I’m OK

I had a really good day, actually.

Few drinks, saw my old uni supervisor who’s now a good friend of mine, watched my favourite Disney film and am planning to go to bed and have lots of sex. Should make for a fun evening, at least.

My mother and I have a weird relationship where I do whatever she asks and I don’t think about it too much. I don’t have much sanity left.

God alone knows. I feel like a resident whale, and yet I still drink, meaning alcohol calories. I don’t know whether this makes me desperate, or a hypocrite, or both. I’m choosing not to think about it too much.

I’m in trouble, but distantly so.


Quiet Day

Very quiet day, probably for the best. Went to the gym, did some more writing, had a bath. Generally remaining very low-key and trying not to get myself freaked about my future or life or whatever, which happens remarkably often these days.

Had a completely useless ‘work focused interview’ for ESA, too. The woman conducting the talk freely admitted it was a waste of time, as I a) have a job I will be getting back to when I can and b) have only been out of hospital a week, so going back to work isn’t likely for a while yet!

So keeping on keeping on. And hopefully will be able to actually do things when I eventually go back to aerial…

Belated Hello

(Or: At Home – Day Three)

Forgot to update last night, so somewhat belatedly here I am. I’m struggling with low mood, creeping in around the edges, but I’m alright. I will be alright. I’m trying. I can get better. I’ll be okay.

Sorry. More later.


(Or: Acute Inpatient, Take Two – Day Six)

The psychiatrist who has previously been an absolute tool was quite nice today. Probably because my seizure scared the hell out of staff, plus I got my arm bandaged up from my last self harm venture via scratching and it looks hilariously dramatic.

Looks like I’ll be discharged on Monday. Sertraline has been increased, I’m not on carbamazepine any more, so I can start orlistat when I get released.

Big meeting occurring tomorrow which will dictate a lot of what follows this admission, I’m hoping for some straight answers and, God forbid, some help. Let’s see.

Unmitigated Disaster

(Or: Acute Inpatient, Take Two – Day Four)

Today was an absolute unmitigated disaster.

Let’s contextualise. I asked my mother to make some difficult phone calls, starting with the head of the care coordinator team, to more or less fire my current care coordinator, discuss when Complex Needs will get back to me, and ask about interim care.

Meanwhile: my care coordinator arrives. Is very sweet and caring but absolutely ineffectual. Learned some interesting things though.

I later have a meeting with the consultant psychiatrist. The same one who reduced me to tears last week. I was told that I would be discharged on Wednesday, REGARDLESS of whether or not I felt safe enough to do so. I was told in no uncertain terms that I would not be here long, and while it may get reassessed, I’m out of here come Wednesday.

This did not go down well. I started crying.

To add insult to injury: I am told there is a patient who is very sick, and would I move wards. Where to, you ask? Why, to a low security OCD ward. I am not OCD. I’m suicidal. I say no. But it really does prove just how much they want to get rid of me.

My partner arrives, and I have a full blown dissociative seizure. Screaming, crying, convulsing, the works.

Now my timeline gets odd, because I was having a seizure. I was dragged across the ward, publicly, while screaming and convulsing. The consultant knew, and saw me, and thought it appropriate to do absolutely nothing. I was taken away from my partner who is experienced at helping me through them. I was left alone for an extension period of time and completely ignored. Battered myself extensively on the head and scratched my arm severely.

Meanwhile: my partner calls my mother. She calls the ward, and convinces them to let Sarah back. I have to get myself to a neutral room – again around the ward while hysterical – and she calms me down. I speak to an absolute wonder of a doctor who listens – bear in mind that I have no filters and I’m ridiculously upset – and get written up some lorazepam. I calm down. My partner calms me down. All is OK.

Except that it really fucking isn’t, at all.

I’m not upset about the discharge date, per se. I am ridiculously upset that nobody has been listening. I tell him I am suicidal and he still thinks it appropriate that I would leave so early, even if that hadn’t changed. So I am unsafe. Even when I thought I would be.

Random extraneous knowledge from today:

1) Despite multiple conversations to the contrary, I’m going to be assessed by the young group in Complex Needs (16-25) which we’d previously agreed would be entirely wrong for me.

2) The lead psychologist for Complex Needs is on leave for several weeks, so God knows when they will get around to assessing me.

3) There is a psychologist, somewhere, who is developing something for interim care before Complex Needs gets around to it.

4) My blood pressure is scarily low and nobody has done much about it.

5) My face cream hasn’t been written on my charts. I’m not allowed to use it. Problem ongoing. Argh.

6) I have asked at least a dozen times. But it appears that the Complex Needs team are the only people who can do Tier 4 referrals. That’s right. Everything I’ve fought for rests in Complex Needs.

If it weren’t for my family and fiancée I just don’t know what I would do. They have been extraordinary and continue to be. With them around, I know they will make things happen. They will get me there.

I’ll be OK.

Time Ticking

(Or: Acute Inpatient, Take Two – Day Three)

Today was a lower day. Woke up feeling very low – although did manage to sleep exceptionally late – and felt like a twat for turning down a close friend of mine coming to visit. Just wasn’t feeling up to visitors.

But: my partner came. We went out together for a short while. I was hugely encouraged by the staff taking me to one side and explaining that I absolutely had to be accompanied at all times as I’m a high suicide and flight risk. It’s weirdly nice to be taken seriously.

Feeling shattered, so sleep now. Hopefully a longer update tomorrow.

A Good Day

(Or: Acute Inpatient, Take Two – Day Two)

Today has been one of my best days in quite a long time, much to my own surprise. I honestly thought it would be horrible – based on both my mood, location, and that my fiancée wasn’t going to be able to visit – but I actually had a positive day. I didn’t cry! Not even once! And recently I’ve been sobbing hysterically at least twice a day so this is HUGE for me.

My parents visited, first off, and were really lovely. I can tell my dad isn’t coping well, but he has always found mental illness really difficult. And seeing your daughter on a psych ward for the third time, with intense suicidal ideation, must be horrendous for any parent. My mum is the joking one, and I felt able to laugh, so time passed quickly. They brought me a portable DVD player (!!!!) and DVDs to pass time. Which is awesome. They also brought some nice food things, because hospital food sucks.

On that: I still have not thrown up! My compromise has been that I’m eating very little. I know it’s not a perfect compromise, but it’s that or fall headlong back into bulimia which I’m just terrified of doing. My mood is terrible enough without adding vomiting to the mix. Again. So I am severely undereating but will deal with that later.

To my surprise, another very close friend of mine – codename cannon fodder, for a variety of reasons – unexpectedly visited after my parents had gone. Hugely fun. Somebody who’s seen enough of people in varying states of vulnerability to be utterly unfazed by anything, and still have a wicked sense of humour.

In other news, was offered legal work pro bono. And I mean as a lawyer. I declined by virtue of not being a lawyer.

So overall? Really positive day, and this hospital experience isn’t seeming quite so purgatorial.

(Now if I could just kick the constant desire to kill myself…)