eating?”
Me: “By jumping on me and into my plate?”
Piper: “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
Thanks for reading! Life with my girls is full of laughs and love. They are my family. Keep moving forward and always spay and neuter you pets.
Affirmation: I deserve every snack and piece of food that I find.
***Don’t forget to watch the video!***
#Thispuzzledlife
The following is a situation that led to Coco growling for the first time ever. She wanted to let her inner mountain lion loose. But all she was able to do was squeak like a mouse. Tink also tried and was only able to connect with a very light meow. “We just don’t feel safe with them as protectors.”
They didn’t even try to save me from one tiny moth. The best that either of them could do was look at it. No warning, no gang signs, no saying “You need Jesus!!! Nothing!!!!!”
Ok that was harsh but not really. It was my fault for zooming in on the picture and making it look like a dinosaur from Jurassic Park.
(We don’t know that cat.)
When it was actually the size of a quarter. Or maybe a dime depending on the angle. And we are assuming that the lizard was female because none of us saw lizard balls. And we don’t actually know if lizards have balls. But if they do we don’t know where they are kept. Maybe at an alternate address. We took a vote and named her “Lizzie the Lezzie.” Not to be confused with the real “Lizzy the Lezzie.”
I looked up after about an hour of scurrying to find Coco and Tink with bewildered looks on their faces and pawing at the lifeless reptile. Coco said, “Momma!!!!! We need to change the batteries out.” I had to explain to her that this was not a situation that batteries could fix.” Coco was very upset that Lizzie was dead. She was crying and saying, “Momma, I didn’t want to unalive her. I was just playing with her.” I told her, “Baby I know. You just played with her to death.”
We later found out that males are the ones that flash that piece of pink skin. That was like puffing out their chest. And we thought the whole time that the lizard was blowing bubbles because she was chewing watermelon bubble gum.
We are all in therapy and trying to work things out. Coco and Tink got some tutoring sessions in aggression and have progressed to a light hiss and a paw in the air and learning how to call a bluff. One night they alerted me to a possible intruder. It was a 2” moth holding a shank. And a pregnant gnat with an attitude. I told Coco, “get to it sister, this one is yours.”
The last time I saw them Tink had moved onto other things. And Coco was still grieving and processing the trauma. She is working with a therapist that really knows her stuff. And her therapist doesn’t allow Coco to deflect the painful issues. She will, however, guide her through it with a crappy little nudge from a therapeutic assignment.
#Thispuzzledlife
“If mugs made fart noises coffee shops wouldn’t be relaxing, they’d sound like a yoga class in a retirement home.”
-Desi Lydic
Me and my cats have a nightly routine that consists of me taking my meds while Tink is at my feet watching my every move. And stares at me hoping to make me hurry along. I then Get comfortable in my recliner and cover up with my favorite blanket. Then Tink hops in my lap where we both cuddle until we’re both asleep. Except on nights when I’m scrapbooking. And then both of the girls fall asleep wherever they are. Usually, Coco is in her bed and Tink is in my recliner on my blankets. Anyway, here’s how one of our nights unfolded.
Me: “Tink wake up.”
Tink: “Mi no Habla ingles.”
Me: “Well, Rosetta Stone you better find a way to talk to me.”
Tink: “I’m sleeping.”
Me: “No you’re not you just spoke to me.”
Tink: “I talk in my sleep.”
Me: “Wake up or I will get the thermometer and check to see if you have a fever.”
Tink: “I’m up. What do you need?”
Me: “Tink, hold on omg was that you?! You are nasty!! You farted!!!! Tink, that one is really bad. You know I can’t take bad smells. Dear God, what did you eat?! Oh, Holy Hell it’s burning my eyes too. What are your farts made of? Napalm?”
Tink: “Your big baby stop your whining it’s just your allergies. And you woke me up from my sleep and I didn’t have the energy to hold it in.”
Me: “I know. I’m allergic to cat farts. I can’t take crop dusting any better than this. Omg now I taste it! I started gagging. I had a sudden flashback to diaper days. You and your brother Copeland are the worst smelling animals on this planet! Wait until I tell him how nasty you are.”
