Resist the lure of hospitals, mental or otherwise. It can be entrancing to listen to your own heart beep, watch the lines it draws on the screen placed beside your head. You might start to think of your body as an orchestra. That’s no good. Then, you have to think of yourself as the conductor, and that splits the body from self. It’s hard to live like that. You might find the matter-of-fact décor calming. A needle in a nurse’s hand speaks only of optimism. The doctors come in and chart you like some backwater. Also reassuring. The French say you might wish to change beds with another patient. Every eight hours, someone douses the place in disinfectants. You can almost smell the microbes burning in midair, but that’s just the scent of evolution. Visitors will say you look good and ask how you feel. A light will always shine outside your door.