My last hospitalization ended March 20, 2006. I plan to stay out of the hospital for good.
When I left the hospital, the doctors and social workers told me that I would not make it. They told me that I needed to be in a mental health day program. They told me that I should join a knitting club for “structure.” They told me that I would probably end up back in the hospital right away if I did not heed their instructions.
I paid no attention to them. I have succeeded in staying out of the hospital, contrary to their expectations.
Now, my therapist tells me that if my weight continues to drop, I am facing the possibility of another hospitalization.
I have no intentions of ever ending up in one of those places again. Nor do I plan to attend another day treatment program–ever.
If I were to be hospitalized, I would truly feel embarrassed. It would be as if my degree were erased.
But no one will take my degree away from me–not those people at the hospital, not my therapist or psychiatrist, not my primary care physician, nobody!
I picture those doctors and social workers, one social worker in particular, D., shaking her head, her hands on her hips, her brow furrowed, cackling at me, “Told you so.”
I picture myself calling my mother on the phone from the hospital, her condescending voice, “Aw, so graduating was too much for you, eh?”
I imagine my own voice, inside my head, upon seeing a can of Ensure, served to me at the hospital because I have refused yet another meal, saying, “Calories! Calories!”
I imagine all this, and then I see myself less than a month from now, on an airplane, knitting Puzzle’s sweater, full of anticipation. I see myself on the bus the next day, excited to be entering the beautiful town of Port Townsend, Washington. That afternoon and evening, I’ll be seeing all my classmates again, and the faculty, catching up on how everyone’s semester went, exchanging hugs, and excitement, and tears. And then the reading and graduation. What a joyous occasion. No one can take that away from me. No one.