I thought I was doing better, and would no longer require any more hospital admissions. But a few weeks ago things began to snowball again. I had an awful night where I was getting brain shocks all night. I finally took some sleeping pills, which succeeded at getting me to sleep. But then I had a dream where I was being held hostage in a house, which was in a forest. I sensed something very dark here. These people, whoever they were, wanted to do all kinds of messed up things to me. “Not here, again” I thought. I have had similar dreams and experiences while in altered states of consciousness, and I have been unable to wake up from them. It is pure torture. Pure evil. There is something different about these dreams. They feel more real. I don’t know if they are memories/flashbacks. Well the house was empty at one point, so I decided to run away. My clothes were being ripped off me as I ran. Then I managed to wake up. It was 5:30am. I was so scared and shaken by the dream that I tried calling psych triage, but no one answered. Maybe that was a good thing as I doubt they’d understand. They’d think I’m crazy going on about demonic entities attacking me in my sleep. I cried when I told my psychologist about the dream, believing that I was reliving memories of how I died in a past life, or that I had been raped at some point, though I wasn’t sure when or by who. On my way home I was stuck in heavy traffic and nearly had a panic attack. Everything felt unreal. Continue reading “Break down”
“Be my friend, hold me
Wrap me up, enfold me
I am small and needy
Warm me up and breathe me”
~ Sia, Breathe Me
The other night I fell down a very strange rabbit hole. I discovered the world of “adult babies” and “littles”. These people identify as children in an adult’s body. They like to wear onesies and childish clothes with bright colours, pastels or cute patterns. They like temporary tattoos, stickers, nursery-style furniture, cartoons, lollypops and kids food, bubbles and bubble baths. Their room is full of toys and picture books, they drink out of bottles, they wear dummies, and there are even services designed for adult babies where they can be taken care of. They can nap in a crib, be held by the people who run the service, and some enjoy wearing nappies and having their nappy changed. Then they go back to their “normal” lives where no body knows about this lifestyle/side of their personality. In “15 Stone Babies“, a documentary I watched on adult babies, one girl who was in her 20s felt like a shy 6-year-old child. She would dress up in pink frilly dresses. She had a boyfriend who would sometimes act as her “Daddy”, taking her hand and rocking her on the rocking chair. “It benefits her because it allows her to have experiences, to be young, to be trusting and be rewarded at those times,” reflects the boyfriend (37 mins). “To relearn that not everything that happens in life is bad. That people can take care of you. That it’s safe to trust.” Other times they were two equal, normal adults in a normal relationship. The way this girl carries herself when not in “little space” is completely different. I think it’s amazing the camera managed to catch her while she was in “little space”. She is undeniably a little child. Continue reading “Adult babies”
“And every time I try to fly I fallWithout my wingsI feel so smallI guess I need you, babyAnd every time I see you in my dreamsI see your faceYou’re haunting meI guess I need you, baby.” Britany Spears
There are no rules, timelines or linearity to grief. It a wild, savage beast that will strike at the most unpredictable times. It is an ocean with rapid weather changes that can turn calm waters into ferocious swells in the blink of a eye. We often move back and forwards through the “stages” of grief… tossed around and around like a tornado. We may think we have accepted the loss and are getting better, only to find ourselves crying (or wanting to cry but the tears have dried up), in shock, and consumed by powerlessness which turns to rage once again. We may even want to die. Continue reading “Grief”
Last weekend I went to a camping retreat for women. I can’t say I was looking forward to it. I dreaded it. I live a very insular life and the thought of being around people made me want to cry. It was all so much effort to get ready too. I was extremely depressed and my stress levels and anxiety were through the roof. I even started getting unwell physically from all the stress. I kept telling myself that the event was only 15 mins from my place, so I could easily leave at any time (though I don’t drive so if it was late at night I would’ve had to call a taxi). Continue reading “Camping event for women reflection”
The last few days have been a rollercoaster ride. I injured my foot so haven’t been able to play badminton or do much walking. I’d always taken for granted my feet and ability to walk. I didn’t realise just how much I relied on these things to get through the week. I remember a nice lad in a BPD group I used to go to was in deep grief over an injury that prevented him from playing tennis. Tennis was incredibly therapeutic for him, and he was lost and aimless without it. I now have much greater empathy for him. Before the injury I had been hiking regularly trying to lose weight. I have been stopped in my tracks. Some people might say that’s a good thing as I don’t need to lose weight, but I am itching to continue my progress. Thankfully my foot is healing, and I’m hoping to be able to play badminton again next week. Continue reading “Update: Complex PTSD and a little on idealisation”
