This clinic, as treatment institutions go, is one with a small patient population;
one which is encouraged to bond together and to form alliances, acquaintances, constructive friendships.
Then we are reminded what treatment entails.

Two different patients have had to be released to the local full-service hospital, to be sectioned, and then to be transferred
to a different treatment facility with locked wards and suicide watches,
which this little clinic decided, in the beginning of its history,
never to do, and has stuck by its decision.
One of the two had their crisis just before my own admission.
And the remaining patients (staff, as well) were still processing this development.
The other such patient had their crisis this past week.

Yet another event that I know better than to take personally.
But there was a time and place, in my own therapy and process,
when I, too, took everything personally.
I remember how raw I felt back then.
Some of my fellow patients are just that raw,
and they take it really personally when a fellow in-patient
suffers a setback, a serious one.
I know better now, but who am I to judge them,
when I was once there myself?