The function of the psych hospital is not to cure the patient, but to stabilize him so that he's no longer a danger to himself or others. The real heavy lifting of the process comes from therapy after the hospital stay.
My sister seems unaware of this. About an hour ago I was berated by her for a variety of things, including the fact that she took two weeks off from work to come up here and support me, and I had a day to recuperate from being in the hospital, and now it's time for me to start acting like a responsible adult and not leaving my shoes in the family room and-and-and, because she had to clean the house when she got here after driving for eighteen hours.
Yeah, because I didn't already feel guilty enough over all this; ladle on more. That's the way to make everything perfect. I ended up in the nuthatch due to stress and guilt and stress and stress, and more of that is exactly what I need!
...blew up, cried for half an hour, then called the church about the grief support group; ended up going in and talking first to the pastor's secretary and then the pastor himself about my situation. (Still leaking, of course.)
What I left there with was the number for a local social worker who does therapy at a perfectly reasonable rate (not the hideous $300 per session my regular health care provider wants, plus another $300 session per month with a psychiatrist for medication, because of course the therapist can't prescribe medication...). I'm seeing her tomorrow morning.
That is actually what I need: someone to talk to, someone to help me get past all the crap that landed me in the psych ward to begin with.
As for my sister, it always has to be her way or the highway, and you don't dare utter so much as a dissenting syllable lest you call down the fires of hell upon yourself. Disagreements rapidly spiral out of control because she automatically raises her voice when someone disagrees with her, and it turns into a fight. You must be 100% civil with her; she can say whatever she likes, however she likes.
...but I forgive her for this, because I know she doesn't understand what's going on. There's no way I can explain it; she won't listen to me, because after all I'm the youngest and what do I know? I've been here before and I know exactly how that conversation would go, and how quickly.
Look: you see someone get out of the hospital, he's in good spirits--you think he's all better, right? WTF, the trained professionals at Tinley got angry at the antics of JS even though they know he's a paranoid schizophrenic who consistently refuses medication. A lot of his wrong actions are the result of his illness, yet they still expect him to act like a normal, healthy person, and get angry when he doesn't.
I can hardly expect my sister to do better when her PhD is in physiology. She's confused stability for wellness, and that's why she's so angry about things.
But I'm not well. I am better--by a damn sight!--than I was on May 15th (even after the events of this afternoon) but I am not well, not yet. My emotional stability is fragile.
* * *
Well, in any case, somewhere I found this addictive little game, Desktop Dungeons. It's a hoot to play, and it's just the freeware version. They're going to do a pay version which will have more content.
It's fun; and why am I moping about here when I could be playing it?