April is all but over and I can’t help but to reflect on how this year has progressed.

January –
I was cold, sick, and weak.

February –
This month was dominated by a week’s stay at Saint Francis and the brutal realization of my weakness. My mental and physical status was enough for a hospitalization. The only time (I think) I stayed that long was after the spinal fusion back in ’93. I’m not 100% sure how long that stay was.

This one may have been longer.

March –
Two weeks in the IU Methodist psyche ward can provide some juicy writing material, should I ever actually write something.

I had the honor… and the eye-opening experience of meeting people from situations that I wouldn’t normally come into contact with. The woman who plucked out her own eye because of voices readily comes to mind. When passing someone on a corner with a cardboard sign, I try to see if it’s someone from the ward. Not that I’d know what to do if it was, but I’d want to do something.

I also learned the value of a good shower – as in my two weeks, I only had three. Bowel movements are also exceedingly important and, if needed, I can perform a self-suppository. Although I’d rather never be in that situation again.

April –
In two weeks, I’m finishing my eight-week Charsis Center ordeal. Six more sessions – two more weeks – to go. Well, providing that they don’t extend my suffering for three more weeks.

I guess that’s not fair. They’re supposed to be helping and, in a roundabout way, I guess they are. But I find more support and value from my fellow inmates than from the ‘professional’ doctors and psychiatrists.

I think I’ve seen the counselor and nutritionist once each. Given that this is supposed to be the premier outpatient assistance for eating disorders, I would have expected more attention or, at the very least, to be placed under a magnifying glass. … Not that I’d follow the meal plan anyway. I suppose it’s helpful. The less interaction with the professionals, the less conflict.

Well, I guess I don’t know what I was expecting. I’m sure it’s different for their primary audience – adolescents. Surprisingly, I strongly dislike art class. I’m not sure what makes it different than the psyche ward, but at the Center, it’s pure BS.

…. 2024 has been unforgettable so far.

Physically… mentally… bodily… Maybe even spiritually.

But I’m so thankful for my support… family.. Jason.. the random comrades in arms that I’ll never see again.

I don’t know if there’s a reason but I’d like to think that there is.

Still, hoping that I’ll never travel this path again.