Ok, so, New Years. Tensions rising like crazy, people breaking things and such. I got called a bitch first thing in the morning, so that was lovely. What the fuck ever. I'm busying myself with applications. Sadly I have no skills whatsoever except photography, at least somewhat, so I'm applying to cheesy portrait studios! I've done it before and I can do it again! Glamour Shots here I come! I actually secretly love it. I love taking pictures of boys with their fists placed thoughtfully under their chins! I'm not being sarcastic, it's a real thrill.
Not a thrill: waiting around in a mall for two friggin babies who got LOST. (YOU ARE GROWN-UPS, people!). Trying to explain to someone with Asperger's why no one is going to invest in his idea of taking down a state park in New Jersey so he can build a replica of Coney Island, getting my eyebrows plucked by an ex-con. If it wasn't so awful, this place would be pretty funny. And my eyebrows look sexcellent. But now she is plucking the eyebrows of all the boys! Leave them brows alone! People are allowed to have unibrows, there is no shame in a unibrow! Another thing! Two girls told me today that they are grossed out by pubic hair ON MEN! First of all, whaaaat? Second of all, stubble. Third of all, the atrocious vanity of it all! And finally, if you don't appreciate a happy trail you are made of stone. Is this a common notion among the uninteresting? It's not OK for ANYONE to have ANY body hair? Everyone is supposed to look like a giant naked alien baby? I am so weirded out by this. It's like all regular people have become pedophiles now.
Anyway, good riddance to bad rubbish. So glad this year is over. You know it was supposed to be the best year of my life? You know, getting married, getting a house. I really thought it would be the most perfect year, when I finally started my real life. Now here I am, farther away from a real life than I've ever ever been before. BUT! Let's say it's going to get better. Even if it isn't, let's say it is. That this program will fix my brain. That I'll come back to California, get back my man, love and be loved by all my friends, finally get my cat to stop biting, open my own studio, etc. Let's just say 2011 will be the year it happens. Because if I don't say that, this is just too hard.

So, today was the day I lost it. I knew it was coming, and come it did, exactly six weeks in. For the second week in a row, my therapist failed to get in touch with the TLLC porgram, which means I am still stuck only going for three hours a week, rather than being there ALL day, EVERY day, which is what I really need. I am at a fucking TREATMENT center. All I am asking for is TREATMENT. I know what I need to be doing, I need to be learning how to take care of myself. I don't need to be sitting in the fucking villa, or going on little field trips to the bookstore. I KNOW HOW TO GO TO THE FUCKING BOOK STORE! There are so many immature idiots who are getting in trouble at every turn who are getting to level up faster than me, for no reason other than their therapists are actually paying attention to their needs.
When I found out things still hadn't been taken care of, I burst into tears. I am so angry. I am so so so so angry. My parents won't help me because they don't trust me about anything. Whatever my therapist says is always right. Even if I say otherwise, other therapists say otherwise, anyone. It doesn't matter that many therapists have led them astray over and over again. They are inclined to believe ANYONE over me.
I raged. I didn't exactly yell but I cried and carried on quite a bit. I haven't done that since I've been here but I did today. And I let the lady in charge know that I need a new therapist. If she's not going to help me get well, I will find someone who will.
I felt a little better after going to the YMCA. (Eew, I'm becoming one of those people who talk about the emotional benefits of exercise!)

