This morning I fell asleep and I had a dream where I saw this girl in this grassy, breezy yard. I recognised her as myself, but she was beautiful. She didn’t have any imperfections like I do. Her teeth were perfect and she didn’t wear glasses. She still had my long brown hair. I’m not sure what age she was. I don’t know where I was. There was a house there, lots of people whom I didn’t know, and then a back yard which stretched into the horizon, a little like here. It was rugged and bare. There was a familiar desolate feeling to the whole place. While it was not a horrible place, I wanted to return to my life, but I couldn’t wake up. I don’t know if the people wanted to help me or keep me trapped there. They had suggestions like roll over in your bed so that you fall onto the floor and shock yourself awake. But I had no contact with my body and my life. Just when I thought I’d woken up I found it was another dream. This kept on happening over and over. I couldn’t wake up. I was trapped inside my subconscious mind again and it was terrifying. I assumed I must be dead. Finally I managed to wake up. It was like swimming to the surface of a deep well. Then my nurse came to the door. I asked her whether this was real or whether it was all just a dream too. She said it was real. I had wanted to end my life, but I was so relieved to be back. So that is how my day started.
My new case worker is trying to organise my next appointment, but every time I go there I cry now because my old case worker, Jordan, is gone. Today I got a text from a number listed in my contacts as “Jordan”, but it wasn’t from Jordan, it was from my new case worker. All the case workers use the same number to text. It may seem like a little thing, but it was like being pushed off a rocky boat into the sea of my grief again. I want to continue with the service as they can arrange hospital admissions when I need, but I don’t want a new case worker. Nobody will ever be able to replace Jordan.
At lunchtime a guy came up to me. He said he recognised me from primary school. I did not recognise him though. He said he and his friends used to make fun of me and laugh at me behind my back. He said even as adults they’d talk about me. He said he felt so bad about this and he was so sorry as I seem like such a nice person. I think it was really big of him to apologise. I told him honestly I’m used to people making fun of me. I’ve always been different, and now I know why. I am autistic, I always have been and always will be. He sat next to me again this evening and we chatted for a bit. He told me he’s always been a very selfish and mean spirited person. But he seems so nice now. Unfortunately due to my face blindness I am having trouble recognising him on the ward, and when he spoke to me the second time I didn’t even recognise him. Sometimes I’ve been able to recognise people from their slippers, their nail polish or their clothes but usually it’s really hard. Face blindness a really embarrassing problem to have.
I feel like this place has really been helping me and I would like longer here. But they don’t seem to like giving people with BPD long admissions. The people who want to be here are discharged and the people who don’t want to be here are detained here. I had a really upsetting session with the doctors today. I found it intimidating talking to them as there were three of them and they weren’t very empathetic or warm people. They supported my mental health clinic’s decision to change my case worker. They told me I need to become independent. FUCK THEM. They have no idea about me and what my life has been like! I have had to be extremely independent all my life because I had no friends and no emotional support. I have been left to suffer and cope all on my own all my life. I’ve never had a partner to support me, unlike most people. There is nothing wrong with wanting support and someone to stay with me for once in my life. I was extremely visibly distressed all through that session, yelling, freezing, rubbing the arms of the chair over and over, telling them I want to kill myself. I just wanted to crawl out of my skin. They told me this admission has done nothing to help me (which I disagreed with). I’m worried they’re never going to let me come back now. So many doctors have the idea that hospital admissions don’t help “people like me” (I’m guessing they mean people with BPD). Then after the session with the doctors I completely lost it. I fell to the floor and started screaming and crying in front of everyone just like when I was at my mental health clinic and the doctor first told me they’re changing my case worker. I am just so traumatised by all of this and it’s not getting any easier. Thankfully some very kind nurses looked after me, showed me empathy, rubbed my back, gave me meds etc. Love is universal, like someone wrote on the courtyard wall. There is love and kindness beyond Jordan.
So this is my last night here in the psych ward. And I will miss this place in a strange way. Not the doctors, not the basketball court which is right next to the bedrooms so you hear bang bang bang throughout the day (there is a very angry patient who doesn’t want to be here and likes to take his frustration out on the basketball court). But I do feel like there are people who care here. The nurses even care about the patients they are treating involuntarily, wanting to help them feel less anxious and stressed. The patients care about each other too. I played cards and ping pong with some. I feel like I belong here, I feel people like me here and they were genuinely sorry to see me in so much pain earlier (one asked if I was ok afterwards).
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