Tink: “Fine tell him. He’s the one who taught me how to fart!”
Me: “You need to be bathed in a tub of Holy water because you have a demon in your butt. Dear God get out of my lap and off my blanket!! You probably cinged the fibers. Oh, I just threw up a little in my mouth. Find my airplane vomit bag NOW!!!!”
Tink: “Fine me and Copeland will go live with coach.”
Me: “Ummmm….I wouldn’t dare do that to her!!”
Tink: “She would, at least let me process my feelings about it.”
Sarcastically
Me: “So what are your feelings?”
Tink: “I feel that I’m a flatulent genius.”
Me: “No! Nope, nope, nope! Not even funny, Tink. Why would you want to subject coach to your farts? I thought you liked her.”
Tink: “Well you share everything with her so I thought that I would share everything too.”
Me: “Tink, I do not talk to her about farting!”
Tink: “You talk to her about being constituted.”
Me: “That’s constipated. And I told her that I almost died. It was a traumatic event.”
Tink: “Really?! There was no need to let her in on that part of your life. She likes me more than she likes you, anyway. I don’t understand why you’re being so dramatic.”
Me: “Tink I almost lost my life! I was in the middle of hostage negotiations with my poop chute, and I saw the grim reaper! The whole event scared me to death. And I will not compete for our coach with a cat! You know that she’ll call the police to come and do welfare check on me. And then I’d have to go to the ER and deal with idiots.”
Tink: “It was just a little poop ghost. The poop fan is on.”
Me: “There is nothing about that fart that is little. And no that’s our living room fan and all it does is swirl that weapon of ass destruction all over the house. And it sticks to everything. The whole house smells like I’ve been cooking with dookie tonight!”
Tink is now overcome with laughter.
Me: “A poop fan takes it out of the house. And you can tell your “ghost” that it needs a tic tac or an altoid because it has some crappy dragon breath. Plus, the police officers would arrest you for endangering the life of a vulnerable adult.”
Tink: “Well, I’ve been watching Cops, and I know when I’m supposed to start running. I refuse to be put in handcuffs!!”
Me: “They wouldn’t use handcuffs. They would bring Animal Control and use a rabies pole.”
Tink: “Outta my way momma that’s my cue to start running!”
Ever since then I have been thinking of a way to conduct a “Shock and Awe” moment. I’ve been waiting for a good fart to get her back. So, one day I waited until she was in a deep sleep. I snuck up on her like I was in some type of special forces unit. Operation: “Methane Freebie” was almost over. I got into position close to my target and I Let Her Rip!!! She got vertical at that very moment. I couldn’t help but laugh. With her eyes wide open and her tail all fluffed out she said
Tink: “What in the “Holy Crap on a Cracker” what was that?”
Hysterical Laughter
Me: “I just spoke your “love language.”
Tink: “That was not love, Momma! Had you been a man I would’ve clawed you right in the pickle.”
Me: “Yes it was your “love language.” That was me blowing you a kiss.”
Tink: “I want a divorce!”
I hope you’ve enjoyed this lighthearted post. This was not fiction. My cats and I actually have conversations like this. Thanks for reading! And keep smiling!
Affirmation: If my cat’s flatulence is excessive, I will consult with a veterinarian to rule out any underlying medical conditions.
***Don’t forget to watch the video!***
#Thispuzzledlife
Tioga Bound
“When you know who you are; when your mission is clear and you burn with
the inner fire of unbreakable will; no cold can touch your heart; no deluge
can dampen your purpose. You know that you are alive.”
– Chief Seattle, Duwamish
I was looking through my recent blog posts and realized that I had not yet written about a place I went to visit last summer/fall 2017. There are some situations in life when/where it happens you have to just be quite and let it soak in. Sometimes just looking at how situations came to be can unlock a little patch of “surrendering to the process.”