I don't think my sleeping meds are working anymore. I'm not sleeping. You'd think a trazadone as big as a fucking horse pill would get me to sleep, but no. I lie in bed and think about California.
Just think about Northern California for a minute. Was there ever a place so magical? I mean, we have the biggest tree in the world. The biggest tree in the world! That is god damn amazing. What does Florida have? The biggest water park in the world, maybe? What the fuck ever.
Yesterday I asked a violent felon to straighten my hair. These things happen. One day you have a husband and a cat and beautiful friends all around you, the next day a girl fresh out of prison is wielding something dangerous right next to your ears.
Anyway, my hair looks really great straightened. The balminess of Florida combined with my Halloween bleach job has really screwed up my curls and I was looking a little berserk. But the fact that it looks good straightened is also a problem because now I'm actually going to have to DO it all the time. And every time someone says "Oh, you're hair looks so good straightened!" I feel like they're saying "You're hair usually looks like shit, you fat bitch." And, really, isn't hair straightening something that terribly NORMAL girls do? And why is a very minor hair procedure causing me so much angst, anyway?
I know I keep reiterating this, but seriously, I am SO DONE with these people. We went to Target (again, again, again) and someone got busted shoplifting? I mean, come on. We're in a treatment facility! Why can't you just try to act normal for one second?! You have to believe me, I am feeling very violent. I want to bite and punch and kick (mostly bite). I'm sad to say that I have felt violent in this way before and actually lost it and hurt people, so at least I'm not actually DOING anything. But I've never wanted to lash out so bad, especially not over an extended period of time. Shut up you absolutely selfish morons! I swear to God, if nothing else, I am going to be a hell of a lot less self-absorbed when I get out of this stupid place.
This morning Jon called again at an ungodly hour. The talk was extremely intense and included bits about dancing to dub-step and the movie "Fantastic Mr. Fox", as they relate to our relationship. I was crying like hell, but more about not wanting to be here and being so utterly fed up and knowing it isn't working and wanting to be with the people I love than what was going on in the conversation. Although it did make me feel so, so much regret. How could I have let things get to this point? How could I have done this to myself, and my husband? I'm always confused when people say they have no regrets. How can that be? I regret, like, more than half of my whole life, I swear.
Despite all that, talking to Jon actually did make me feel hopeful. I know I've said this before, only to be sent into pits of despair after the next conversation (not necessarily Jon's fault!). But that doesn't matter. I need to be in the present. So for now, it's OK.
I worked out for the first time in like a week. I started a new painting in art therapy. I went to two groups and participated and got at least minor elucidation out of them, even if a lot of my energy was spent keeping myself from screaming at people to shut up. Seriously though, people. Shut up.

The big news of the day is that the idiot skater guy had sex with the resident sex addict, which everyone knows we AREN'T SUPPOSED TO DO! The sex addict is long gone now. Don't think she'll be back. The skater guy should get his ass handed to him but it isn't going to happen, because there is no justice in this place. None. I feel really bad for that girl.
I woke up sooo late because I have to take benadryl every six hours and as you can imagine that is really screwing with my sleep cycle.
When I finally got to the villa I worked on this rad stationery that my mom gave me where you embroider the fronts of the cards. It is really cool and pretty! And it takes up time, which is an absolute necessity around here! I love embroidery!
In the afternoon we went to this really amazing independent movie theatre. It had plush chairs around tables and they served real food! We watched a movie with Kirsten Dunst and Ryan Gosling called "All Things Good" which was only OK! A fellow patient described it as "Psycho combined with a Lifetime movie, except with good actors", which is pretty accurate. I'll watch Ryan Gosling in anything, I don't care what kind of dreck it is. Wait, I forgot about "The Notebook". That actually is probably too bad to be overcome by my love for Ryan Gosling.
Wrote some letters, peed 1,000 times, now I'm about ready for bed. So glad Anti-Christmas is over, so ready to move on.

Anti-Christmas Takeoverrrr!

