"I'm home.

"I've sat here for at least ten minutes wondering how I could follow up on that sentence. I suppose being in such close proximity to that degree of pain and anguish can do that to a person. There were patients there that had such terrible atrocities commited against them that the hairs on the back of my neck still burn white-hot when I remember.

"Imagine being eight years old and seeing your only guardian die in front of you. She's lying in bed, on life support, and you yourself see the doctor unplug the cord because no one can foot the bill. Five years later, you suffer from hallucinations, you see the face of your grandmother the exact same way as the day she had that heart attack. She's sitting next to you, she's getting some water, she's watching television. You see her everywhere. Now you live in a group home because your only known relative was last seen somewhere in the south side a few years ago, addicted to cocaine.

"I nearly broke today. I've encountered pain, misery, and true suffering, and I almost broke.

"Now I'm home, and everyone knows this diary. My parents have reviewed it with the hospital, my sisters finally have insights into the mental machinations of their brother, and the church now knows how I feel about their bloody religion. But do you know what? I don't fucking care. This diary will always be a log of my personal thoughts and feelings, no matter how profound or inane.

"And in this newfound emotional nudity, everyone shall see a different man."

That's the last of my writings while hospitalized. I'm keeping the pages that they were written on in a safe location.

I've been put on medication, Concerta, for my attention-deficit symptoms. Since coming back to school, even those that didn't know what happened have noticed a difference in my bearing.

And I feel different as well. It's so hard to explain, everything seems both sharper, and muddled at the same time. Some described me as being "glazed-over" or "spacey" for a time, though that seems to have diminished a bit now. And my appetite was completely destroyed for about the first ten days of medication, I lost nearly twenty pounds in about nine days. My appetite has returned somewhat, but I don't eat as much as I did before.

When I came home, I immediately made plans to go see Kill Bill with Jen (by the way, it was a rather fantastic movie) and they were carried through accordingly. This whole 'experience' has opened some avenues of discussion with her that weren't previously accessible, so that's good. And she even came to visit me while I was in the hospital on her birthday. She brought me books, figuring I needed some food for thought. Yeah, she's something all right.

I have to end this entry right now, I'm looking to see what psychiatrists and therapists are covered by our insurance plan.

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