Ah, The Cuckoo's Nest...Our Home Away From Home

Amanda, My Dear, I know just what you're going through. Be brave. It's survivable. The first part is better than what comes next. 

During the first part, everybody treats you like you're a very sensitive bomb about to explode, and they talk to you in simple monosyllables, as if your brain is out on loan to a foreign language school across town. The one you might have been attending before you got dragged in here.

Then, along comes a nurse who maybe moonlights as an ultimate fighter, with a needle borrowed from a large animal vet, filled with enough of the good stuff to stun a horse, or knock you out for about three days, and you get this in your cute but tender posterior. The one you keep telling everyone to kiss. And before you know it, you're waking up in bed, and it's next Tuesday! And you're wondering, "Where the hell did last week go? Where am I? Whose clothes are these? Where are my cigarettes? What time is it?" 

Some of those questions, I can't answer. But the "What time is it?" is one I can. It's time for you to try to relax, because you aren't going anywhere any time soon, unless you know somebody who knows The Man, and has a lot more clout than most of us need. So take a deep breath, repeat after me: "Aw, Shit! - Not Again!" and then let's go into the solarium for a smoke, OK? And, No, I don't have any of "the good stuff"....

Did I mention? Yesterday was World Mental Health Day. We need more of that.