The 15th of March.
I was admitted on the 15th of February.
So not only is it four weeks that have passed, it’s ONE WHOLE MONTH.
I can’t help but feel a bit sad about it.
That’s a whole month of my life gone.
A whole twelfth of my year gone.
I really thought that 2020 was my year. It started off so well, with so much promise.
I never thought I’d end up here.
Hopefully it will be worth all this time though, so I can get well once and for all.
Slept on my back again, like the absolute dead. I had really vivid dreams, that I can’t quite remember, but I do remember that they were good – rollercoaster-less and tentacle-less.
I was super groggy when I woke up, but managed to drag myself to the dining room for BACON SUNDAY. I had some of my Reds BBQ sauce on my sarnie. One of the girls was like OMG REDS SAUCE, so I said she could have some if she wanted.
It’s nice to be nice.
Got ready as I usually do, but kept my foundation off, cuz I’m planning on slathering my face in a mask later for ‘Sunday Spa Day’.
While I was getting ready I could hear singing lady going mental and demanding attention again. She doesn’t just ask for it, she fucking yells. Like, I’m sure they can hear you. She keeps yelling MY NAME IS *INSERT FULL NAME HERE* AND I WOULD LIKE TO GO HOME.
You’re sectioned babes! You can’t go home!
I did some writing in the morning, and then played a bit of Risk before lunch, but kept losing, which was really frustrating.
Sunday lunch was roast dry turkey.
No amount of gravy could save it.
But the dessert was jam roly poly, which was pretty decent.
After lunch, I got some nail varnish from my contraband box, put the blinds down on my bedroom door, and started…
First of all I put these feet masks on that one of my friends sent me in the post…
Then I put a face mask on, which was a gift from my girlfriends…
Then I slathered myself in body butter that another friend had bought me, and got to work on my nails…
I finished by doing my mascara and drawing my brows back on, and using some almond hand cream (another gift).
All the while, I had Legally Blonde on in the background.
It was something that I didn’t need to focus on, but drew more of my attention than music. I figured my thoughts were less likely to wander.
Also, it’s a fucking great film for me to be watching right now, and I knew it would perk me up like it did two days prior.
Might watch it every day.
It was good to do something with my day, seeing as I had absolutely no plans, and I find the weekends here generally quite difficult.
It was also nice to do something just for me. I’m clearly not trying to impress anyone atm. It passed a good couple of hours. I really enjoyed the sensations and the smells, although it seems I’ve developed an intention tremor (probably my medication), so doing my nails was really fucking difficult!
All of the treatments are things that I haven’t done for ages, because I rarely get any time. I used to have my nails long and spiky all the time, and have loads of Lush baths.
But I can’t remember the last time I had some proper time to myself aside from in here.
I forgot how important that is.
I let both my job and my relationship consume my life – if I wasn’t doing one, it was the other.
I will never ever make that mistake again.
I need to take care of myself above all else.
(That’s not to say I’m going to quit my job, or stay eternally single. But I will never get myself in to a place where the balance is so fucked up ever again.)
All the while, singing lady kept kicking off, yelling that the staff were abusing her etc etc. One of her fave phrases is SHAME ON YOU, SHAME ON ALL OF YOU! I just blocked her shouting out. I know her beef isn’t with me, so it’s not as threatening. It doesn’t give me that ‘fight or flight’ response of panic and terror, if that makes sense?
I did get well hacked off with her at lunch though. She’s become super protective of shouty lady, and keeps accusing the staff of neglecting her when she’s shouting (even though she shouts ALL THE FUCKING TIME, and clearly she can’t have constant attention). While I was being served at lunch, she pushed her way in front of me, and was like *INSERT SHOUTY LADY’S NAME HERE* IS READY FOR HER LUNCH NOW. I was like, bitch please, there’s actually a queue (but without the ‘bitch please’).
It’s all me me me with her (apart from her bizarre concern with shouty lady – I think she just wants any excuse to be shitty to the staff tbh, which is well unfair, because they are genuinely amazing). She has zero patience, is so fucking demanding, and she is proper getting on my tits. I’m staying mostly in my room because I’m genuinely worried that I’ll end up saying something to her other than ‘there’s actually a queue’.
I’m so impulsive, and I know how easily I can snap.
I had a bit of a chat with scary lady earlier too about how much she hated the staff. She just talked and I was like ‘mmhmmm, mmmhmmmm…’ (while thinking ‘fuck off, fuck off…’)
I’m just trying to avoid the both of them as much as humanly possible. Probs for the best.
My Dad texted me to say how impressed he was with how I handled the incident at the chippy yesterday, and how he can see so much progress in me. That was really nice to hear from him. I can see it in myself, so it’s good to see other people noticing too.
After such a good afternoon, I genuinely didn’t know how to fill my mood tracker in.
Was I feeling good or was I feeling anxious?
I logged both.
