A rehearsal for "Games of Thrones"

This morning, I ventured outside to the patio. They call it a patio, but normally if I saw this corner in town, I'd be like, "Get me out of here, ASAP." But now, with its colorful windows, random chairs, the smell of cigarettes, and the feeling of safety from myself, it’s not too shabby.

And here comes Marcel, a guy who, if I met him on the street, I would’ve thought was homeless, with his greasy hair, skinny junkie-like figure, and skin problems (he calls them "holes in his skin"). Marcel finds me hiding in the back of the patio, and guess what? He doesn’t sound crazy or like a criminal. He said he got picked up in a shop where he stripped off his clothes—a shop with expensive clothes for poor people. He wanted to protest consumerism by removing all the labels. Marcel goes wherever I go. I am officially a Marcel magnet.

Marcel is quite a character. He’s always saying I shouldn’t give a hoot about what others think of me and that I should love myself (this is my favorite broken record that I want to fix with gold, just like in Kintsugi. "But how?”). “I’d teach you,” said Marcel, “but I don’t know how.”

Marcel is cool; he doesn’t like the seagulls flying around. “Maybe they’re here to spy on us,” he says.

Then there's Lisa Elizabeth Cornelia, who offered me her sticky, trembling hands and said (with her untrimmed beard hair), “Take my hand whenever you feel down.” Her intention is good, but her reasoning? Not so much. She asked if I was tired and then grabbed my head by the neck and pushed it onto the table. “Ho ho, Cornelia, you’re pushing too hard,” Marcel says.

Luckily, I’m not scared of much, and everyone here knows it. From my room, you hear all sorts of strange sounds. I think Indie lost her marbles and started trashing her room. There’s another guy who got so angry he head butted a pool table. Who knew you didn’t need sharp knives to hurt yourself around here?

It’s suddenly day five. I can’t remember when I came in, but I know I need to stay two to three more weeks because I’ve been put on Lithium and my body needs to get used to it.

By now I’ve gotten used to a Game of Thrones kind of setup. I’m just kidding, but you do see darkness in people’s eyes and no desire to live. Bandaged wrists, lost minds, plenty of reasons to be grateful for even in my situation. Suddenly you hear an alarm and all the guards start running. Then you see someone tied up to a bed.

See, I was minding my own business doing my arts and crafts outside the room and this is the reason why so far I barely come out to socialize. Psych wards are, in a way, very cozy but mostly brutally raw. I forgot why I came here. I think I’m okay.