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deranged individuals, endured the abuse (she was sure of it) of hospital staff, and lived like a prisoner, with bland food (except for the Payday candy bars) and none of the freedoms she had known before. She hadn’t been allowed to have her only material possessions, a few record albums, with her. Oh how she had missed listening to Elvis Presley and Ricky Nelson and Pat Boone. One would think she might be euphoric or even downright giddy moving home, back to her family and things. But as Judith slowly and quietly acquainted herself with the newer home her family had moved into while she was in the hospital and cautiously observed her two little sisters and one little brother who had grown taller and much more clever over the last year, she wasn’t sure she fit in anymore. It looked like this healthy, growing family was moving forward, without any need for her presence. Judith felt like she was standing outside, utterly alone, looking in through a window to her home, realizing she was invisible to her family.
Maybe I do belong in a mental hospital.
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