Status: It's a work in progress. Bear with me. It might be a slow process.
The Private Journal of Celeste Hawking: Do Not Open.
The (not so) Great Escape
August 17th, 2013
I was finally released from the hospital. The mental ward to be exact. I wasn't all better, but 6 months of positive vibes and medication, I was doing significantly better. I could sleep for more than an hour at a time, and I was eating more, gaining weight, and my scars had healed.
I walked out of the lobby of the hospital, freeing my wrist of the bracelet I had worn for the last 6 months, and into the fresh Portland air. My hair hadn't grown in fully, and the short stubbly patches looked quite awkward against my usually long, thick, black, curly hair, so the first thing I did was walk into the nearest hairdresser and get a haircut. Or, rather, a few hairs cut. Like, all of them. I walked out, 200 dollars later, with a short pixie cut, and bright red hair. I felt new.
That was the first day of my life.
I was finally released from the hospital. The mental ward to be exact. I wasn't all better, but 6 months of positive vibes and medication, I was doing significantly better. I could sleep for more than an hour at a time, and I was eating more, gaining weight, and my scars had healed.
I walked out of the lobby of the hospital, freeing my wrist of the bracelet I had worn for the last 6 months, and into the fresh Portland air. My hair hadn't grown in fully, and the short stubbly patches looked quite awkward against my usually long, thick, black, curly hair, so the first thing I did was walk into the nearest hairdresser and get a haircut. Or, rather, a few hairs cut. Like, all of them. I walked out, 200 dollars later, with a short pixie cut, and bright red hair. I felt new.
That was the first day of my life.