Waiting Room Chairs

I’ve been in and out of mental health hospitals and therapy groups and inpatient programs and out patient programs and court ordered therapy and all that jazz. I’ve seen the mental health world from almost all sides. Which is pretty neat, but it really really sucked while I was gaining all of this knowledge.

But that’s how I learn. I have to make the dumbest choices and get lucky to suffer just enough to probably not learn anything because it’s not so bad after it is all said and done and do it several times and then eventually understand the life lesson.

But I digress. Waiting room chairs.

You know what I’m talking about. Those metal chairs with the usually gray pleather seat and back with the thinnest layer of foam that you can possibly cut out without breaking the fabrics of space and time. And a plank of what I believe is usually particle board from the ones I’ve seen broken. Those chairs.

Chairs designed to be cheaply manufactured, designed for the user to not sit in for long, obviously. Just to wait. But I don’t think anyone got the memo.

In every group therapy session that was one to four hours long, we had those chairs.

In every mental hospital I’ve had the pleasure of staying at because I’ve been known to freak out from time to time, is filled with these chairs.

It drives me nuts. Most of the time I’m in these chairs, I am not mentally stable. Every little thing is getting to me. I’m most likely spending loads of money in the place that I’m in. The money I probably can’t afford to spend. And I am twitching and shifting and moving and bouncing and sighing and picking at myself. I’m surrounded by people I don’t know, even if I have seen them once a week for the past six months, I don’t know them. The therapist usually just wants to get through the lesson or doesn’t know what they are doing and are just getting required time filled. And I am stuck in this stupid chair.

I haven’t been in this position in a while. But whenever I see those chairs out here in the real world, I cringe.

A friend of mine says everyone has their soap box. Mine is obviously mental health. What gets to me is the lack of understanding. The chipping away that inadvertently happens out of mindlessness. It’s unfortunate, but the mental health community is a fragile group. Comfort actually matters and shouldn’t be overlooked for a more efficient budget.

I just want nice chairs in mental health facilities.

Two cents spent.

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