Saturday Blues

Who would have thought that on a Saturday afternoon I would start to fall apart.
Why I am falling apart, I don't know. I am just falling apart.

I probably shouldn't have indulged in the behaviour that makes me upset. However, if I did that I would have nothing to blog about. Maybe that would be a good thing?

Anyway, I was tweeting as I always do when I am bored. I mentioned something to a friend about a game I used to play and how the people on that game hate me. This is where my crazy disorder kicks in.
On one hand I was saying everything in jest, I mean I'm not that horrible am I?
On the other hand I knew that the people I used to chat with on that game do in fact hate me, even if I don't know why.
Unfortunately, it was sort of comfortable being in my little world where I wasn't sure which one of the two it was. I believe this is called denial.

My friend told me which of the two options it was.

Result: Renee is crushed.

Rather stupid is it not? I mean it's not a big deal. So pixel people hate me. I mean I have nothing more to do with them, so why should it bother me?
Argh, it's so frustrating being a few sheep short of a paddock! Although I might actually have a few sheep too many thus all the confusion. It makes a bit more sense than not enough sheep....

So now, I'm sitting on my bed resisting the urge to scream at everyone for ignoring me and to just leave me the fuck alone, while holding back the hysterical laughter and a tempest of tears.

How can things go from awesome to broken in a few minutes?
As much as I'd like to believe the professional mind fucks about a series of events happening that cause us to be sad but not acknowledge that sadness until it's too much, I just can't seem to come to terms with their reasoning.
Wouldn't I feel something if I were upset by situations and circumstances?
Wouldn't I notice something different before the final spiral into oblivion?

Oh well, I only have a mental illness (or three), I'm not the one who knows anything about them.

Aftershock

I think I scared some people today. It seems that I have this ability to appear okay, then I'm not okay and people are shocked. This surprises me because I am constantly living with the craziness, the mood swings and other sundry "benefits". Perhaps I could be an outsider for a day and see what others see?
Today was particularly bad. My reasoning and ability to cope is severely limited at the moment. This period (the Christmas one) always makes me sad. I guess I've never had what I would call a happy Christmas. I always found it boring. I mean sure, there's presents, but then there was nothing. Just my parental units and me. All my friends were on holidays, with their families or both.
Mind you, being in Tasmania for three years and living in the Anglesea Barracks was fun. I could run around the whole barracks and never bump into anyone! However, even that got boring after a few hours.
Many days I wish I could just wake up and not have so much ridiculous rubbish floating through my grey matter. Although, I know that in my case such a wish is extremely unrealistic. There are very few people who wake up one day and are better.
Tomorrow... Ah well now we're dealing with a whole new kettle of fish. A new day and all that rubbish. Another year since more shit happened! Another year in which I haven't been able to change so everything is better. Another year of failing. Yes it is failing because I haven't been able to fix, help, do anything to make the next day better.
Now I even begin to wonder why I write such horrible things that only make others upset. Maybe it doesn't? But what if it does?
Upon scarring someone you can never take it back. It's burned and etched in their psyche forever. That's a guilty side of life I have trouble dealing with.
Haha, it's all a guilty side of life for me!!
Well 10pm, I have to go to bed. Apparently my GP thinks that if I take my meds early and take a double dose I will miraculously feel better. Ha!

Over it

I've realised so much in the last few days. One thing is the latest near breakdown I'm sort of having. Okay, so that doesn't make a lot if sense.
Basically since my last botched hospital attempt I've been on a tightrope, desperately trying to keep my balance. Lately I've realised that I've been falling for a couple of weeks. Falling hopelessly into yet another black hole.

Then there's the part where I tried to pretend everything is fine. I put on the smile and say "sure you can stay here!" instead of really saying "I'm feeling like shit and can't cope with people here right now". I guess I worry that my friend won't understand. It doesn't matter if I'm not feeling well, as long as they are happy.
Now I wonder if they really are happy if I'm breaking apart?
Do they notice?

There is such a sweetness in escaping reality. If only I could escape it permanently! Oh, right, because that's not allowed. I seem to always forget that little part.

Anyway, I guess I have to suck it up and find some way of dealing with all this. Well, at least finding a way to tell my friend that I need her to stay with someone else while up here. I'm struggling with not having my space. I'm totally not coping with anything right now. In fact I'm very close to driving myself to hospital... Or doing something else. I guess another few weeks in a psych ward wouldn't be so bad. I hope. Maybe? 

The Hospital part 3: Traumatically discharged and discarded

The day is Thursday the 5th of November, 2009.
The time is 5am.

For some reason I woke up at 5am this particularly splendid morning. I didn't even feel that bad at being up an hour and a half earlier than my usual time.
I decided to make the most of it and begin mentally preparing myself for another day in hospital. It was Thursday, so I had to prepare myself for the different group leader-psychologist-lady. I wasn't exactly keen on her "teaching" style.
By the time I waded through all that it was 6am, "great!" I thought as I slid out of bed and stumbled to my little bathroom to shower. Today was going to be a good day, I was determined.

