Three

You know the whole two’s company three’s a crowd thing? That has always rung true for me. I do well catching up with one friend; as soon as a second person appears I fade into the background. Occasionally I say or do something a little weird which will start a very short conversation in which I participate. I then return to quiet contemplation, staring at clouds or trees if outdoors, pretending to be completely consumed by something else if indoors. Right now L has a friend over, friend is lovely, we’ve talked a bit, but even if she was also my friend I would still be cowering in the corner (literally at the moment, corner couch, very comfy). I’m not sure if it’s a borderline thing or just a K-is-stupid thing, but I just can’t converse in a group. In a bigger group it’s a little better because then I can find one person to talk to for a while, but the larger crowd is hard to deal with – people are scary. How are you meant to talk to two or more people at the same time? I don’t get it. I can perform solo to a few hundred people at a time, but they don’t get to talk, it’s just me, and that’s how I like it. Often (or rarely, as it doesn’t actually happen much) when I am in a group and feel I have something to say it takes on more of a performance feel, I have everyone’s attention, if I ask a question I expect a short answer which will give me a little more fuel for my tirade, it may become a debate, I’ll probably win, and regardless of the outcome that will be the last of my speech for the night.

The Mischievous Fisherman

I have a new psychiatrist; I think he can read minds, I’ll be sure to wear an aluminium foil hat when I see him. He has a policy of never, under any circumstances admitting borderline patients to his hospital – something which scares me because there is no safety net for when I’m at my worst. Public hospitals can still take me; he has no authority there, but you don’t get therapeutic treatment in the public system, and you saw my room! He also wants to totally remove my Seroquel and not allow me any benzodiazepines – that is fucking terrifying! But due to what I felt was a very good session, with a very competent (and super-powered) doctor, I think I will stick with him.

I was discharged from hospital hell on Tuesday afternoon and promptly arrived at my dear friend L’s house. Her diagnosis is almost the same as mine, and we both struggle with self harm. You may think us staying together sounds like a terribly ill thought out idea, but... L’s parents are amazing, they have a very open relationship, if she feels like shit, she tells them and to the best of their ability they help. I am certainly not going to go crying on L’s mother’s shoulder, but L has her mother’s support and I have L’s, plus L has mine. We understand each other on a level that no one else can. We can talk about wanting to tear our abdomen open and bleed to death without embarrassment or fear of being misunderstood. We both understand what we want from certain types of self harm and when it starts to become too dangerous can see suggest other ideas to each other. At the moment we have a “no self harm” pact, it is working rather well. My brain went a little nutty this afternoon and clutching ice cubes took the edge off. L will have a totally cold shower shortly, because she feels the urge to do something more damaging. I need to do something else tonight. I feel like my insides are too big for my frame, my heart attempting an escape through my mouth, my liver boring a hole in my side because it is just too tight in there, my lungs compressing, trying to give the liver and heart a bit more room, spinal cord hooked in the middle by a mischievous fisherman behind me, slowly tearing it from its resting place. But none of this can happen; torso ripping open is off the agenda, so I might try the cold shower trick too.

I will stay with L for a little while longer, not sure exactly how long – I will not leave before I feel safe enough to look after myself at home, but definitely not after I feel my presence is no longer wanted. I feel very welcome at the moment though.

Uni starts in nine days; I’ve done some of the readings but don’t yet have access to the online readings. I fear I am going to be starting from such a lower level than the other students and I want to get as much of a head start as possible; plus, who knows how long it will be before my brain turns to mush and I endure another hospital admission.

L just updated her blog, have a look. She offers a great explanation about self harm to the non-crazy and her blog is full of the raw, truthful and beautiful. 

Good Things

I’m a bit saddened by the negative comments on my second-last post, it reminds me that not all my readers are behind me. I could make the blog invite only, or not allow comments, but I want to know the thoughts of others – even the ignorant ones. I don’t know who most of my readers are, the only ones who know my identity are those I’ve enabled to see the link through facebook, others are just random net folk – some sympathisers, some who would probably commit genocide if they were to rule any nation. I wonder why the latter feel the need to comment, if my blog offends them so, all they need to do is hit the “next blog” link to find something that may be more suited to their tastes, or go read a book, clean the kitchen, do some work, take the dog for a walk – and think about me longing for my Great Dane whilst doing so. Thanks L for fighting for me, I lack your ferocity.

Preamble over

I might be going home tomorrow, I have to write up an ‘action plan’ for what to do next time I feel like taking my whole drug stockpile and feel too rebellious to seek help. This is going to be a difficult task, because when I don’t want help it’s because I’m thoroughly convinced that what I’m about to do is a fantastic idea, how are a few words scribbled on a sheet of A4 going to convince me otherwise? I said I might be going home; it is not a definite because bed brokers still have some time to get back to us. I’m not holding my breath. I know that good things are what happen to other people – you may think continued hospitalisation is not a good thing, but when it provides therapy, little stress and zero access to dangerous things, it is good. But not - as two of my readers believe - forever. I have to go to uni, participate in the community – in my case the church, I have to make art – the only thing I can do well. Having a hard to treat illness does not deserve punishment, after all, involuntary admission is little different to prison, the punishment isn’t the surroundings (though they are mostly unpleasant) but the deprivation of freedom.

I went to church last night, I made a special effort to get there for the baptism of my friend. It was the first time I’ve sung since coming to this church, the first time I’ve felt anything and the first time I really knew I was in the right place. (though I have been fond of this church since my first visit). Maybe the cement slab blocking the passage from brain to heart is beginning to fracture.

Photographic Evidence That I’m Not Just Being a Princess

Against hospital policy I took the following pictures of my room. When I’m out I will tell you which hospital it is and those of you in the area can write your letters of disgust.

This is my window sill, the cleaners come in every second day, seems they do this part of the room every second year.

The wall opposite my bed, I don’t mind this so much, it’s just messy.

The wall beside my bed, this I do mind. This is an old building and who knows what is in the insulation, it doesn’t look like standard plasterboard to me.

Now do you understand why I won’t use the shower? This is the wall the taps and shower head are on – so you actually have to stand close to it.

The Grand Finale! The curtain separating me from my roommate. I thought it was blood, but was assured by a nurse that it was chocolate and that it would be cleaned – that was yesterday morning.