my room is on the west side of the shepardson building, which means that it overlooks the space between it and the baird building. the thing that stands out about my room is that it is the only double room on shep 6, and it has a round window.
you can get a pretty good look at it from the walkway from baird; roughly halfway down the wing there's that one circular window and its accompanying ornamental brickwork. it's a nice architectural detail that probably goes unnoticed most of the time.
the west side of shep 3 looks out onto a rooftop and there's lots of bricks and ductwork and pigeon netting, which the pigeons absolutely love. the east side of shep 3 doesn't look out at all; there are no windows but instead they've poured the engineering building into that space.
shep 6 is a lot more open, if you discount the heavily locked double doors. it's hard to discount the doors if you're coming or going, because the elevator deposits you in that teeny little lobby and they have to hit the green button from the nurses' station to open that set of doors to let you into what can only be described as the lock chamber; the second set of doors can only be opened once the first set lock behind you.
but it's brighter up here. more light gets in the windows on the west side of the building, and there ARE windows on the east side. and there's the screen porch.
i love the screen porch because of the access to fresh air anytime i want to breathe it, but also because of its obstructed view. it's a view i love to hate. they need the screening to be secure,so if you're looking out from the activity rooms (which are large and have big windows), you see the mountains pretty clearly, but the closer you get to the screening, the harder it is to see out. it's like a solid sheet of metal with lots and lots of little circular holes punched in it and if you're far enough away or if you keep moving, you almost don't see it but once you settle close by it suddenly leaps into your focus.
if you sit in the chairs on the porch you have to not mind the wall suddenly appearing.
it's a lot easier to talk about the windows and walls than it is to talk about how i'm doing because at the moment i'm not doing very well.
today we had a meeting, my parents and my best friends and my pastor along with the social worker and the doctor. the idea was to put everyone on the same page with regard to supporting my recovery. it was quite a powerful thing, having them all show up to support me but on the flip side i feel all worn out. i slept all afternoon and missed dinner.
i think they've just given me a roommate, which is enough to make me want to kill myself, right there. i feel like a trapped rat; i feel like i have to run. of course in group they'd label it a fine set of cognitive distortions, but from where i'm sitting death seems like a very fine emergency exit.
and i have a very deep ambivalence: maybe i don't want to recover. maybe i just want OUT.
i don't know. it's hard to know. it's hard to think about it clearly, it's hard to think about it at all in the face of all the love and support i'm given.
2 comments:
Pam,
Still praying for you.
Verses that comfort me when I'm not able to think clearly:
"Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God's Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don't know how or what to pray, it doesn't matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves,...and keeps us present before God."
Romans 8:25-27, The Message
With people, if I'm not thinking clearly I often feel like I owe it to them to pull myself together before trying to communicate or even be with them. If I can't think clearly, then I often feel like I am letting them down or like I owe clarity to them whether I can achieve it or not. (I realize these reactions are rife with my own issues, but maybe you can relate anyway.) No such expectations with God, no limitations in his ability to receive clearly and respond lovingly to my communications, even when they are wordless screams.
May he bless you right where you are, in ways you didn't see coming. May he grant you rock-solid certainty that your candle always burns bright before him. May he fill you with strength to take the next breath, and faith to trust him to take care of everything else.
deanne, my friends call me pamela, so you should too.
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