Don ended up leaving.

He hated the drugs. They made him feel dead inside.

I’m not sure what that feels like, but I can’t imagine it’s nice.

I saw him with his gym bag heading out the door.

“You outta here, man?”

“Yeah, I can’t take the drugs.”

“What about life?”

He shrugged.

I’m gonna miss him. We almost had a conversation. In this place no one talks to anyone. The talkers, they talk to everyone. They just talk, not saying anything, to anyone, to the air really. They brag.

The guys are really tuff, they’ll talk to anyone who’ll listen. Mostly guys talk. It’s weird to see how mental illness works on a co-ed basis.

The women are quieter, more withdrawn, much more paranoid. None of them have loud mouths like some of the men do. They sit alone quietly, for the most part.

I’m not sure co-ed is the best set-up because I really see a difference between mentally ill women and men. Mostly we are separated. Our group sessions are sex based and any trustee activity is too, but there’s a few hours every evening when we’re all in the dayroom together and the women do not seem comfortable.

Unlike at Regional West, there is plethora of orderlies. They are everywhere, men and women, all, seemingly, quite fit. The few conflicts that have arisen since I’ve been here (all between men), they have been immediately squelched.

In a few hours, we’re having Salisbury steak.

Hells yeah.