O.k so I didn’t actaully make the cookies, I watched as J made them. I only went along as it was an excuse to get off the ward. I’ve not been allowed off the ward yet, except for brief visits to the family room when my partner and son would come in. in truth those don’t really feel like breaks. I’m struggling to see my son at the mo, it upsets me. Mostly because i feel gulity that he’ll forget who his mum is, I feel bad that i find the visits long and can’t wait for him to leave and I feel that he would be better off without me, and ultimately i feel so gulity about all these thoughts.
But today I had an hour of the ward in the OT kitchen, away from the ramblings of other patients, away from the 15 minute checks and the foam cups. For 1 hour today, I felt almost normal, drinking tea from a porcelin mug, watching J stir flour and eggs etc and chatting shite with P. Never underestimate the therapuetic potential of chatting shite.
Before coming in here I’d walk almost 90 minutes every day, and cycle around 45 every other day or so, when i could get the chance. This confinment that I now find myself in is torture. But today, although it wasn’t the usual excercise that I use to relieve bulit up tension, it was nice. No questioning how i feel, no gazing looking for self harming behaviours, just shite, and you know what, it was better than any pill.
(oh and just in case you’re not sure, chatting shite is just the irish way of saying general chit chat.)
I’m grateful for that today.