The last bus driver

I hope you like me, he wrote.

If you are like this in real life then that won't be a problem. Just please, don't talk so much.

He can talk quite a bit and for hours and this flow of words is exhausting. It takes energy to listen. He says I'm the only one who hears what he says, even the smallest detail and says I am cute. It's the first time someone says I am cute.

I have to mentally prepare for my speech therapy appointment too, said an acquaintance, I need time for that.

I didn't know adults still go to a speech therapist. I would not if it was me.
I'm only familiar with speech therapists from primary school and with people who have had a stroke. I also didn't know that a speech therapist works in nursing homes. Not even that that therapist's name is the same as the one from primary school. I wonder if it has always been that way.
Is speech therapy a prosperous profession and only for those who have money? Many people stutter and lisp, not to mention all those other speech impediments. Perhaps the average adult speech therapist is more concerned with swallowing issues.

I always need to prepare myself mentally too.
This is common for introverts, the shy, and those with panic attacks also suffer from it.
Panic attacks, neither other fears, lack of recognition, and not being heard or liked aren't easy to live with or ignore.

When it comes to people, I don't like most of them.
That feeling is probably mutual. Liking what you don't know is a survival mechanism. It is not easy to feel safe in a society that seems threatening and frightens you.

Try to cheer yourself up if you are feeling anxious or deeply depressed.
Mentally preparing and having insight into yourself is not so bad after all.

Writing your own biography with an emphasis on feelings is also a good start. How much negative (hurt) will there be if the first 10 pages are read again? Most people do not have an exclusively happy life. We cry, keep up appearances, and swallow the pain, anger humiliation while we live in a world full of rules where we are forced to be attentive till eternity. We try until the stretch is gone and something deep inside us breaks. The question is whether what is broken can ever be fixed.
I personally don't think so. All that remains is to learn to live with the cruelty of the past and continue living in the present.

The 6th floor is full of broken souls looking for peace.
Souls broken in different ways. Obsessions, fears, hoarding, depression, aggression, and even murder and manslaughter.
It is not easy to accept yourself when you have learned that self-esteem is not allowed.

We, the group, silently sit around Brigit's bed. We observe and struggle with our thoughts and demons. Weird thoughts and memories pop up like the one of the last bus driver with his fake smile but still managed to warm a person's heart saying: I missed you.
B. has had a hard time in recent weeks, but that applies to everyone who knows her 'let's be kind to each other' is easier said than done.

"I baked cookies," Tom beams as he presses his biscuits under her nose.
She smiles and hesitantly puts one in her mouth. The crumbs fall on the white sheet.

You eat like a toddler, Jane snaps, and you're making everything dirty! Why do you eat in bed?!

You're right, says B, I'll get out. Will you help me?

Gratefully she grabs Jane's hand, who can't resist wiping her hand with a wipe.

What an unhygienic mess, Jane grumbles, when was the last time you had a shower?
You all get out of here, let her get dressed. We'll have tea together in 30 minutes. Luc, you put the kettle on for a change.

For a change, Luc didn't claim all the attention and kept his mouth shut.

Greetings from the 6th floor.

14-11-2023

The photo was taken by me.