"Joyce, now that would be unwise," I replied. "You will just have to go back in and start over in a few days."
"But I don't want to miss my Thanksgiving!" she said, pleadingly.
I have often said that having a mental illness means you never grew up like a normal person. You are forever stunted both emotionally and mentally. 61 year old Joyce reminded me of a small child wanting to come home from school, sick. I don't blame her. Psychiatric hospitals can be mind numbingly boring places with little to do except watch television.
"All these therapy groups are driving me crazy," she then said. "They even had us bowling with plastic bowling kits today! Isn't that just ridiculous?"
"Give it two more days," I replied, steadfastly. "You still sound really manic."
"Okay," she said, sadly. "Two more days then I am coming home."
I told her me and her sister would come and pick her up this weekend. I hung up and mused over the fact that mentally ill people are forever emotionally and socially stunted without intensive rehabilitation and help. We lost life skills years ago, or never learned them. Just interacting with a loved one or friend can be tedious and laborious as we bumble through these complicated social interactions. I am thirty five years old and still cower to my father as if I were fourteen all over again. I don't know how to change that without deep personal turmoil and strife. It all seems rather daunting and will be food for thought, today.