Whenever I feel good, I’m just waiting for some bad news to come and knock me down.
It’s always just too good to be true.
I end up checking my e-mails, and thinking about things that could be going wrong – and that’s when my thoughts spiral…
WHEN I’M FEELING GOOD.
What’s that about?
I tried to distract myself as much as possible.
I went through a bag of jewellery making stuff that my mum brought me the day before, and picked out the things that I actually wanted (and am allowed to keep on the ward).
So now I’ve got loads of threads, which means I can make friendship bracelet type things – essentially knitting with my hands – which is what I’ve been doing at the jewellery making workshop every Thursday afternoon.
I spent a bit of time messaging some friends.
In the late afternoon, a member of staff came to see me. She asked if I’d like to play a game with one of the other patients. I thought that would be quite nice, and said I would after dinner.
While the conversation was going on, I could hear my next-door neighbour headbanging on our adjoining wall.
My plan had been to just go grab some sandwiches, and then eat them in my room while watching TV, but I thought since I’d said I’d play a game I’d eat in the dining room and then stay out to play the game straight after.
I wish I hadn’t.
I was really conscious that dinner was sandwiches, so I’d be eating with my hands, and the thought of touching things on the way down to the dining room was freaking me out. I was trying so hard not to touch anything, but it was near impossible.
Sometimes I’m a real germaphobe, but sometimes I literally don’t give a fuck (like when collecting glasses at work). Right now, I think with my heightened anxiety, and Coronavirus being a thing, the thought of touching things is particularly upsetting me.
Two of the women on my table were absolutely covering their food in mayonnaise (which I absolutely detest the smell, taste, and texture of), and I could see scary lady’s bum crack hanging out. She also kept putting her hands down the front of her trousers to give herself a good itch, and belching.
I could hear everything really loudly, particularly the woman next to me chewing, and the scraping of her knife and fork on her plate (she has a terrible tremor, and was trying to eat a mayonnaise soaked salad).
I knew I couldn’t play the game like I had promised to. It involves sharing a dice, and I don’t know where her hands have been. During dinner they were either in her mouth, or dripping in mayonnaise, and it was really getting to me.
I knew I shouldn’t have come out for dinner.
I should have just stayed in my room.
I asked the nurse if she could help me, because I was feeling so overwhelmed and upset. She gave me some medication.
I apologised to the patient I’d agreed to play a game with, and told her I wasn’t feeling well, so had to go back to my room.
Once I was back in my room, I instantly felt much calmer.
I know that everything in here is clean, and mine.
There also aren’t any upsetting noises, like chewing.
Ultimately, I am safe in my room.
Or at least I thought.
I was clearly in complete sensory overload.
I started to watch some Drag Race, drink tea, and eat chocolate. But some of the songs made me feel overwhelmingly lonely. I had messages waiting on my phone, but I couldn’t face answering them.
So I was wanted human contact and support, but also wanting to be completely on my own.
I couldn’t win.
I just didn’t want to be anywhere.
The next part felt really surreal. I barely remember it. Looking back on it now feels like remembering a dream. It’s really hazy.
This entry is also not very nice to read from hereon, so consider this a disclaimer.
I got some pains in my chest, and felt really panicky, so went to the nurse and said that I didn’t feel very well. She was an agency nurse, so I didn’t know her at all. We were standing in the communal area just outside the nurse’s station, and I felt so overwhelmed by being out of my room, that I said to her I couldn’t be out there, turned around, and just ran back.
I don’t know how long I was sitting there before I snapped a biro in half, and cut my lower leg 11 times.
Self-harm for me isn’t a cathartic release that I spend loads of time meticulously performing. It’s not like Maggie Gyllenhaal in the film Secretary, where she has this fancy box with blades, iodine and bandages. With me, it’s always super impulsive, poorly thought through, I rarely remember it properly, and I always feel a great deal of shame afterwards.
The time that it took for 11 cuts was no longer than 3 seconds – really rapid. And then I just lay on the bed crying.
Again, I don’t really remember how long I was there for. But eventually I realised what I’d done, started panicking, and used the call bell for staff to come.
One of the staff held my hand, while the nurse cleaned me up. The one holding my hand said I’d been doing so well, and was like ‘what happened??’. I tried as best as I could to explain, but I was finding it really difficult. I just kept apologising and saying that I didn’t really remember it.
It’s really really scary.
After all that, I took some medication, and watched some more Netflix while wrapped in my weighted blanket, which I found really helpful.
I also texted my parents to let them know what had happened. I didn’t want to ruin my mum’s birthday the following morning. They were really understanding, and said that they were really proud of me for calling the staff rather than letting myself spiral completely out of control.
You know that impending sense of doom I described earlier in the day when I felt good? I was convinced that something was going to come along and ruin it.
It did – but it was all me.
I didn’t get any bad news or anything, it was purely me that ruined my good day. Well, my illness did anyway.
I wonder why that is.