Pressure

Yesterday I spent the day with my parents. It was kind of exhausting, because in three days I was home two days. Even if we don’t talk about my illness all the time, I know that my parents, especially my mother, want me to come back home and consider psychiatry and therapies useless. My mother even said that openly, stating that the psychologist (whom she hasn’t even ever met) is doing a useless job. Just because looking at my drawings and speaking with me is not enough, in the eyes of my mother. My parents asked me if I still need the hospital as a structure, and I honestly answered yes. So they started fantasizing about putting me in a therapeutic community like the one I was in in Basel, but that would be the definitive horror for me. And they know it. It’s just a matter of pressure, a way to force me to come back home. If I were the one who decides, I would stay in The Castle till Christmas. My mother was angry because I didn’t even want to take a look at my flat. Well, I don’t love my flat. It’s a nice place, I could live well and be happy with it, but I see it as a museum, a place I have to keep clean and not really a place where I can live in. Let’s say that as I came back to hospital I was very, very relieved to be in a safe place again and I asked for some Truxal to calm down and stop thinking. I talked a little with Paolo, and this was pleasant. We both went to bed quite early, and I had a restless night. I woke up at midnight, then at 4 am, then at 6 am I decided to get up and get ready for the day. 

Paolo and I are very close friends now. We agreed that between us there is a sort of "professional secrecy", we call it our "friendship’s secrecy". Whatever I say to him and whatever he says to me, remains between us. I must say that he very much flatters me, making compliments about my physical appearance and my character. He considers me a person with a good heart and soul, very generous, and he often says to me that I am beautiful. I can remember that one year ago, in Basel, I invited out some friends for dinner. There was FredyBear, Athena, Joanna, and FredyBear’s wife. FredyBear said that my friends are "to fall in love with". He missed to say something about me. Am I to fall in love with too? Or not? This comment about my friends had tormented me for days, because I wanted to be a person "to fall in love with" too, like my friends. I already have quite a problem with this issue, because I feel that my friends are successful and beautiful, and I feel as an inferior. Well, two days ago Paolo looked at me and filled the gap left by FredyBear about what I am. Paolo said to me, "It must be easy to fall in love with you and you would be a perfect spouse". This very much flattered me and I was astonished because I am not accustomed to getting compliments from men. I don’t know exactly if Paolo is flirting, but every time he sits on my side of the balcony and a nurse or a doctor sees it, he says that he has been given the permission and that "there is nothing between Paola and me".  

Yesterday my parents and I had to face another problem. On July 14th my father turns 91 years old. He doesn’t wish to see Richard on that day. His son, Richard, never calls him. Never writes a letter. He is only capable of getting money and never even say a little "thank you" in return. Richard doesn’t call him with the excuse that if my mother answers the phone, she insults him. This could be true, but the last two times he called, that is, at Christmas and at Easter, she didn’t even speak to him. And he could also write a letter. So my parents begged me to call his ex wife and tell her she should stop Richard from doing nonsense like ringing at our house’s door on July 14th and expecting to be welcome. Unfortunately, when I rang her she was with Richard and their son Emil in Köln, because Emil just moved. He broke up with his boyfriend and he moved out in a flat on his own. I spoke to Richard’s ex wife Nina and explained her the situation, that is, that father was hurt because his son never contacts him and doesn’t wish any visit for his birthday. In my opinion we should have spoken to Richard directly, but my mother wanted to avoid confrontation. As usual. I briefly spoke to Emil too, then I took an excuse to go and promised that I would call him today at 6 pm. That’s it. 

I think I will enjoy the following three days in hospital and do whatever I want to – I know it sounds absurd. Who can be happy in a mental hospital? Well, me. Because home is much worse than here. My mother cruelly says to me that I’m on holiday, and I tell you, she doesn’t know how right she is. 

Much love to everyone, and take gentle care of yourselves.