I went downhill since my last hospital admission a bit over a month ago. I was feeling better while in hospital, but it all turned pear shaped when I left. For a month I could not sleep at night. Just when I was about to fall asleep my heart would race and sometimes I’d feel like I was dying, dissolving into nothing. I went to a Chinese medicine clinic and got a massage hoping it would help with some of my issues, but just like a lot of my treatments, it left me worse. I now have chronic pain down my arms, hands, fingers, legs, feet and toes. I guess I started to feel extremely hopeless again, like death was my best option. I started buying things to kill myself again. I was sick of not really living, just surviving each day waiting for the day I die, whenever that would be. I felt I couldn’t wait that long; suicide was on my mind. Some nights I felt reckless. I didn’t give a fuck about my life or what people thought of me. If I had my bike on me I would have ridden around the streets at midnight. I felt like I’d discovered the secret/key to life: not giving a fuck. Some nights I danced to Midnight Oil, which reminded me of when I was 18 and would chain myself to trees or camp on rooftops. One minute I’d be leaping around my bedroom, the next I’d be collapsed in bed wishing I was dead. On top of everything else I had another sensory meltdown from the kids playing basketball next door, which I wrote about in my last post. My private psychiatrist had been suggesting a hospital admission, which I was unsure about. But that day I realised how urgent this was. I couldn’t stand one more day like this. So I called psych triage, the number my case management service gave me. I didn’t know if anyone would pick up, but someone did. I then told her what I had been going through. I was grateful that she took me seriously. She called an ambulance to take me to hospital. I then got a phone call from a psychiatric nurse who works with Ambulance Victoria. She asked me lots of questions then asked to speak with my dad, who was obliviously watching television in the other room. No one had any idea the hell I had been going though, except for my psychologist who I bombard with miserable emails every night. The psychiatric nurse told my dad that an ambulance was coming and he needed to keep an eye on me while we wait. My dad was a bit taken aback by all this. I felt like a horrible daughter, that my parents are so good to me yet I continue to disappoint them by doing nothing with my life except revolve through hospitals. Continue reading “My recent stay in hospital (again)”
Autistic meltdowns are no joke. I have had three the past week, one of which was the final straw which landed me in hospital.
The word “meltdown” comes from the catastrophic, dangerous release of radioactive material in a nuclear power plant. Meltdowns are acute events where an autistic person becomes completely overwhelmed and often loses control of their behaviour. They may scream, kick, punch, break things, lash out verbally, or cry. They can also “implode”, collapsing violently inwards with little outward signs of distress. When I implode I want to cry and scream but I can’t… it’s all stuck inside, tearing at my insides. In my experience, these are the worst kind of meltdowns as no body can see that something is wrong and you get no help. Another way an autistic person may respond during a meltdown is running away from the situation causing the meltdown, withdrawing from people and becoming non-verbal. My latest meltdown happened in the supermarket last night. I usually wear my industrial earmuffs when I’m out in public, but thought I’d be ok this time as I was only picking up a few things and would be out in five minutes. But alas a staff member dropped a whole lot of metal stuff right next to me. The whole supermarket heard it clang to the ground and it even ruffled other shoppers. The noise was excruciatingly loud, like something from a construction site. I immediately left the store. I didn’t say anything to the check out lady. I completely ignored the bloody charity guy who was waiting like a spider at the entrance hoping to catch me and get a donation out of me. I find that when I am in a meltdown it is difficult to mask. I have nothing left in me. When I got back to the car, I finally blew up. My dad was asking me all these questions. Had I found what I was after in the supermarket? Why wasn’t it there, was it on sale? I screamed at him to shut up. We had to go straight home. Continue reading “A bit about autistic meltdowns”
Tamika Rose, “Somatic Healer” and “Soul Embodiment Guide”, talks about how our sense of safety or lack of it begins from conception (though some might argue it starts even further back than this, in past lives). Our nervous system is shaped by our mother’s experience and her nervous system. The energy in which we were conceived, then the energy of our prenatal experience while our mother carries us in her womb, and finally how we were birthed all create an imprint that has lifelong ramifications. Continue reading “Birth trauma and EMDR”
I have had major depression for over ten years now, interspersed only by very brief bursts of mania. I have had absolutely no periods of being stable. I keep wondering how long can someone suffer for? I feel like I’m going to collapse or die or something but I never do. My depression is extremely debilitating. I can barely do anything. Even closing the curtain is too much. I need something to change, but it’s like everything I try makes me even worse. I am still sore from the massage I had a week ago. Continue reading “Journal thoughts”
The healthcare system, like most aspects of this world, can be brutal for highly highly sensitive people. Often we turn to healthcare professionals to heal the damage the world has done to us, but then are left with further injuries.
I left the hospital yesterday where I spent the last three weeks. It was one of the hardest days of my life. As I wrote in another post here, hospital for me is a bit like what Hogwarts is for Harry. It feels more like home than the place I live. On my last day I pressed the “Call a nurse” button twice. It takes a lot for me to press it as it’s difficult for me to ask for help. When someone presses the “Call a nurse” button the whole ward knows as the speaker in the corridor beeps and your room number is displayed on the sign at the end of the corridor. I feel melodramatic whenever I press it. During the morning I cried and I was not able to attend group. Then that evening I swore to my nurse. Everyone was in the firing line: my case management service who took away the closest relationship I had, my psychologist who keeps cancelling on me and is now taking leave, my broken, fucked up family, the neighbours who often wake me, how superficial dating sites are, how nobody reads my blog. I spent the day battling some strong urges to walk out and jump in front of a train. I was given a lot of Olanzapine to try and calm me. Continue reading “Discharge”
Sometimes when we experience trauma from a young age we do not form a cohesive sense of self. There is a lack of connection in our thoughts, memories, feelings, actions, or sense of identity. As I was cleaning up my room tonight I found this note I don’t remember writing. I think it was when I couldn’t speak and had to scribble things down to my nurse. I feel this was a very young part of me, who is semi-independent from the rest of us. I am sad how much guilt she carries, and how little space in the world she feels she can take up. She feels she is bad, a trouble maker and a burden. She doesn’t even believe she is deserving of help from professionals who are paid to help her.
I will keep this note as I want to get to know this part of me and her feelings and thought processes better.
It is nearing the end of my hospital admission, which is always difficult for me. It takes me a long time to settle in and when I finally feel settled I have to leave. It is hard to face the outside world after being in hospital. Each time I’ve taken leave I’ve been anxious to return. I’ve found it hard to be in public, and until today I didn’t have much contact with friends from the outside world either. Part of what makes it so hard is that I don’t really have a place that feels like home. I will have to go back to either my mum’s house or my dad’s house when what I really need is my own space. I don’t feel “held” emotionally by either parent, like I do in hospital. I feel uncomfortable showing vulnerability/emotion. I will miss being in a place where we can be so open about where our head’s at. Continue reading “Hospital reflection”
“Our normal waking consciousness, rational consciousness as we call it, is but one special type of consciousness, whilst all about it, parted from it by the flimsiest of screens, there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely different.” William James
I have spent the last fortnight in hospital, and have received a lot of communication from spirit whilst here. Continue reading “Spiritual experiences while in hospital”
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