I believe wholeheartedly that there’s something about how the stars are lining up in my life. I don’t have those answers yet but they’re out there somewhere. In March 2017, I was pretty hopeless in most areas of my life. Out of the blue I get a call from someone who still completely amazes me with her compassion and patience. I had found my new coach finally. Tears streamed down my face as I call my wife Melody to let her know what had just happened. The challenge would be for Mel and I, as a couple, to figure out what was best for our family as a whole. I had my eye set on one thing as my goal and that was the day I could begin this arduous work with someone already proven trustworthy.
We already had planned a trip to Walt Disney world in Orlando, FL with our boys obviously not knowing what the coming months would bring. Anyway, the boys and Mel enjoyed the trip. I just realized how bad things had gotten and was continuing to decline. Our boys were entitled to have some genuine fun that normally they couldn’t do around me because of PTSD symptoms. While at Disney World I enjoyed seeing our boys and Mel with smiles on their faces. For me having so many issues with social situations the trip was torture. The amount of people and no private space had me wanting to just randomly bite people for no reason. Then somewhere on the inside I heard…”Orange is not a good color for you! And you won’t like the flip flops!!!!” Not conventional grounding method but it worked. The fireworks shows, though beautiful, had me running for cover. But I do love my family.
Mel’s grandmother passed away which meant we would be staying very close to the city where I grew up. It doesn’t matter the situation. That area of the country is just not safe for me to be hanging out in. But It was a death in the family and loyalty to our friends and family are stronger than anything we have individually, as a couple or as a family. We eventually made it back to Albuquerque. And things went from bad to worse.
I ended up returning to a trauma unit where I would meet more close friends referred to as my “battle buddies.” This stay was quite difficult to say the least. Things were much different and I left there completely defeated. Just months before I caught wind that someone cared which left me very curious say the least. The only thing I’ve never been surprised by is in the fact that change is constantly happening. This situation was absolutely no different. I licked my wounds all the way back to Albuquerque to my awaiting room where I keep all of my secrets. It was sort of my prison within my own prison.
Someone did mention about this place out in Tioga, TX called Healing Springs Ranch. The last thing I wanted to talk about was more treatment. I was exhausted and felt beat up. My recent trauma unit stay reaffirmed to me that professionals were just dangerous no matter how they put a nice spin on things. And I hated them all. No one would have another shot at me like that was how hurt I felt. I was so miserable and wanted a way out. I wanted help but feared it to my core. Again, I was told to call them and check it out.
I wanted the opportunity to go and try another open campus facility, at some point, because those were where I was most comfortable. I just didn’t want to go right then. Being on a locked unit never helps me or anyone else. But what I was about to walk into was something I was never prepared to experience. I was told who my inpatient therapist would be. I had already known her from previous visits to other facilities and knew that she was gentle so having that knowledge really helped me to settle. Here I was about to trust someone to mess with my “system” again and I wouldn’t be able to leave for awhile. And there was only minimal trust to start with.
My wife dropped me and my belongings off after getting checked in. I was told to enjoy that last Diet Coke for a while. I froze. What in the hell did he just say?!!!! I instantly felt death near. I knew that coffee was not even a remote possibility for me. Caffeine, Caffeine where shall I find thee? I was truly starting to panic. OMG….what have I just agreed to? I was trying to keep the fear buried and plenty of smiles and laughter on the outside.
I soon took that long ride, on the golf cart, to the main building known as the Bunk House. I was beyond terrified and my inside guys were assessing everything we saw, heard and smelled. We passed the field of cows I would learn to love and talk to every morning on daily walks. There were a couple I would name T-Bone and Rib eye. I know I should have a conscious about their names but I don’t. And the golf cart would be parked by cows that had this exact conversation go on right before their eyes.
Friend: Dana those are those different cows called Yams!
Me: I can assure you that those are not yams.
Friend: Dana yes they are I know what I’m talking about. Those are YAMS!!!
Me: Oh for the love of God and the Holy Angels! That is not a potato! A yam is what you have on Thanksgiving! If that is a yam then that potato has four legs and a tail while also saying…MOOOOOOO! A YAK! A YAK is what you’re thinking about and that is not a Yak either! That’s just a messed up looking cow! We laughed then and still today about how funny that brief moment in time unfolded.
