hsphaven

I don’t know if I’m getting better or worse in this hospital. My mood has picked up since my last post, which I suspect is from the dexamphetamine I’ve been taking. This drug has been a real game changer. It lifts me out of the deep dark hole I’ve been stuck in and gives me the motivation to do things. I am able to enjoy going out and doing things. I am able to sit through one and a half hours of art class as I work on my beach shack paint-by-numbers. I am able to clean my room. It takes the edge off my depression, and for once in my life I get a taste of what “normal” feels like. However, I have also had some concerning experiences while here. As I mentioned in my last post, I had a black out which lasted up to three hours if I were to guess. It is a mystery to both me and the nurses where I went. There are quite a few weird nurses here. Just before I went missing I had an odd conversation with the nurse I believe admitted me. Her whole demeanor was different. She kept telling me to tell my doctor to do something, to tell him what I want or he won’t do anything. She believed I needed to be on antidepressants. That day I was very suicidal, and I am not sure if this hospital is used to people being so unstable. They still let us keep our charger cords, which most other hospitals confiscate as they worry patients will strangle themselves with them. I am not sure if that conversation had anything to do with me going missing, but that is the last thing I remember until I reappeared in my bedroom. Continue reading “The offending skirt” →

“Some long for longevity
Before fading to dust
Some long for eternal sleep
And eulogy chanted by stars

Into that serenity
Their lost time forever buried
She rambled a thousand times
And million miles
Searching for her light”

Sarah Brightman, “Love And Deepspace”

I feel absolutely abysmal here in hospital. The nurses are waking me up at 10am, which I know is late for most people, but for me, it is the middle of the night. I have a reverse sleep pattern, also called Delayed Sleep Phase Syndrome, and usually sleep into the afternoon. It helps me to get through the day. There is nothing I want to be up for, I just feel depressed all day and I don’t want to be part of the world. They are taking away my coping mechanism, and I don’t have much to replace it with. Most of the groups here are shit and I am too depressed, exhausted and unwell to attend them. I also cannot read or clean up my bedroom. Today it took me over an hour to get out of bed when the nurse woke me. I don’t know how to explain to people that I literally cannot get up, even if I wanted to. I wanted to get up and see what they had for morning tea but couldn’t move. The nurse insisted that I have a shower and wash my hair. I finally managed to get out of bed around midday and not only showered, but brushed my teeth as well. My hair is long so it is a big effort to brush it and get the tangles out. I did extremely well, but boy was I buggered after all this. It felt like running a marathon. I sat on the floor of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. The nurse knocked on the door to check on me. Continue reading “Empty room” →

“No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” C.S. Lewis

One of the things I like about this hospital is there are some alternative therapies being offered. Today I went to a group on EFT (Emotion Freedom Technique) for grief. For those of you unfamiliar with EFT, the instructor guides us to tap on certain points of the body which are acupuncture points while focusing on an issue or feeling we’re hoping to resolve. While we tap, we acknowledge the feeling and repeat affirmations. I’ve done it before with a psychotherapist and spent the whole time crying. This was good, in a way, as I rarely cry. It seems to help release stuck emotions, however I don’t feel the effects are long lasting. Perhaps it is something I need to practice often. Anyway, I decided to give it another go today. There were three other women in the session and we were each asked to say a word to describe what we were feeling. The other women described their grief as panic, anxiety and tension. I said I just felt depressed. When probed further, I said I just couldn’t name any particular emotion, just a crushing feeling and a sense of detachment from all other emotions. So we decided to work with the detachment. I followed the instructor as she tapped on various points on the head, face, chest and hand. It was while I was tapping on my hand behind the knuckles that I felt something shift in me. Beneath the depression and detachment was something, and it wasn’t pleasant. It felt intolerable. I felt light headed, faint and anxious, and I wanted to cry. As uncomfortable as it was, I took it as a sign that something was being released. Continue reading “EFT and grief” →

