Ziggy. Both of them.

One of many things told to us on a regular basis on the journey to becoming a therapist is how we need to "not take things home with us." When I say things, I am not talking about golden trinkets and candy, I mean emotional shit. And when I say emotional shit, I mean client's emotional shit. When I heard this warning I was like, "yeah. ok. memo that. got it. i dont do that." And honestly, I didn't. For the most part I have been working with individuals with Schizophrenia and Schizoaffective Disorder. While there are occasional patient outbursts and arguments, the mood is light. My role is that of social connector. Putting the pieces of the Schizophrenic puzzle together. Relating one patient to another. Facilitating socialization. Even singing David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust album with some patients who were fans. I kind of had my groove on for awhile.

Then today hit. I was placed in a group that differed greatly from the group that I had really come to love. Without getting into detail, I will just say that the things I heard were heartbreaking. Traumatic. Patients pain, emotional and physical, was contagious. I unconsciously put it all in my purse and slipped through security. The second I left the facility, I felt awful. Came home, went to my own therapist and talked about it. Still didn't really go away. Came home and reveled in the fact that I could meticulously assemble boxes for a project and not have to talk to anyone for awhile. And now, as I go to bed, I still have this lingering storm cloud....like Ziggy. And a headache.