Last weekend, I burnt a shirt. Metaphorically and literally.
Back in March, I was in the ER due to some of my mental health issues. It was evident that I would be admitted to the psychiatric unit. This wasn’t a huge deal since I had been there a time or two. The ER registration nurse came into my room, a woman I would never forget.
She had a unique name but I cant remember it. It might have been Blessing but I would have to ask the other people who were there with me. She came into my room, gave me a big hug and told me, among other encouraging words, to burn a shirt. I asked her what she meant but she just kept saying it, “burn a shirt.”
I decided that maybe this was like the phrase burn bridges – let it go, don’t look back, leave and know that it will be your last time, etc. I’ve kept this memory and I often think about the ER nurse.
As you probably know, I was back in the hospital again. I spent a few days there and the memory of the ER nurse came back to me. I knew what I had to do.
I left the unit on Monday, sneaking out the scrub shirt that was mandatory to wear. They wouldn’t miss one or even see that one was gone. My plan: take it home and burn it.
That is what I did. Last weekend, I had a celebration of life and a dedication to a new start. This ceremony didn’t take long and it only consisted of me and my parents, but I think this was very beneficial. I am starting again on a clean slate. I am forgiving myself of the past and looking forward to the future. I am going to stay out of the hospital. I am going to recover.