I can’t believe I’m waking up in a mental hospital, again, for the third time. I actually don’t have a problem with it. There’s a great view from all of the windows.
Sometimes I feel I should live up to the stereotype of the “angry borderline”. Maybe then, I would get the attention I need.
I feel I belong here.
I’m terrified of being sent home soon. The social worker was not a “nice, comforting one”. I think I explained myself okay but I feel like when I’m completely open, I sound even crazier or I sound like I’m “together”. I then panic and try to make my situation sound worse. I don’t lie but I over-dramatize. If she sends me home soon, I will be worse off. I just know it. I feel abandoned by the world, always. I haven’t spoken to Anne (therapist) and there’s no possibility of it until at least Monday. That feels an eternity away.