All the hope I had was hanging on this admission. Now, I just want to give up. Nothing's ever going to get better. And I don't want to keep fighting for life if that's the case.
Yesterday was the worst day I've had so far. At 7:30am, I got a text from mum, informing me that she will no longer be driving me anywhere. She said I need to learn to cope with people. It's not like I have enough to deal with at the moment. It's not like I'm trying to take enough steps as it is. And everyone keeps throwing more crap on top of the pile.
As most of you know, I don't go out except for appointments. That's the only place she drives me. Now, I'm losing that. Can you see the problem here?
I don't know why I'm still here. Why start working on the trauma when I'll lose it when I go home?
For so many years, up until only in the past year or two, getting help revolved around the fact that I had to because mum wanted me to. Increasingly, she just doesn't care anymore. And now, without appointments, without my dietician and GP, I've got no motivation or reason to keep going at life in general. I don't know why I still bother.
Forcing and bullying me into being around people and making me feel like worthless when I can't is not a solution. It will not change anything, and when I go home, I'll be back to where I started. It's just a band-aid. Both with mum and the staff here, they're all trying to fix a symptom without dealing with what's actually wrong. And until I get help with the abuse and all the other reasons that stop me from wanting to be around people, that will never change.
I'm going to kindly ask mum to keep her mouth shut until I'm through here and have been discharged for at least a week before dropping anymore bombshells.
The psychiatrist was okay on Monday, and I'll be seeing him again tomorrow.
The plan for a two week admission has now grown to three or four weeks, dependant on when I can get an appointment with my psychologist to start the trauma work, which was the whole reason I came. Her earliest appointment was the 23rd (the end of week three) but I'm just hoping there's a cancellation earlier, because otherwise I'm looking at four weeks to get two appointments in. I don't know if I'll even be able to find my voice to talk about it.
He just expects that I get out of my room, go to groups, and be around people, but I'm making no progress. There are three groups a day, and I only got to one last week (art), and two this week (relaxation, and yoga). I've barely been leaving my room. I'm not even coping with hearing people have conversations. He said if I'm going to isolate myself, I can do that at home.
He said he'd talk to the nurses and organise for them to walk me to the groups and talk to the facilitators about not asking me questions and just letting me observe, although it's still not been enough to get me to groups most days.
I can't say I care much about their goals to get me around people more. There are too many people. Too much noise. It won't continue once I'm home, anyway. I can't pull people out of thin air to bring into my life.
There are a few outpatient groups he wants me to consider, but I'm not too keen. I'm better off with one-on-one and don't function well in group situations, and I at least need time to go home, settle back in, and think about it before I sign up to anything.
As a long-term goal, he wants me to work with my GP to cut back on the benzos. Between the lorazepam and oxazepam, he said I'm on the equivalent of 60-80mg valium a day, and that's since cutting back when I was admitted.
Yesterday, after mum's announcement, I stayed in bed all day, and didn't even try to get to groups. I skipped breakfast, the first meal I've completely skipped since being here. I couldn't even face the safe yoghurt mum brought in for me. Instead, I walked 50 laps. What's the point of trying to eat? I'm making no progress here. I've lost my appointments. I don't know why I should even try anymore.
The nurse came up to me and asked if I'd be here for lunch and dinner, as they do daily.
“Are you going out? Where are you going?”
“I don't know.”
I think she could tell I was bullshitting, because the kitchen still sent both meals. They brought in lunch. I didn't touch it. Toward the end of the day, I asked the nurse she could ask the kitchen to just send some toast, as I hadn't eaten yet and didn't feel up to a full meal. She said she would, but dinner still arrived. I nibbled at the potato wedges, ignoring the fish and everything else, and had a few crackers after, 24 hours since my last intake.
I tried talking to my nurse after I got the text, but she doesn't understand. None of them do. She thinks I just need to change myself, and will be able to take public transport and magically won't be isolate when I go home. Like I said before, forcing it doesn't work. It just pushes me further into retreat. Everyone's trying to fix the superficial issues without addressing the real ones.
So I'm not talking anymore. Yesterday, my nurse pulled me aside during my walk, asking the routine “are you safe?” question. I said “I don't know”, and when she said she needed an answer, I just snapped “Yes” and kept walking.
It's the same thing every day.
“Are you feeling safe?”
“No thoughts of wanting to harm yourself, or end your life?”
I answer flatly, the same every time, no matter how I really feel. Sometimes I say “no more than usual” or “nothing I can't manage”, but that seems to cause concern and prompt them to ask for 'more details.' If I tell the truth, they won't let me stay because I can't guarantee my safety. All I can guarantee is that I'll hide it.
I got another text from mum that night, saying that at one of her appointments, she'd run into my GP, who asked how well I was doing. Obviously not even mum knows how I'm really doing, because my GP is apparently 'impressed'. I wish I could call her and tell her I'm worse than when I came in.
Mum has come in a few times. She brings me cans of Coke Zero, sometimes some safe crispbread of muesli bars, and any mail I might get (including the adorable parcel pictured below from
Over the weekend, we drove down the coast to Torquay, which was one of the goals, to go more than a few kilometres away from home. I didn't get out of the car though – that's the next goal – but it was stressful enough as it is. It was a lot to take in, noticing all the changes since we used to drive down there on a regular basis, and there were people everywhere.
I'm still walking pretty much every day, for up to two hours. I'll have time to fill in, and my head says “Walk! Walk while you have the chance.”, and so I throw on my nearest shoes and go, even if I'm in my pajamas. I just walk around and around in circles, numb.
You know how some people say they walk to think? I don't do that. I walk to not think, just counting laps and running numbers through my head.
Every now and then, a nurse will pull me aside.
“You must be exhausted.”
“I just have to do five more laps.”
“I'll come find you for a chat when you're done.”
Sandwiches are still making up the bulk of my meals, dismantling and reassembling them to weigh the components and adjust it to my specifications. If there are no sandwiches, I'll have chicken or fish with potato and veggies. There have been one or two exceptions, but they are few and far between.
One curious addition. If you've been reading for a while, you've probably heard me talk about the Horrible Psychiatrist at the public hospital, most notably how he sectioned me, let it lapse without the 72 hour review, and held me for a week more while he figured out the legalities of if he could keep me against my will or not. The registrar who used to work with him, his Right Hand Man, now works here. I've seen her around the corridors quite often, and even seeing her is enough to strike fear into my heart.
1. Go for a drive more than a few kilometres away from home (achieved)
2. Go out in public somewhere quiet for a coffee, walk, etc. (potentially a visit to the cemetery, or a piercing if I can get into town)
3. Go to more groups
4. See my psychologist at least once, ideally twice, to start talking about the trauma