It has been a while since I have engaged in any child stuff (watching cartoons, wearing cute onesies etc.) but lately I have felt the need to do this again, which is a form of self-care for me. It is a solitary thing for me. I did almost find a “daddy” on FetLife. Most of the men on there were disgusting and just traumatised me and my child parts further, however I did meet one man who didn’t treat me like a fetish toy. However, I think I scared him away when I opened up to him about my mental health issues and overdose. I don’t really know what he was thinking as he never replied. I do feel a little rejected, but I don’t regret opening up to him. I want people to know and love all of me. Trust and emotional connection is important to me, and that is what I was attempting to build when I shared these things with him. As I said on my profile, people MUST get to know my mind first before I let them get to know my body. It’s important to me to be “held” not just physically but emotionally. I want someone who will care for my mental health. Obviously he couldn’t do that, which is a little disappointing, but honestly I didn’t really want a male caregiver anyway. I did feel like he was rushing into things a bit. I only met him once, and then he asked if I would like him to pick me up for cuddles next time I see him. I honestly didn’t really feel comfortable as that emotional bond hadn’t been formed yet.

Anyway, that is an update on all that stuff. I watch Reese Oliveira’s cover of “You’ll Be In My Heart” and that is the kind of relationship my little part(s) long for.

I am going into a private hospital tomorrow, and am really hoping for a better stay than my previous admissions. I am grateful they are willing to admit me at 3pm, rather than in the morning, as my sleeping patterns are completely reversed now (I got up at 4pm today).

I’m having some pretty messed up dreams right now, but tonight’s was definitely the worst and most vivid. I fell asleep at around 3am, and now, two hours later, I have woken again absolutely terrified: Continue reading “Tonight” →

Somebody I met in a BPD support group described us as “porcupine babies”. We were babies left out in the woods… we grew up like that. We never stopped being babies. Instead we adapted to the woods. We grew shells, grew veneers, facades, barriers, spikes. This is the way I have lived much of my life: keeping people behind walls. I’m 31 now and have never been in a relationship. I have withdrawn from my family. The only people I would let in were therapists. But these relationships always came to an end and someone always got hurt, usually me. So I grew more spikes. Continue reading “In too deep” →

“You’re so good to me, I know, but I can’t change.” Meredith Brooks, ‘Bitch’

Sleep deprivation is no joke. For about four nights in a row I was up all night. By the fourth night I was in a very strange mood. I felt high, I felt reckless, and everything seemed funny and absurd, as though I was on drugs (a documented symptom of sleep deprivation, I found out). Continue reading “Sleep deprivation and mood” →

I begin this post firstly apologising that it may not be a very good piece of writing. I got no sleep last night due to my OCD, and I feel awful today. I want to cry and I feel like I’m being squashed by a heavy raincloud. My bloody OCD rears its ugly head at the most inconvenient times: when I need to go out, in the middle of the fucking night. I have written about my OCD before here. OCD comes in many different flavours, not just an obsession with cleanliness. I am a hoarder, my house looks like it’s been bombed, and I cannot let go of anything. Losing things gets to me more than it would for anyone else. I’m still trying to understand what it means to my mind when I lose a material item. Is it associated with a deeper loss in my life? I watched a documentary on hoarders and many had experienced some kind of trauma, loss, or deprivation in their life which collecting material objects seems to compensate for. I do think there is a genetic component too, as OCD seems to run through my dad’s side of the family. My grandfather hung onto every single receipt he got from the shops, even for little things like a tissue box. It was a nightmare cleaning out his house after he died. At the table I also remember him straightening the knives and forks so they were perfectly straight. Continue reading “Discharge from hospital” →

Every now and again I get extremely reckless. The recklessness stems from a deep seated misery. This part of me reminds me of Effy from Skins and the way she did drugs and went to parties full of shady characters. I have written about this part before, the way I wanted to ride around the streets at night on my bike, jump off bridges into rivers, or ride on top of cars. I simply don’t give a shit anymore. I don’t give a shit about my life or what people think of me.

The other day I took leave with my disability worker. We went to Warrendyte. I spontaneously decided to jump into the river. I didn’t have any swimmers on me. I wasn’t even wearing a bra. I just took my top off and got in the water in my undies. I didn’t hesitate, like I usually do. I laughed. I put my head under water. Then I waded out a bit and noticed the current was quite strong. I let it carry me along for a bit. Then I grabbed onto a tree branch. I got stuck for a bit and struggled to get back.

My disability worker was a little shaken, and so was the hospital, but it was one of the best things I’ve done in a long time. I felt so much better afterwards. I felt almost like I’d been baptised, born again. I only wished I could have stayed in there longer.