What you can expect:
The brutal truth of me, without all the sugary coating.
Here I am just me, UNCUT and UNEDITED.
I talk about my family, my divorce, and a lot about MAKEUP.
If you leave me a comment, I will love you forever. :)

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

August 3, 2010 - Conversation

The following text is a journal entry I made August 3, 2010.  

I don't have a clue how to even ask my roommate's name, let alone any other conversation. I guess I will maybe find out in group - if she ever goes. I suppose the point of this place is to focus on yourself, so who cares if we ever get to know each other? Seems like it could ease some of this thick silence, at least. There's tension I could bottle here.

I guess I need to focus on my goals here. I didn't risk my reputation, my friends' and family's respect, and my own pride for nothing. I must accomplish a few critical things here:

  1. First and foremost, I need to get my meds adjusted. They said I will see a doctor tomorrow, so that should be accomplished pretty quickly.
  2. A break. Breathe. Space. Quiet. A clearer head with space for stress.
  3. If therapy can help me, it will help me with self-image, obsessing over last year, and anger. The need to be perfect and please everyone should be addressed, and hopefully I can go home a little healthier and well-rounded than when I came here.
  4. As a sidenote - afterthought, if you will - this place appears to be great material for my writing. It's so different from anything I've ever seen or done. Apparently my writer's block has been based in inexperience. 
The nurse took my blood pressure and weight (and announced it, btw). When I came back to my room, my roommate sat up and started talking. She started mid-conversation.

"I can't really tell if my boyfriend likes me."

What does one say to that? I mumbled something like "oh" and she said, "Do you know how to tell if a boy likes you?' I do, but I'm not about to say that to her. She's clearly distressed, and she speaks kind of like a child, with wide, confused eyes and extreme insecurity.

She talked and talked, with only minor breaks, until she got up and went out of the room - stopping as abruptly as she started talking. Now she's talking again and someone in the hall is singing "Picture" by Sheryl Crow/Kid Rock. It's funny, I was just thinking about that song this morning. Was that really just this morning? Watching Avatar with Steve seems like so long ago already. Now she's singing "Arms of an Angel" by Sarah McLachlan. I love that song. I can already tell I'll be needing to leave here as soon as humanly possible. This place is lonely and sterile, and even if my house is chaotic and exhausting, at least my husband and kids are there - there's some happinesss. I take so much advantage of my family.

The woman across the room from me is completely alone - no family who wants to see her or anything. She says her boyfriend may or may not like her and they had a kid together but they put him up for adoption, so she doesn't even see her son. She asked me if she will ever get custody of her son. I said, "Who has him?" and she said, "The adoption agency." I don't think she even realizes he's been given to another family. I didn't know how to tell her that if she placed him for adoption, she wasn't getting him back, so I just said, "I don't know." Her mind clearly isn't functioning properly, and she seems so lonely inside that head of hers.

I definitely need a watch. There are no clocks here, which drives me up a wall. My roommate's name is Ashley*, and she keeps telling me she's "not a pervert". I don't have the first clue what to say to that, but she clearly doesn't believe it. (And I get to sleep next to this girl who has apparently been accused of being a pervert.)

If I were staying here, I would ask Steve to bring me a blanket, a watch, and many, many more notebooks. (I'm sure I won't run out of things to write about.) Thank God I never actually attempted suicide - I would be stuck here until they decided to send me home. I don't feel safe here and I definitely don't want to spend any more time trying to figure out how to talk to these people than I have to - and as it stands, I am in charge of when I go home.

(to be continued)

*Name changed for privacy purposes


  1. Aubrey.

    I don't know where to start. I need your email. You have a long message coming your way.

    Love, me

  2. You are a strong woman, Aubrey. I always have, still do, and always will admire you for your beauty and honesty. Thank you for being brave enough to share things that are so personal. I trust you so much, because I know I can depend on you to be honest. I wish you the best in everything. I hope you know there are a lot of women who are attempting to recover from similar issues as you, to varying degrees, and you help them. You help me, specifically.

    I don't know how to say this without sounding too light-hearted, but: I love, love your journal entries. Your writing voice is incredible. Your style is bursting off the computer screen. I've always enjoyed your writing, but these entries are beyond PAGE-TURNING.


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