ward rounds on Tuesday morning. we talk about discharge maybe Friday afternoon in time for the weekend a cool change my bone density scan. they say I’ve done well and ask how I feel about going home. it’s a funny question in that I don’t know how I'm meant to answer. the truth might make them wonder if I’m ready. to tell the truth may buy more time here prolong my freedom from the rules and expectations of the ward. what was scary at the start now seems so much less than what brought me here. out there I stand on my own and fill the fridge myself. out there expectation reigns excuses do little. out there appearance matters the narrative matters we laugh and look at ourselves in the reflections of each other’s eyes and every uncovered mirror. in here I sleep and wake to eat and do the same. I sit and listen to the other people and their stories with no real need to think about my own. there is no real need to think about anything. I am here to be fixed. how do I feel about going home? the truth hides behind the paper on the mirrors in my room the parasite’s new face the scream I don’t want to be seen. is this some kind of Stockholm syndrome? how can I be ready for myself again?
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