I am not the same as the other women here, the frizzy haired mental bitches. They were all plucked from their intended lives by some ugly tragedy, at the point when their brains fried, poured smoke and gave up. They are all so confused, they don’t understand this place, the reasons for their breakdowns and suicide attempts.
“Why did my husband/father/son/bottle of gin leave me/beat me/die on me/run dry?” They cry into their weak squash, at your nauseating group meetings. The mediator nodding understandingly, thinking of her comfy family nest somewhere far from this nut house.
“This shouldn’t have happened to me, this kind of thing only happens to crazy people, other people. (Long pause) There has been a mistake. I don’t belong here! You fuckers are all insane!”
Then they sometimes lash out and have to get held down by the burly nurses, to be pricked full of sedatives and carted off to some comfortable bed. In these incidents I usually feel a round of applause is in order.