Badass Activist | Eve Reiland

That’s what it feels like, a journey to home. | Circa Sept 24, 2013

Sep 24, 2013, 7:28 PM | Email From Me To Friend

Aye, logically I know it wasn’t my fault.

Guilt is a different monkey. I don’t feel it now, but I did so terribly. Yes, I came very close to not a few times this last year before i got my apartment. 

Nurse Ratchet showed up in the guise of a secretary. 🙂 She got demoted in this hospital in this era. And no, she hasn’t been back on this floor since. My doctors did mention they did hear about me with a wink and a smile. 

I am writing in my journal like crazy. Just so many little things. There is a woman here who was working in this ward as a psychiatrist. She drove home work (here) and was hit head on by a drunk driver. She suffered massive brain damage and forgot about her life, husband, three girls.

That was in the 60s. Now she is 74. She has hair as red as mine ever was, half her grill missing, but still so happy to be alive and determined to keep at it.

She was kicked out of her apartment with a 30-day notice after it was bought and told no more section 8. Been there for years and years. Was moved to a different type of home where they mixed every known type there and it was awful.

She fell into a bar in her shower and broke her spine — but didn’t know her spine was broke. Just knew she was in a lot of pain. Some how managed to get to her bed and it took three days for anyone to check on her.

When they told her what happened and that she had to be checked into the hospital, she asked if she could come here. They said yes. She says, she knows it’s the best hospital in the world.

Thankfully the social workers here have helped her obtain another apartment on section 8 and in two weeks she should be able to go home to it. It’s very nice, she says. Though they got rid of her persian cats and her other two cats. 

I’m doing well today. Just came up from the garden they have for us. It’s gorgeous. I don’t care I’m broke as fuck and save cans to take in for a few bucks for gas or food.

This is a better life already. I know the bills are paid, I know where every penny goes and everything, even buying shampoo, is a gift. I’m a fighter. I will make it through this and I will be having my kids back sooner rather than later.

Jared has been at the apartment since I left. He’s cooking dinner at my house. 

Yes, one day I am going to speak to many. So many in here can’t speak up for themselves. They are treated with absolute respect and kindness here. The compassion is real from the staff.

I’m estimated to head home at the end of this week and be in a day-program/half-way program when I get back. 

I spoke to the kids last night. They sound silly as ever. Craig asked if he was coming over on Friday — then asked if we were still having his birthday at my house. (of course)

Then he asked, but what if you’re sick? Sigh. Told him I knew how to work through it now and we’d have a party for sure. 

Wrote them both letters and had them mailed today. That should cheer them up and give them something to look forward too when they get them.

(wrote about future events we were doing, a good thing for them to focus on. A future whatever with me wherever.)

 In a group today, a man who’s been lost in his head for many years talked about his wake up this past week in the hospital– he called it “the journey home.”

That’s what it feels like, a journey to home.

I always felt wrong, not worthy and a billion and one other horrible things. That hate tape isn’t playing anymore. I never knew how loud it was. this will take a lifetime of managing, but it’s doable to have a better life. 

Today’s day nurse is also a poet. She told me, “Tea. Red. Hot. Reminds me of you.” LOL. M. said it wouldn’t take me but two days to make friends with everyone.

You know what, people just like to be heard. And I like to listen to their stories. And journal. Today is a good day. 

Love you.


By Eve Reiland

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