The past few days have been... turbulent, to say the least.
On Sunday, disaster struck, and everything came crashing down.
The Clinic finally called, but they said they couldn't consider admitting me. Why? Because I just cannot bring myself to speak on the phone.
Mum had it on speakerphone so I could hear. They wanted to know why I want to go, what I want to achieve, what's changed since my last admission. I sat with my head in my hands. As they kept asking and pushing for me to talk, I got more and more distressed. I started sweating and shaking and hitting my head because I just couldn't do it.
Mum told them that my GP would be calling the next day to speak to the psychiatrist personally about what's going on and why I need to go there, but they said that wouldn't be enough to admit me on unless I speak to them on the phone. I've never been able to talk to the phone to anyone except mum. I can't even talk to my GP or dietician. I can't even explain why.
The call ended with the admission worker saying she'd tell the doctor about the unsuccessful phone call, and it felt like the end of the world. This was my only hope, and it as gone. Everything was revolving around this admission, all the hope I had was hanging on it, and now it was gone.
I started screaming and crying at the top of my lungs. Devastated. They wouldn't even consider me going in to talk to the doctor in person, just because I can't talk on the phone.
I couldn't even contact my GP, being a Sunday. I was in total crisis, and she always knows what to do, but I was losing hope that even she could fix this. So I took nearly every pill I had, leaving just enough to get through the next day until the new week's meds would be delivered. I just wanted to sleep. If I can't go to the Clinic, there is no hope of things getting better. There's no where else to go and no other way of getting help.
As a funny (well, not really) side - that night I fell asleep with my favourite knife on the couch. I hadn't yet used it, but sometimes I hold it just for a kind of comfort, knowing it's right there if I need it. I guess I passed out before I could put it away, because I woke up in the middle of the night, having rolled over onto it and stabbing myself in my *ahem* gluteus maximus. I now have a gaping stab wound from unintentional self-harm.
Yesterday, I woke up feeling lost, alone, and hopeless. Later in the morning, they left another voicemail while mum was out. I thought it'd be "Your GP called us, and yes you can come in/no we won't admit you", and either way, that'd be the end of it.
When mum got home from her appointment, she called them back, and it was the same routine as the day before, wanting me to talk to them on the phone. Thankfully, they didn't push as hard, and mum just told them I couldn't do it.
Straight after, we called my GP, and told her about the phone calls. She said she'd try to get in touch with the psychiatrist, plus speak to the admissions people who kept calling me, that she'd sort it out. I didn't think it was going to change anything. She said not to worry, but they'd made it painfully clear the day before that it wouldn't be enough, and unless I get on the phone, they wouldn't admit me.
I still didn't get my hopes up. After Sunday's call and the subsequent breakdown, I couldn't afford to keep thinking it would all be fine, just to crash again.
Then, just before 5pm, they called again. She said my GP had called earlier, but they hadn't been able to get in touch with her, and obviously the psychiatrist wasn't available when she called, so they decided to call for a third time and bully me more.
She said quite clearly, that if I couldn't get on the phone and say "My name is Isabella Rayne and I want to be admitted to the Clinic.", that they couldn't take me, as they can't confirm I'm a voluntary admission, and they don't take involuntary patients.
This morning, I caught my GP for a few minutes after I finished with the dietician. She said she was working on it, and I told her they'd called again in the afternoon.
She pulled me aside, and said she'd called yesterday and spoken to someone, and reinforced the fact I can't talk on the phone. I dug through my purse for the piece of paper mum had jotted a name and a phone number down on from the last call, and lo and behold, it was the same person. I told her that they'd said they hadn't spoken to her, that she'd been unavailable, and she looked as surprised as I was. She confirmed that she had in fact spoken to them.
I told my dietician that I thought they were just going to keep calling and calling, trying to get me to talk on the phone, until they gave up and threw out my referral. My GP wouldn't say I wanted to be admitted if I didn't. I wouldn't get in the car and go into the Clinic for the admissions interview if I didn't want to go. Why was that so hard for them?
Later this morning, there was a fourth phone call. But this time, she said she'd just gotten off the phone with my GP, and was asking me to come in to speak to them face-to-face and answer their questions instead of talking to them on the phone.
Straight after, my GP called to check that everything went through okay. She is seriously amazing. She told me the lady who'd called is nicer and less pushy than the others, and will really work with me to assess everything.
So, at the end of all the drama, I'm going in to talk to them in a couple of hours, at 2pm. As a bonus, mum's surgeon gave her permission to drive again as of yesterday, so after three months, I no longer need to catch Ubers and taxis everywhere.
With any luck (and god, do I need it), I'll have some good news by tomorrow...