Well folks, that’s another hospital admission over. I’ve been in here for 6 weeks. It’s time to go home.
I’m filled with the usual terror and uncertainty that’s always accompanied these situations. How will I cope? Can I ever properly change things? How do I move forward in a positive way?
My intense crisis has passed though and some hope has returned which itself will sustain me for a while. Come on Loopy, you’ve got this!!
There’s a baby on the way. It’s hard to see it now, but this IS a good thing.
I’m still in hospital, I’m still quite low, I’m still a bit of a mess.
They asked me this week, “do you write things down?”. I guess I’ve stopped lately and I’m not sure why. I think I was maybe scared of being boring.
I feel sad, I feel alone, blah blah blah. I think I’m getting sick of even listening to myself. I’m very pathetic.
At this time, I want to run away. I don’t want to see, or talk to, or be around anyone, and I mean ANYONE.
I’m ignoring family calls, cutting conversations with little man short, ending text conversations abruptly and delaying booking visits for OH.
I’m ignoring bump. Trying to pretend it’s not happening,. Trying to block it out.
I want to be alone. I don’t want to have reasons to fight anymore, but I do. Its really hard because I want to die alone……
I’ve put the shutters up, I don’t ever want to take them down.
A nurse burst in this morning, declaring; ‘it’s time to change your bedcovers!” Those words instill fear in any patient, storing contraband in their pillowcase!
Oh crap, oh crap, OH CRAP! I rolled onto my tummy and began frantically searching. Pillow 1- nope!. Pillow 2-Nope!
Are they under my sheet? Are they in my pockets? Have they fallen down on the floor!
I begin stripping the bed myself. They think I’m being helpful, but I’m not. I’m almost frantic!
Then boom, tucked down the side of my mattress I finally find them.
You can take away my straighteners, you can take away my clothes, you can take away my dignity, and freedom, but you can never take away…………………
I was admitted to hospital on Wednesday. I’m on a 1 to 1. I’m also in isolation until I get 2 negative Covid swabs. I’m feeling pretty crappy.
Not much else to say really. Might not get for my scan next week now. Not sure how I feel about that. I want to see if bump is dead or alive I guess. I have this horrible feeling it’s dead.
I wish they’d let me self harm. Just a little.
1. Lose weight. I’m going to do it as soon as I can. I’ve bought more Orlistat, I’m desperately trying to get my hands on saxenda, and today I went back on my bike. I feel grotesque, a beached whale, a fat ugly rolley polley.
My first attempt at getting Saxenda failed. Stupid Loopy, you’re fake BMI was too low. Rookie error. My 2nd attempt- well I’m still waiting on the outcome. Fingers crossed. It’s funny, when I was doing my PhD I used to joke that we should all be taking GLP-1 agonists, which is what Saxenda is. They make you feel fuller, delay gastric emptying and have been shown to aid weight loss. Typically used to treat diabetes but now also approved for weight loss in morbidly obese individuals.
Next resolution. Self harm more. Yup I know how ridiculous that sounds. I should be trying the opposite, but /I’m stressed and it calms me. I have this mad craving to use a clothes iron. I’ve been fighting the urge for weeks now, sticking with the straighteners, but I don’t think I’ll be able to relax if I don’t try it. I can’t make sense of these urges at the minute, but they’re showing no signs of easing.
Next one- no hospital admissions in 2021. This past few years I’ve been in and out of psychiatric wards, and to be honest, at the moment I wish I was back in. That’s usually a sign that 1. I don’t actually need to be in, and 2. A sign that my stress and feelings of being overwhelmed are growing. But stay out this year Loopy. You need to stay out.
Last one for now- try to talk more with your key worker. Seek out more counselling and oh this is a big one- share your food struggles with OH.
That’s it for now folks. A mixed bag /I’d say.
I’ve chomped my nails, down to the stumps, I’ve binged and purged. I’ve burned and tonight for the first time since discharge, I want to knock myself out with zopiclone and diazepam, both of which I have in my possession (not loads)
I can’t explain it but a huge wave of sadness, hopelessness, self doubts and self destructive urges have hit me hard this evening…
And so the cycle begins again……………
I’ve been out on leave for the past 4 days, but today I was officially discharged. It’s weird, but this always comes with a little sadness on my part. I think you get so used to being wrapped in a 24/7 blanket of care, that leaving it makes you feel vulnerable and a little alone.
The staff were generally great. They wouldn’t usually tolerate patients who behaved as I did. Any self harm over here gets you shipped immediately to a PICU, but covid stopped that, and they managed me as best they could. They even took my wardrobe, the actual furniture away.
I now have a clearer picture on what my priorities must be.
1. Get help for my PND.
2. Get help for my eating issues and drug use, although since leave I have reduced my zopiclone down to 7.5mg only.
3. Seek support or at least clarification regarding my BPD traits.
4 Learn to like myself again and accept my emotions in a more positive way.
You can only tackle these one at a time Loopy, but you can do it!!
6 weeks on a psych ward and pretty much zero improvement. I’m out on leave until Tuesday and then I’ll be discharged.
Basically we all recognised that the stay was off no benefit, and without being allowed to burn, my use of ligatures just escalated.
So I’m back home, on a ridiculous regimen of meds, and little hope going forward. How do I get help here? How do I get better? How on earth will I cope when little man comes home from granny’s on Sunday.
I am happy to be back in my own bed though, with no restrictions and OH’s arms wrapped tightly around me.
I’ve been in hospital.now for just over 5 weeks, and I feel no better now than the day I came in.
I’ve made no progress, learned nothing new about myself and I have no hope that I will ever live content.
COVID 19 hasn’t helped. No visitors, no occupational therapy, no on ward activities..nothing…
The ward sister has called me ridiculous very loudly and with venum in her tone on the few occasions that I’ve ligatured, and not once has she asked if I’m ok.
The nurses generally are nice, but limited in what they can do.
I do occasionally play with an old battered wilson (see pic), but the yard is tiny and the nurses don’t endure the noise for very long.
This stay isn’t like the others The levels of empathy and encourgment are much lower than my last two stays.
I’m lost, and I need out.
Absolutely mortified at 4.00am this morning. I woke up.soaked, and confused. I was a bed wetter for many years as a child, but at 34 it feels so much more shameful.
The nurses and auxiliaries quickly changed my bedding, and were kind and non chalant.
I however feel humiliated