When the doors opened and I began the incline on the floor to the nurses’ office I was greeted by a few people welcoming me to Healing Springs Ranch. Omg…they’re a cult! They have a following of people that claim that they care and are happy. I saw who would be my therapist and instantly I thought…Damn I feel bad for you already.
Everyone was so incredibly caring and you just somehow knew that this place was special. It was just different in a loving kind of way. In my illustrious career of dealing with treatment centers and stabilization units I had never found this much compassion in one place. This is a place far from a locked unit. They loved without conditions. This has always been a foreign concept for me because from several abusers “love” had conditions. So accepting this love was going to be a challenge and it was the majority of the time.
Very slowly but surely I would begin to settle in with this new community. This place whatever its magical powers was loving me and I began to melt. No one saw this right off but both me and my alters felt it instantly. I’m a difficult patient in the best of circumstances. But apparently The universe knew what it took to make me crumble……COMPASSION. I was still a very angry and scared person under all the smiles and laughter. They had already found my weakness.
And you seem to know that the relationship is going to be interesting when one of the first people you see you say, “Hey 13 is that you?!” Calling someone, who would turn out to be one of my closest friends, one of your alters’ names can be incredibly funny. I’ll be honest that an argument between a 10 year-old and a 13 year-old can be awfully flamboyant. But put them both in adult bodies and that could be sent to the comedy show of your choosing. However, The awesome look at nature and it’s scary and comforting critters it hides seemed to be medicine for my soul.
Charlie the Squirrel seemed to take the place of the Angry Birds in Albuquerque. My personal encounters involves said tree rodent. Oh Mr. Sandy cheeks decided that I needed a little more confusion and proceeded to bark at me machine gun style. With my very well developed hyper startle response, Charlie might as well have been sitting on my face and chewing on it. All I could think to say was, “It jumped out from the bushes and almost killed me!” Really he just scared the shit out of me from about 10 feet away in a tree. Then I scared the shit out of the people walking with me. We still laugh about it all.
Life had become routine which I loved. At night after most of the day staff left for the evening and we had all gotten our night meds and snacks people would head down to their rooms either for a shower and/or bed. But there were also members of our tribe that enjoyed that 30 minute time period of sitting on the porch with the slight breeze and just decompress from all of the day’s activities. The night wildlife was front and center. If you were brave enough to listen to some of the conversations we would have you would realize that there was an amazing amount of healing that went on. There started out with about 4 people, including myself, who took full advantage of hanging out with this new family. By the time it was my graduation, there were usually over 10 people at night.
I was usually telling some kind of funny story or just getting tickled about the day’s activities. There were stories about Miss Betty and the Mr. Bitchy. Many also know about my Ozzy Osborne impression shouting “SHARON!!!!!!” Any issues between me and Charlie the Squirrel had to be told. Funny stories from being an EMT. Or the funny things about being a lesbian mom raising little boys. On a more somber note someone might bring a guitar to the patio and we would sing.
These other clients and staff were hearing details, ugly details of my past and they still loved me. They were getting to know my alters almost as well as my own spouse. The work we all did was hard to say the very least. Walking in their doors with all of my therapy baggage at the forefront assured me just starting on trust again. But my family members who were also working on their individual issues were also there. After many years of Melody and I flying solo through this life of Dissociative Identity Disorder, I can only wish that the facility had been there much sooner. Finally I had found a place that would take the time to get to know someone beyond the adolescente.
There were times when the work we had done during the day time just managed to leave the mark on someone’s face that said, “I need a friend who understands and to be able to let the tears fall where they may without the fear or feeling of judgment.” Healing with your peers with no parameters to interfere was total freedom.
At HSR, I found my tribe. I found a whole host of “safe people” that I never knew existed. All of the amenities are just a bonus with the total experience. The food is prepared by one of the finest chefs on my list. The staff packs a lot of knowledge about both addiction and mental health disorders. Their passion for what they do can be seen many miles away…like Albuquerque. But what you’ll experience as a whole is beautiful. I didn’t leave there with a lot of answers. But I left there knowing and believing that all people aren’t dangerous and that was just what I needed. Because “those people” and the alumni are who I call….FAMILY.
