For as much complaining I did last entry, I don't have much to complain about this weekend. I was fairly productive, and in halfway decent spirits. Ava and I even made it to the park yesterday afternoon.



Another memory came back to me today from my psychosis. It's amazing to me how many things I completly forgot about. It wasn't until about a month ago that I remembered being socked in the jaw (mind you, probably only a week after having cranial surgery) at the Crisis Center by another mental patient.



But this memory that came back to me today isn't based in reality like that one was - it was completely hallucinated. So I guess I'm now starting to deal with my hallucinations as part of myself (like any dream).



Somehow the very real crush that I had on my surgeon became an imagined psychic partnership in my mind. My mind extrapolated that he had upgraded my brain and insterted some kind of "chip" into my mind that would explain the differences in my thought processes post-op. It became "clearer" and "clearer" to me that I had been a science experiment (since I hadn't read all the fine print in the paperwork I signed before my 6 surgeries). And honestly, it REALLY did become more apparent (even to those around me) that I needed to return "home" to the hospital to help me stabilize my new way of living, breathing, and thinking.



Every time I heard a plane overhead, I was certain it was someone from the hospital about ready to land to pick me up and take me "home." I knew I was already in communication with the doctors at the hospital, telepathically. And at the head of that team, of course, was my surgeon.



So here's where the memory starts getting troubling. I kept wanting the team at the medical center to pick me up and "save" me. I was certain that they'd fix my brain, make me whole again, and that I would be off to live my new life as some sort of specimin in the medical community.



But the planes never landed. Each time I was passed over, I would lessen my hopes for a new life (in case my psychic connection to the hospital was somehow preventing the doctors from wanting to save me).



That makes me pretty sad. I mean, obviously the most depressing part is that my mental state allowed me to really believe all this stuff, but I'm beyond caring about that. What makes me sad now is that the memory seems to point to low self-esteem, and my fear of never having a partnership/marriage again.



But... It really could be worse. It has been worse. Once, I almost died. And that wasn't even scary.