I don't know if I could have gotten myself out of my insanity all by myself this last horrible time that was induced by my desire to get the fuck out of the hospital and rehab settings.  The dreams were vivid and stayed long.  I may still be able to recreate them after a month.

There was the summer night and white chocolate horse on the ceiling that in its armpit was weighty smothering me.

There was the filthy home of my surgeon where bandages were being changed and stale cerial strewn all over.

The vertigo didn't stop.

On my back I was standing up.  Vertigo is what I think that was.  Bed was carried on my back and I didn't know it.  It was the spacesuit counterbalance.

The ceiling was the floor.

I hear I spoke of bombs and screamed I didn't feel safe.

It all started after the repair operation when the first replacement was pulled out and replaced after the hole and bones were cleaned in an attempt to kill all the germs.

Only one germ is supposed to be working to kill me since only one drug will kill that germ.

The ceiling was always the floor, discount and it was like spatial disorientation that pilots go through to lose their medical.  They crash if they don't believe their instrumenyts.

"Do you know where you are?"

In a place of terrible food.  I was and am sure that is true for me and anyone else trapped there.