These are just a few of the reasons that Healing Springs Ranch is where I found my forever home with a brand new, handpicked by the universe, group of likewise compassion and passion for life kind of family. I learned at “The Ranch” that even clowns need to make time for tears. And that not everyone is put on this earth to hurt me. As for my alters and I, well let’s just say that the process of “being loving” with our tone to each other is still moving forward just at a snail’s pace. And I did get to move closer to my HSR family. As difficult of a process as it’s been not moving here with Melody and the boys, I’m in the arms of members of that same family. I finally made it here about 2 months ago and I walked into those loving arms of people that I met hear. They understand without explanation but with humor when I say that I’m one of those people who are buy 1 get 15 free.
“You treat a disease, you win, you lose. You treat a person, I
guarantee you, you’ll win, no matter what the outcome.”
– Robin Williams
https://www.healingspringsranch.com/
#thispuzzledlife
“Psych units are the only place where you can cry, hallucinate, take a nap, and then laugh so hard you almost get written up, all before breakfast.”
-This Puzzled Life
Light the charcoal. Sprinkle the sage. Negative energy go away. Today’s story requires spiritual armor, emotional bubble wrap, and possibly a priest. It’s good to be able to laugh at yourself. And at the flaming dumpster fire situations life casually tosses your way like, “Here. Deal with this.”
Before we begin, let me just say that if life had a suggestion box, I would’ve stuffed it full years ago with notes like, “Hey, maybe stop throwing flaming emergencies at me before breakfast,” and “Please stop sending character‑building experiences. I am fully built.” But here we are.
One thing about me? I will laugh at absolutely anything. Trauma? Comedy. Chaos? Material. A mental breakdown? Existential dread? Put a wig on it and call it performance art. Give me ten minutes and a snack and I’ll turn it into a TED Talk with punchlines.
I’ve spent so much time in the mental health system that I should honestly get a loyalty punch card. Nine visits and the tenth one comes with a free juice box and a pair of grippy socks. And while none of it is funny in the moment. Because nothing is funny when you’re locked behind steel doors wearing hospital-issued foot mittens. Give it a little time and suddenly you’re laughing so hard your abs almost activate for the first time in recorded history.
So today, we’re taking all that chaos, all that “what in the actual hell?,” all that fluorescent‑lit trauma and we’re turning it into comedy. And after a string of emotionally heavy posts, the kind that require a nap, a snack, and maybe a brief dissociative intermission. It felt like time to lighten the mood. Because if I don’t laugh, I will simply lie face‑down on the floor until my cats gather around me like I’m a fallen soldier in a Civil War reenactment.
Spending most of my adult life in the mental health system has gifted me something priceless an absolutely unhinged collection of stories that were NOT funny at the time but are now comedy gold. Nothing is funny when you’re behind steel “safety” doors wearing grippy socks and questioning every decision you’ve ever made. But soon you’re laughing so hard your abs almost activate for the first time in human history.
A lot of my trauma centers around the idea of being trapped. Which makes psychiatric stabilization units a special kind of irony, because nothing says “calm down” like being locked behind metal doors with fluorescent lighting and a chair bolted to the floor.
The system is deeply flawed. So flawed that being “stabilized” often destabilizes me further. But I’ve been lucky enough to meet some incredible people along the way. I call them my fellow battle buddies and sometimes all you can do is laugh together like, “Wow. This is impressively bad.”
I’m also extremely talented at roasting myself at any given moment. It’s a gift. Or a trauma response. Possibly both. So grab your emotional support beverage, your sense of humor, and whatever coping skill hasn’t been recalled this week. Welcome to the blog. Welcome to the chaos. Welcome to the Psych Olympics.
If you’re considered “too spicy” for regular psych, congratulations you’ve been promoted to the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit, lovingly known as the PICU. This is where you’ll witness behaviors you didn’t know the human body could perform. You may also receive bonus labels. One such title is “poop slinger,” which is not a metaphor and absolutely not a personality trait you want on your résumé.
