To work on a psych ward...
I'll tell you what the fuck I do.
I hold my tongue as every slur you've ever heard (and more besides) is thrown at me in an attempt to break my calm.
I cajole anorexics into eating, only to have them report me for abuses that never happened as revenge.
I hold a kid's hand so he doesn't rip open his stitches, and get bit in the process.
I nearly dislocate joints pulling a 200+ lb kid away from the bully who's been egging him on.
I cancel plans to work extra shifts, and come home with new scars.
I wash blood (and worse) off hands, off arms, off legs. Mine and theirs.
I use coverup over bruises left by psychotics so that when I go on dates, no one thinks I'm abused.
I cut phone cords and blankets off of kids' necks as they try to strangle themselves, and keep a cool face when they scream at me for saving their lives.
I go home to an empty house, drink green tea, and stare at the book I've made of all the letters they've ever written to me.
I cry as I reread them, kids thanking me for my patience, for my willingness to listen, for treating them respect. I trace the words that form the phrase “you saved my life,” and I feel my heart begin to heal just a bit.
Sometimes, I think I make a difference.
Alltså jag började typ gråta av den sista delen. Tänk att stå ut med så mycket för att få den bekräftelsen att man räddat så många liv. Häftigt alltså
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