I’ve always known I’m crazy. What’s new is that now I’m certified crazy. If you’re concerned that the condition might be contagious, I advise that you keep clear of this place.
I was wondering the whole summer how long one can last a fourteen-or-so-hour workday every day before ending up in the mental asylum, and in autumn, I got the answer: I managed about three months. Then I indeed ended up in a mental asylum.
Should you be curious about the technicalities, one day I decided I just couldn’t, so I turned myself in at the local hospital in the middle of the night, was admitted as an emergency case and put away on the locked floor B in the psychiatric ward. After a week, I graduated to the open floor C and took a six-week survival course. I was let go a week ago, with depression, anxiety and four kinds of meds.
Because my depression experience might sound depressing, for comic relief, here’s a list of fun facts I found out about the madhouse while in there:
- If you weren’t suicidal before, hospital food and their so-called white coffee will make you so.
- The local madhouse indiscriminately prescribes cryotherapy by not heating properly.
- If you didn’t smoke before, you’ll start smoking. If you did smoke before, you’ll start chain-smoking. Nurses will make you company because they smoke the most.
- Psychiatric patients do idiotic things not because they’re mental but because it’s therapy. It involves arts and crafts, breathing exercises, role playing, deliberate daydreaming, diary writing and other crap.
As I broke down from overwork, I was prescribed, among other things, returning to my hobbies. Which is why I’m finally getting down to blogging, albeit in a mad manner. I can afford that though, since I’m certified mad.