I’m starting a partial hospitalization program beginning on Monday. My mother, bless her heart, is coming back from Taiwan so that I can have someone with me while Chris continues to go to work. I am, for two to three weeks, going to be living in my childhood home, because the hospital is much closer to my childhood home than to San Francisco. I will be on short-term disability again at work.
These are all things I was not sure about saying here. Why? I say so much else about my struggles and triumphs with bipolar disorder and its ilk that it seems strange — a partial hospitalization program would appear to be much less dramatic, and therefore less alienating, than the involuntary inpatient hospitalization I went through in December. Perhaps it’s the temporal proximity to my last experience with hospitals. Maybe it’s because I’m just tired, and wanted 2012 to be the year an epoch of sanity returned to me. I’ve experienced embarrassment and shame over the last week due to things I think, things I say, ways I behave. And will you believe, then, that this is also the month that my novel is to be sent out to publishers by my agent?
I have some very, very good friends, and one very, very good brother. I have an extraordinary husband, and many things to be grateful for. I am just so tired.