Since being discharged from hospital I have been having some physical issues which I believe to be symptoms of dissociation (as I learnt from this journal article about the shutdown response). I have been dizzy, getting headaches a lot, and out of it. I had ringing in the ears while playing badminton one time, and had moments out in public when my anxiety was so bad I felt like I was going to pass out. Sometimes I suddenly become so heavy and tired I have to lie down and then I am late to badminton. My body is tense all the time. I’ve had sessions with my psychologist where I’ve felt so detached from myself it was like someone else was talking. Other sessions I’ve felt spacy and not really in my body. I had to put my feet flat on the ground and imagine roots achoring my body to the earth. While climbing up a hill yesterday parts of my body felt numb. When I got home I started playing with a knife, seeing if I could feel it against my skin. I later noticed a cut on my finger. I think I may have cut myself with the knife, but I didn’t feel it. A lot of these symptoms actually don’t bother me. I want to be numb. I want to pass out. When I was a teenager a dentist cut a vein while cleaning my teeth. The gum has been receding ever since, and now the root of the tooth is exposed. It is raw and uncomfortable. I am told I need gum graft surgery, but the procedure sounds horrible and I am terrified of dentists, especially as this problem was caused by a dentist. It is distressing when someone/something that’s meant to help you ends up injuring you. I find myself going through various stages of grief, from sadness to anger. I have medical trauma and I’ve concluded it’s better to stay away from dentists and live with this issue than get the surgery. I try my best to distract myself, but often I cannot take my focus off this, plus the other issues I have such as pain and a buzzing sensation on my head, all of which were caused by healthcare gone wrong. Continue reading “Dissociation”
There is nothing normal about my life, although to me this is all I’ve known. By the time I was five I had lived in more houses than I was years old. While in Tasmania I had a best friend called “Tilly”. She had short brown hair and was a rascal, locking us in my house when her mother came to pick her up, and introducing me to naughty games such as “doctor”. I remember the day I had to say goodbye to Tilly. We had only just started school together. Tilly screamed and cried when my family and I came over to say good bye. She gave me something from her doctor’s kit to remember her by. When I was back in Melbourne we continued to write letters to each other. Tilly always said she hoped to see me again, but she never did. Eventually the letters fizzled out into nothingness, like the void that was growing within me. I learnt that it was dangerous to form attachments, so I rarely did. Continue reading “Stolen: My life in 1276 words”
I’m tired. Not sleepy, just worn down by life like a rock breaking down into sand. I have no strength left to make the changes necessary to improve my life. To be honest I don’t even know what they are. I am sick of revolving in and out of hospital. I don’t exactly enjoy being woken in the middle of the night by a nurse shining a torch in my face to check that I’m still breathing. I don’t exactly enjoy having to take my laptop to the nurse’s station multiple times a day to charge it because I’m not allowed the charging cable in my room. But I’d still rather stay here than at home where I am woken by the neighbour. Home is meant to be our refuge from the world. I find it particularly distressing not being able to get away from noise even in my own house, and not being able to sleep when I need to. When I wanted to cut all my hair off the other day I think it was really about the need for something big to change in my life. Living in Melbourne makes me mental. During my stints in the country where I get to stay on a farm for free in exchange for my labour, I have been better. I have managed to get off all my meds. But whenever I return to Melbourne I have go back on them to sleep, and soon enough I am back in hospital with more ailments. I hate this life. I hate this city. I hate the traffic. I hate the chaos. I hate being around people. Today while on leave I had another autistic/sensory meltdown. The hospital kept calling me because I was due back from my leave but I couldn’t answer as it was so noisy and I was just trying to make it back in one piece. When I finally made it back I crumbled and screamed. The nurse took me back to my room. While she went to get me some diazepam I stood in the cold shower fully clothed. I don’t want to keep taking medication. I am not sick. This place is sick. This world is sick. What is keeping me here? I love my psychologist. But it is a strange love, as Sarah Brightman sings. A faded kind of love. A contracted love. It is like artificial sweetener. Sweet, but not the real deal. I want something real. I want to live where this music video is set. I want to be free. But it is time to take my laptop to the nurse’s station as the battery’s as depleted as I feel right now.
In my last post I wrote about being reckless: buying lots of party wigs, wanting to go clubbing, and wanting to cut off my long hair. My recklessness continued on Friday after my session with my psychologist. She said she’s been feeling disconnected from me lately. She seemed distant and cold. She has been the closest person in my life, and I left feeling incredibly cut off from everyone. Like a drug addiction, my mood always plummets after I leave my psychology sessions because there is little else I enjoy. This time, I was particularly upset. I got in the car with my disability worker and was teary and quiet. We went out for dinner but all I wanted to do was go back to the hospital. I couldn’t make any decisions about what to eat. Suicide was on my mind. When I got back to the hospital the nurses did their best to help me. I was given some Valium, which almost put me to sleep until they came back and raided my room, confiscating my pentagram necklace, shoes and other things I might use to kill myself. I understood why they did it, but it was still upsetting. Continue reading “More on Internal Family Systems and recklessness”
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