I’m back from my vacation at sunny PrincetonHouse. Didn’t get much of a tan; and couldn’t even find any shirts that say “My dad went to the loony bin and all I got was this stinkin shirt” for the kids. Maybe next time….
For those of you that don’t know, I was in the hospital for 8 days (read previous blog if you care to); got home Thursday night. Went in because the thoughts were getting unimaginable; thoughts of hurting myself were prevalent and couldn’t control the speed at which the 100 thoughts in my head were competing for priority. At work, my entire team noticed that I was speaking in fragments and changing topics by the moment. At home, my wife saw that I was distant, distractible, irritable, and sad. Me, I felt like Alex from A Clockwork Orange with my eyes held open watching this grotesque version of reality…. It was time. Sunday night was horrendous as I previously mentioned, and I knew that it took me twenty years to get the courage to get myself to the hospital, and if I let that experience weigh me down, I’d never go back. So, I got my arse into treatment.