Well, I am officially back from my recent stint at the nuthouse. This time I was only there for eight days, but it was evocative of an eternity. This particular episode waxed hard and strong.  I could feel myself slipping into the miry clay of madness. Every second of every day I fought viciously to stop or in some respect “conceal” the oncoming mania. I prayed and cried out to God, but the endgame of it all remained that my mind succumbed to the illness.

Somewhere beneath the madness I was still in the present, trapped and frozen in horrific disbelief and terror. There were times when I would have lucid moments in the eye of the storm, but they remained far and few between. How could this have happened? After all, I had been in remission for at least three years. Within the nuthouse, I had the opportunity to observe the souls that bore the full manifestation of mental illness. They remained completely divorced from all their mental faculties.  A chilling shiver ran down my spine as I noticed they had no concept of reality. Is this my lot of days future?

I would rather be dead, than existing in madness, while decaying in a hospital. Experience in the hospitals has been an apt teacher, and has revealed that is no sort of life worth living. So much is my love for my children and husband, that I wish to chronicle this journey. This shall be done in the event that my mind goes, and “I” am never to return. In the meantime, be sure to take care of yourself and each other.  ~Peace. 

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