So, this place is really a psych ward, with a special spot quar-dened (sp) off for their 28 day program. So, I was at the bottom right? Well, this is what I had to deal with. I made the call, went to the safe place and,this is the shape I was in, how low my depression hit me. I bolted from my apt. Ya know,I could NOT see the Forrest for the trees. I was so mind fucked that I packed up this blue collapsible duffel that Dona Freehoff had given me when I left for St.Thomas in 87'. I put the stupidest shit in there. I just figured that I will eventually have no stuff,why not lose it now. Say goodbye. Th Band Aid theory. Just rip it off. A little pain and then none.
But that theory is wrong. I am a person who reflects...a lot. Hence the 50 plus journals I've kept.
I have to say, that compared to some people's stories(of their loses) mine was not minimal but it could not hold a candle to them. (Does anyone know where that phrase came from?)
So, back to Steve. He was a good guy. He talked a lot, he was young, and I don't know the validity of his stories, but he made me laugh. A lot. And God knows I needed it at this point, because everything was kicking in. The MESS of my life, the missed chances at success, the missed chances at LOVE. And now, everything I had ever held onto was probably (at this point my Landlord was calling nine times a day, and that was 10 days before)gone. (cont)