I am at the day clinic now and I don’t care who knows about that. Why should I feel ashamed because I have suffered from severe depression? Is anybody wondering why someone is in the hospital when that person has cancer or liver failure or any such matter?
Everyday I get up in the dark and take the bus to the city limits where the clinic is situated. I’ve come to know people. A beauty with sparkling eyes who has gathered all her strength to live the way she pleases, not the way that pleases her family. A lovely companion who is so incredibly creative, she is practically sweating creativity out of every pore. A girl who rebels about the necessity of growing up while mourning for a broken family and looking for her own path. A young man who happens to be too smart for his own good.
Two nurses who give about everything to listen to us, help us along, offer practical advice. I am so grateful. A doctor, a very insecure ergo therapist, a psychologist, who will not allow us to look the other way when it comes to our problems.
This is where I am. And all this caring, all this talking has made me “human” again. It showed me a glimpse of friendship, it reminded me of my slightly provocative nature, sparkling when I call someone on their shit, reminded me of how you move around other people, what language is for and so much more.
And I am scared stiff about leaving this place. Only half way through, my psyche shouts, build up that damn wall again, you idiot! You get a morsel of life and they have you aching for it, hungry for it, then they’ll take it away again and the downfall and the crush against the hard ground and the loneliness and the speechlessness will hurt all the more.
Is anybody out there who had similar experiences?
Is there anybody out there who’d like to join me in creating a borderline self-help group in Vienna?
Is there anybody out there?