August 23, 1992
Dear friend, I’ve been in the hospital for the past two months. They just released me yesterday.
The doctor told me that my mother and father found me sitting on the couch in the family room.
I was completely naked, just watching the television, which wasn’t on.
I wouldn’t speak or snap out of it, they said. My father even slapped me to wake me up, and like I told you, he never hits.
But it didn’t work. So, they brought me to the hospital where I stayed when I was seven after my aunt Helen died.
They told me I didn’t speak or acknowledge anyone for a week. Not even Patrick, whom I guess visited me during that time.
It’s scary to think about. All I remember is putting the letter in the mailbox.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a doctor’s office. And I remembered my aunt Helen. And I started to cry.
And the doctor, who turned out to be a very nice woman, started asking me questions. Which I answered.
I don’t really want to talk about the questions and the answers.
But I kind of figured out that everything I dreamt about my aunt Helen was true.
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