The time is now 8am.

I am showered, dressed, even did my makeup (that is a big thing when you're in a psych ward, and you're me, and you can be bothered actually doing the make up part of the morning routine.) I was drawing while waiting for my psychiatrist. She usually liked to see me early in the mornings, I think it was because she thought I would be more talkative then!? She soon found out I am talkative all the time! Oops!
I picked up my iPhone, got my little speakers and set them up on my desk, neatly arranging everything into a functional, yet orderly, display. I pressed play and began drifting along the beat and melodies of some of my favourite artists.
NB: I am only verging on OCD when I am in hospital! This neatly arranging stuff isn't a usual "home" thing.

The time is 9am.

I am starving. I need to eat. I mumble some choice swear words under my breath that my shrink made me wait a whole hour without telling me she wouldn't be here this morning. Fine, I'll go eat and she can bite me if she comes to my room now.
I get up from my desk and walk to the door. I nearly run into the nurse on duty. I was about to say something when I looked at her face, I saw fear. I stepped back into my room, next to the door, as it the damn thing would support my weight.
"Renee, would you be able to pack your things on your bed? We need to move you to a shared room."
The nurse is looking at me. Why the fuck is she still looking at me? Didn't I talk? Hadn't I just screamed that I wouldn't be moved?
I clutched my throat, realising I was just staring at her.
"I... I... I can't sleep with someone else in my room. Are you going to drug me at night time so I can sleep?" By now the fear is making me slightly irrational, only slightly mind you. I begin to shake but quickly tell myself to stop being so stupid. I mean, surely they wouldn't make me do something that is clearly causing me so much distress... Would they?

The nurse looked at me again, astonishment crossing her face at my intense reaction. She takes a deep breath and informs me she will talk with the Head Nurse.
"If you move me I will need to be discharged because I can't sleep when there's someone else in my room. I won't stay to prove that I can't sleep" I start rambling, incoherently, barely able to breathe and stunned into near catatonic fear.

A lifetime later...

Okay it was approximately 10 minutes, but in my state it was a lifetime.
The Head Nurse walks into my room and sits down. She is staring at me. I have tears in my eyes and I'm yelling at myself to pull it together and stop being such a bloody sook. She just stares at me. I start to choke on the inside thinking she's going to murder me or something. (Hey, I was highly strung and irrational by this point, do you mind?!)

Finally she speaks. She tells me in her heavily accented voice that under no circumstances can I be an exception. Everyone who arrives at St John of God spends their first few days in a single room and then must move to a shared room. No exceptions.

I explain that I spent my first night in a shared room, that I didn't sleep even after the long and tiring day I had. I explain that I can't sleep in a shared room. I pause, take a breath and look at her, "Will you give me more meds including actual sleeping meds to make me sleep?"
Anger is now crossing her face, oh shit I've done it now, she's going to fucking murder me.
She continues to stare at me. I'm getting angry now too, how dare she try to intimidate me. I'm a fucking mentally ill person and she's trying to intimidate ME?!?!
Finally she speaks, "It's not fair if one person is allowed to stay their entire time here in a single room." She gets up and plans to leave.
My anger gets the better of me, I stand up, look at her and say "Then you will need to organise my discharge papers. I will not stay here if I am so CLEARLY distressed and uncomfortable."

Now fear crosses her face, has she gone too far? She steadies herself, "I will have your nurse contact your psychiatrist and ask to make sure it's okay for you to be discharged." She leaves the room.

I am panicking. I'm going home. I haven't finished the program. There's so much left to learn. Oh no, have I just fucked up... again?
I call my mum. She's no help. She doesn't know what to say. She can only say "Well I can't come and get you". Thanks Mum, I'm not crying here or anything.
She tells me to call my dad. Shit I don't know my dad's number. I'll email him. He gets emails immediately.
I ask him to call me.

My phone rings, shit that was quick, I answer it and burst into tears. I tell my dad that they're discharging me because I can't sleep in a shared room. I'm pretty sure none of this is making sense to him. Either way he listens and asks me if I want him to pick me up now. I tell him to do whatever is best for him. I'm not in any mood to make decisions right now.

The nurse walks back in, papers in hand, looks at me on the phone and then proceeds to tell me that I have to fill out this form, declaring I am leaving against my doctor's wishes. Yep, always out to cover your own arses, yet you're the ones who've put me in this state. Nice.

Dad says somethings I can't really hear over my crying. I mumble something and we hang up.

I fill out the papers.
I begin packing my stuff.

A nurse comes in, again, "You have to pack up your things now, Renee." I can't believe he just said that. "What the fuck do you think I'm doing?" is all I can reply. I cry again. The nurse closes the door. I swear.

20 minutes later...

Everything is packed. My room looks like I was never here. Oh well, these things happen. I am now just waiting for my dad. He called me back to tell me he will pick me up and take me home to Canberra today. Part of me is relieved. Part of me is now guilty that I've disrupted his day. Part of me is angry that I wasn't allowed to keep my car here so I could have gone immediately after packing. They were out to get me the whole time. Hmph.

