But with conditions. I'm not allowed to comment on her blog because other people have told her not to talk to me again. Can she not make her own descisions? Is she that ashamed of me?
I'm not sure who she is anymore either. Some things she told me about herself. Some private things. I've looked back through her blog entries that i've missed and some of the stuff she has wrote goes against what she has told me. I don't think I know her anymore.
I think her problems were in her head. Mine are real. I feel slightly, I don't know. I still care about her. I still worry about her. At least I can see she is ok. Or fairly ok.
I know our friendship will not be the same for a while. I don't know if it ever will be.
I'm just continuing to waste away at the moment as is always.
Have managed to get an apointment at the sleep clinic which is something.
I ventured into the looney bin on Wednesday as well. That was fucking scary. It's a charity thing for people with mental healt problems that the occupational therapist put me forward to. I assumed I was just meeting someone for them to let me know what they do. It hadn't occured to me that most people using the service would be actual residents.
I know I could well end up in the loony bin myself. That's if I don't kill myself first. I kind of forget that there are other facets of mental health as opposed to just depression. Depressed people do appear to be fairly normal on the outside. You wouldn't neccessarily know the depressed person was depressed.
The people in the loony bin? Well you could see they weren't right. Not all of them, no but a lot. It was fucking scary.
I don't have a stigma against mental health hospitals or people who are admitted.
My friend, she spent some time in a mental hospital. I love her. Still lover her.
Stupid.
