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Hi. My therapist said I should start keeping a journal to keep track of my thoughts. I guess this is as good of a time as any to do that.

I would be lying if I said I remembered pretty much anything about what led me out to this little farm in the middle of nowhere. One minute, I was lying in my bedroom trying to force myself to get out of bed, then next thing I knew, I was on a hospital bed loaded up with IVs with my sister yelling at me from a chair that my head hurt too much to turn my head and look at. Falling in and out of consciousness… at least, that I could tell. Hallucinating. And the shaking, oh ye gods the shaking. No one ever tells you that the withdrawal is going to be that bad, but it’s hell, and I could never wish it on anyone.

At some point I must have consented to her filling out this job application, but I don’t remember it. I probably would have said yes if I knew how deep my problem went in the first place, but I wish it hadn’t had to come to that to get me out here where I can get out of that tiny apartment and think about something other than being a mentally ill basket case waste of space, burdening the only other person that was willing to give me the time of day, and whether or not I’m going to visit my mother one day and find her dangling on the ceiling fan.

I think, somewhere in there, I became my mother. That depression has always been there in her, ever since I was a kid. Slowly, it set into me too. Maybe it’s genetic. I hope this prompted my sister to get her some help before it’s too late, like she got me help. I guess it’s a little hard to check in out here, but I can hope.

It was hard to open up at first. I still had tremors. I was embarrassed at myself for all of that. I hated myself, and the demons were waiting just around the corner. I got sorted into a kitschy little cabin with a guy who I had never seen before in my life who, at least at the start, was jumpier than a rabbit snorting cocaine. But maybe that was exactly what we needed, the both of us. He didn’t seem to think anything was real, and I was doubting it myself. This place is too weird to be real. But it is, and we both managed to realize it in the first week.

He took to the textile stuff pretty quick. Made friends with the bunnies and sheep they keep around here. Has a touch with fabric that reminds me a little bit of home, which is… nice. Me, though, I’m biding time until spring hits and I can start planting. I asked the property owner to order me some of those allergy pens and a special suit, because I noticed some beehives where he told me the proper orchards were, but a few bees haven’t stopped me before.

I’m not really sure where to go from here. Keep recovering, I guess, keep fighting those demons. But then what? It’s weird to me, but I don’t… really… want to go back to the city. Like at all, honestly. Being around the nature here has cleared the fog from my head and I feel like some facsimile of a person again. Plus, I have a friend now. Multiple friends, maybe. I think the mask lady likes me and I’m not sure how to feel about it. But part of me has this creeping feeling that my sister is going to want me back someday. I guess I’ll have to see how I feel when that day comes.