Oh! I forgot to mention I got another killer package from Alexa! Collages, magazine inserts, a dress! Very exciting. What's up with all you lame-os who I've written and you haven't written me back? Boo.
On Anti-Christmas Eve, we went to this thing called "Light Up UCF" (that's University of Central Florida). They kept telling us it would be this cool carnival or something. But when we got there, it was immediately apparent that we had been duped. It was patently and purely for kidz only. There was a small ferris wheel, a carousel, a tiny ice slide, cookie decorating, and a choo-choo train. Oh, and of course ice skating, an activity I refuse to participate in on account of I would IMMEDIATELY bodily injure myself. So I was just sitting out in the hot freaking sun. And then I noticed the hives.
Yes, Virginia, there IS an Anti-Claus. He comes and fills your stocking with allergic reactions, and everyone hates him!
So most of the rest of the day was spent dealing with the hives. They wouldn't take me to the hospital until 8 o'clock. Of course, the person driving me had to first stop and get cigarettes. Of fucking course.
At the emergency room, I heard a woman tell her six-year-old to shut the fuck up!
The doctors gave me benadryl and steroids, with instructions to take more. Blah blah blah, whatever. I am itchy.
And today, finally, Anti-Christmas. It started in typical Anti-Christmas fashion, being woken up to pee. Like ten times. So much pee. It's the steroids. Of course it's like 70 degrees outside. Then my mom called and said for me to get on skype to open presents. I had to get a ride over to my house. And then when I got there, first of all, they couldn't figure out how to skype. And then they refused to find the presents I bought and sent them out from under the tree. They just wanted me to sit there and open presents while they watched and... fuck that? That is depressing. No one can make a tiny little fucking adjustment for me, stuck here in utter hell all by myself? No no no.
I so completely don't need to be here. We do nothing all damn day. I am getting totally nothing out of this, no matter how much I participate, no matter how hard I try. Get me the fucking hell out of here, PLEASE.
Everyone else (btw, when I say "everyone else" that includes like 4 people. Pretty much everyone gets to be with their family but me) went to a highly retarded movie ("Little Fockers". THIS IS WHAT I HAVE TO DEAL WITH, PEOPLE!). So I went back to my house and actually did manage to skype with my family. We opened up some presents. The thing I sent my mom didn't show up yet, which seriously pissed me off. I got some nice things, like new Minnetonkas is a pretty blue-gray color, an ipod shuffle, a pillowcase embroidered by my sister, cool stationery, and money to get myself a bike here. I asked my mom to get me a stuffed animal (it is very weird not to have anyone or anything to hug or touch) and for some reason she sent me some old ones of my sisters? She also managed to get me the hugest underpants of all time. Whoa, I may be fat, but I'm not THAT fat. But all together, it wasn't bad, considering that this IS Anti-Christmas and all.

I have basically nothing to report about the last two days. My second favorite schizophrenic came back, so that's good. I went to the ceramics place, so that's good. But I'm sick, I'm tired, I'm lonely. Had a few horrible phone calls. This really, really doesn't feel like Christmas. This is anti-Christmas. The holiday where it isn't cold, you don't decorate, and you aren't around people you love. Anti-Christmas.

Starting Yesterday:
We went to see this thing called "Ice!" at a resort called "Gaylord Palms" (hee). Basically it's this huge walk-through ice sculpture with slides and stuff. Only it's much less impressive than it sounds. The ice was made out of this compressed shit and dyed colors, it was kind of bogus. There was one part, a nativity scene, which was an actual ice sculpture, and that was totally rad. Icy baby Jesus, y'all! The other cool thing is that the place was kept at 9 degrees. The cold was quite a novelty. They even gave you parkas when you came in.
Back at the villa, we had a community meeting, because all the rules have kind of totally deteriorated and everyone is fucking insanely rude and everything is totally shitty. The meeting was really tense and brought out the worst in everybody. Some people couldn't stop talking and talking and talking (including the Know-It-All, who REALLY just drives me nuts. Dude! You are a patient here! You do not know the definitive answer to all my life's problems!). A lot of people stormed off. No taking responsibility whatsoever.
After that total fucking debacle, I went with my therapist to run some errands, including sending out some Christmas presents. So, that was a thing.
After dinner a patient ran away and the cops were called and everything. Third time the cops arrived since I've been here. It was monstrously stressful. He did come back, but I don't like seeing the cops, period. They terrify me.
Fast forward to today, and another patient took off. This time it was one I actually cared about, my second favorite schizophrenic. No one will tell me what exactly happened, but they say he's safe, so he's probably been found and sent to a real psychiatric hospital. In other words, still worried about him.
There was a really unhelpful Grief and Loss Group (I'm grieving over my marriage, my grandmother, my freedom, etc). Basically we just say how crappy we're feeling and how much we miss things, and... that's it. There is almost no therapy here, maybe 45 minutes a week of one-on-one time with your therapist, that's it. Everything is just based on participation. I really don't know if this is the best model but whatever. In today's therapy session I cried for the first time. I'm having a hard time. This is hard.
I did get to go on this cool outing with TLLC. We went on a boat tour through the lakes of this really ritzy neighborhood called Winter Park. The boat driver was this funny old man who was full of information and jokes. I love being on boats, and it is always sooo nice to get the hell away from the villa.