Through trial by fire, I’ve learned how to survive these units. I’ve also learned that confrontation is sometimes necessary. Not because it’s wise, but because it makes both staff and patients suddenly realize you are not, in fact, the easy target they hoped for.
Below Are My Field Notes From the Inside Some Of These Units
• If you find someone drinking out of the toilet bowl like a Labrador, this does not mean they are friendly. Approach with caution. This is not a Disney movie.
• When staff asks, “Do you want to take a trip on the van?” They are not talking about sightseeing. They are talking about Ativan.
• If you don’t drink fruit juice or cow nipple secretions, you are now considered “noncompliant” and also “mysteriously thirsty.”
• Showering without a curtain is a deeply humbling, prison-adjacent experience no one prepares you for.
• You will dry off with either a pillowcase or your own pants because paper towels are apparently dangerous weapons.
• The food is not food. It is a suggestion of food. A memory of food. Something a horse once dreamed about.
• When your safe food is hummus and it arrives looking like caulk from Lowe’s, served with graham crackers instead of saltines, the will to live briefly exits the chat.
• Poo-Pourri is contraband. Your only option is shampoo sprayed aggressively into the toilet while yelling, “WE HAVE A SHITUATION! AND WE NEED SHITRUS SPRAY” Staff will not laugh. Patients absolutely will.
• When cigarettes become your only coping skill, germs lose all meaning.
• “Therapeutic activities” include coloring pages and word searches, which somehow increase aggression instead of reducing it.
• Some psychiatrists have the energy of people who definitely own jars of eyeballs labeled “DO NOT ASK.”
• Saying threatening things while angry never ends well. This will, however, guarantee a forced nap courtesy of booty juice.
• Booty juice is a powerful chemical cocktail delivered directly to the ass cheek — could stop a zombie apocalypse.
• Stress hives will convince other patients you have mange.
• Yelling “DEAD MAN WALKING!” while entering the cafeteria is hilarious to patients and devastating to staff morale.
• Benzodiazepines may be prescribed solely because you are annoying.
• Being given laxatives while actively battling eating disorders is a choice. A deeply concerning one.
• Watching daily emergency codes becomes like watching Cops. You start rooting for chaos like it’s a sport.
• You may meet someone who looks suspiciously like a knockoff Mike Tyson.
• Serving sexual trauma survivors link sausage does not guarantee a faster healing pace.
• Panic attacks may be treated with what appears to be chest compressions.
• Every diagnosable mental disorder exists here.
Every single one. You think you’ve seen weird behavior? You have not even scratched the surface of humanity. I hope you laughed. Because everything in this piece? I lived it. It really is this bad. And somehow, we’re still here, laughing anyway.
If you made it this far, you have survived a guided tour through the psychiatric Hunger Games, narrated by someone who has absolutely been there, done that, and stolen the hospital socks.
Every fluorescent light. Every bolted chair. Every “therapeutic activity” that made me want to fight God. Every cafeteria meal that looked like it had been described to the chef but never actually prepared. And somehow we’re still here. Still laughing. Still healing. Still comparing trauma notes like, “Girl, did that really happen or did I hallucinate it?”
The system is flawed. The experiences are wild. The stories are unhinged. But the resilience? The humor? The ability to look back and say, “Wow, that was impressively terrible”? That’s ours. We earned that. So if you laughed, good. If you related, I’m hugging you in spirit. If you’re still in the thick of it, I’m cheering for you with the enthusiasm of a patient who just got approved for outdoor time. And if you ever find yourself in a stabilization unit again, just remember: You are not alone. You are not broken. And somewhere out there, I’m probably also wearing grippy socks and yelling “WE HAVE A SHITUATION” into a toilet. Thanks for reading! Keep smiling.
Affirmation: “I am thriving, even when life hands me trauma, fluorescent lighting, and a pillowcase to dry off with. I bend. I don’t break unless it’s hospital furniture, in which case that was already loose and not my fault.”
#ThisPuzzledLife
This Puzzled Life 