The time is 10:20am.

The fire alarm is going off. My dad is going to be here any minute and I won't be able to get out of here because some moron set off the fire alarm in the hospital. Great.
Where the fuck is my bag of medication? It's not that hard to get all the meds I brought with me and stick them into a bag. Argh. Angry again.
I go and say goodbye to some friends. I see my dad's car driving down the street while I look out their window. Shit.

The time is 10:30am.

I'm in dad's car. Everything is packed. I have my meds. We're going to his place so he can pack his overnight bag. He'll be coming back to Canberra for the weekend.

I'm traumatised. I am scared. What do I do now?

The Hospital part 2: Before the worst

I'm in hospital. St John of God, Burwood.
The nurses put me into a shared room. I panic about it and explain that unless they're going to drug me I won't be able to sleep.
I was told there's nothing they could do, I would need to deal with it. Nice, my first night in hospital and I was already getting special treatment.
I figured there wasn't point arguing with them that night. I mean it was a big day, emotionally draining and I was sincerely hoping I would sleep, even if it was just from pure exhaustion.
I didn't sleep that night.

Luckily I was moved into a single room the following day. I got to stay in that room for 16 days. Wow. A whole 16 long days. How very exciting!!

The food:
I was in hospital so the food was never going to be great, or even decent. I, at least, was used to this particular part of hospital. It doesn't matter which hospital, in any state or territory, the food is always a step up from eating cardboard.

At St John of God the food even had fancy names, and different cuisine each day. La di da. *Insert eye rolling here*

The ward:
St Francis Unit.
It was clean. I can't say it was comfortable, I would've much preferred to stay at the Hilton or some other fancy new chic motel. I don't want much. Really.
Oh, I even had my own bathroom. Score!

The "WiseMind" program:
This was the challenging part. A new way of dealing with all my strangeness and incredibly annoying behaviour. Oh please, you know what I'm talking about!
I learnt a lot. I learned a little. I learned that when I feel like crap, I already start the process of DBT.
All this could be airy-fairy rubbish to you. I guess it doesn't help that I won't go I to the boring details (they really are that boring), so you know...

Well that about covers the three weeks. Coming up next, the traumatic discharge.

The Hospital part 1: Arrival

Some of you may be aware that I went to Sydney to go to a psych ward at St John of God in Burwood. Wow, that was a mouthful and I wasn't even saying it out loud.
Anyway, I was there for some awesome program they call "Wise Mind" which is, in reality, nothing more than DBT (Dialectic Behavioural Therapy.)

So I've been wanting to do this program since my last hospital visit in Canberra (July, 2009.) I even roped my psychiatrist into writing my referral and checking out the program himself. Yes, I do have some special powers when I want to convince myself something is worth doing.
My shrink made the referral and the phone calls and then we waited... and waited... and waited. I finally get a call at the end of October that I've finally been admitted (or will be upon providing my private health fund details.) Woot! I'm finally going to see what DBT is all about since Canberra doesn't actually have a DBT program.

I square away all the private health fund details and am then told that I need to be admitted BEFORE 2:30pm that day! Now, let me paint you a picture..
Here I am, in Canberra, on the phone to someone in reception at St John of God in Sydney. Door, to door, that's roughly a 3 hour trip. I look at my watch. Oh. My. God. It's already 11:30am and I haven't finished packing! There is no way I would make it to the hospital by 2:30pm, Sydney (unlike Canberra) has traffic!
The first of many panic attacks for the day, begins to take hold and I ramble in a voice so high pitched I'm sure I could hear windows shattering. The lovely person in reception said it would be okay to arrive at 3pm, they'll make an exception as I have to drive there.
Suddenly I am able to breathe again, kind of.

The next ten minutes is a blur of me packing the last bits and pieces, throwing it into the boot of my car and making sure I've locked the house, have my phone and purse and other essentials. Then I left.

It took me exactly 2.5 hours to reach St John of God, Burwood. I passed three cop cars (only one stationed at Goulburn) doing 120 - 130 and not one of them stopped me. Perhaps they thought they were seeing things as little cars like mine aren't meant to go that fast... Either way I wasn't booked! Points for me!! (Not that I condone speeding in any way.)

The parking in Sydney is always crap, EVERYONE knows this. Thus the reason most people either leave 30 - 40 minutes earlier than they need to, or they attempt to use public transport and still leave 30 - 40 minutes earlier.
I cruised, in a rushed kind of way, up and down the tiny street looking for a space big enough to fit my teeny tiny car. After driving up and down the road for 10 minutes I decided I didn't care if I cut off half of someone's driveway I was going to park my car no matter what!

The car is parked, I unplugged my iPhone from the speakers in my car, grabbed my bag, hid my charger and attempted other assorted hidings to maintain the facade of "there's nothing in my care worth stealing", then ran (okay I walked, but ran sounds much more dramatic) to the reception area of St John of God.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I looked at the statues and other religious paraphernalia and I suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to say "I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore."

I had arrived.