I'm sorry this blog has taken on more of a diary feel of late, I'm not too sure what to do with it. I want to write about my adventure with BPD and that kind of necessitates the diary tone but I don't like it.
I have been out of hospital since Wednesday - a public one close to my Mum's home. I was sectioned on Monday for smuggling a knife into the hospital for a suicide attempt. I surrendered it before doing anything, but merely having it was enough to freak out the nurses and cause my doctor to throw his hands in the air and give up on me. He has requested a few months without me and when he takes me back he wants to do so with the help of a case manager. The CAT team have visited me twice since my discharge and are dealing with the case management referral. In the meantime I will hopefully be given a new private psychiatrist from one of the only hospitals left open to me, my GP wrote several referrals for me when I saw her on Thursday, she's amazing, I'm very lucky to have a GP as capable and caring as her.
It has been suggested to me that I write about the good stuff in my life, not just the crap; so here's the few recent good events.
On Sunday I attended church for the first time in almost two months. I was on coffee for our welcoming ministry prior to the service so I arrived over an hour early. I enjoy making coffee even if it is only on a Sunbeam machine. Ten minutes into the service I felt the need to leave and maybe even go to an emergency department due to strong suicidal urges and the recurring feeling of inferiority I get at church. As I approached the door a friend caught me and spent the next 40 minutes talking very harshly to me about trying more to help myself and having greater consideration for those in my life who care about me. It was a hard conversation, and a number of times I wanted to either walk away or hit her, but I think she actually said some things I needed to hear. By time we finished talking the service was nearing the end so we sat down to a cup of tea and watched from the foyer. Now for the good... After the service I was not left alone for more than 30 seconds, so many people wanted to speak to me and seemed to genuinely care about me. I got to catch up with some people I hadn't seen since prior to my admission and also with those who came to visit me. I had some nice talks and was even invited to a couple's house for dinner but I couldn't go because I was getting tired and have a long drive back to my Mum's. I left church feeling cared for and glad to have been prevented from leaving earlier.
Another good event:
I spent part of the weekend at Mum's holiday home with my Grandad and Step-Grandmother who are visiting from Mexico. We had a lovely meal and wine at a local winery and enjoyed browsing in the few shops dotted around the place. They go home on Wednesday, it has been nice seeing them but I have no real attachment to them as none of my relatives have been part of my life, having grown up on the opposite side of the world to all of them.
It is currently 6:05am. I haven't slept a wink tonight due to a long afternoon nap necessitated by a high Seroquel dose. My choice was Seroquel or chancing what I would do to myself. My current suicidal urges are frightening, they feel different to what I'm used to, they're darker and feel like they're coming from an outside force rather than a mere thought. I'm stuck at the moment, I can't go to either of the private hospitals I usually attend, I don't want to go public because it's a scary environment, you get little help and if you put a foot wrong they have terrifying isolation rooms to place you in - I'm claustrophobic and being locked in one of them is high on my list of fears.
It may not come across but I do actually want to get better. I was excited about Schema Therapy because I though there was a chance it would work. I now can't do it until they start the next course because you need to be the current patient of one of the hospital's psychiatrists and mine has temporarily dumped me. I just wish he'd given me warning that he was struggling with me; apparently the knife incident was the straw that broke the camel's back, if I'd known it was getting close I could have tried to change my behaviours. I like my doctor and I value the help he's given me, I really would have tried to keep him.
To finish on a different note: I've been terribly clucky lately and would love to find some random (intelligent, educated, creative and at least a little good looking) man to get me pregnant and then never see again - unless he actually wanted a baby and a crazy woman, then maybe I could have a happily ever after family life. Sadly being a Christian doesn't really gel with random sex, sperm donation or single parenting - sperm donation within a marriage where the husband is having difficulty is probably not so frowned upon but I don't know the ins and outs of Christian reproduction rules. Maybe it's time for me to lose the 21 kilos I need to bring me down to a healthy BMI, try to be a little less insane and see if any Christian men look at me twice. I'd made a good start on the weight prior to my hospital admission, I was swimming several times a week and not eating too badly, I've lost 29kg in the last six months(ish) but I put on 40 due to Seroquel - I know I'm back on it, but it's the only thing that really works for me and I'm being careful this time, even weighing myself every day.
Thank-you for reading this epic post. The sun has risen and I think I'll have another attempt at this sleep thing. 6:36am!
