(Or: Acute Inpatient, Take Two – Day One)
Look at that. A new countdown.
Well, I am on a ward. No idea how long for. I had a frankly disastrous conversation with the ward consultant psychiatrist, who I’m debating lodging a formal complaint against. The man was unbelievably cruel and showed a complete lack of empathy when I was clearly very distressed. I was told that there was nothing anybody could do about the bulimia so ‘don’t throw up’. I’m not kidding. Same response to self harm. I was told that I am here to ‘wait until this passes’ and otherwise refused to talk about my further treatment outside of hospital or on discharge. I was patronised about medication decisions that have been made with my GP and usual psychiatrist, and made to feel stupid. I ended up hysterically sobbing, and I do mean hysterical. Another nurse came in and told me he probably didn’t mean it to come across that way, take it a step at a time and come eat dinner.
I responded about as well as you’d imagine.
I am vacillating between ideas on how to respond. I don’t feel able to fight this in the way I need to. It requires a fuck of a lot of time, organisation, tenacity. It’s a full time occupation, and I can’t do it, as my primary occupation right now is not dying. Nobody is listening to me as a patient, and I can’t, it’s killing me.
So it falls to my fiancée. Who has a life of her own. Who does not have endless time to devote to this.
And if I’m completely honest, I am frightened of letting her do it. I am used to being in control. The only person I relinquish control of things like this to is my mother, and that’s because I’ve grown up watching her take on situations like this and win without question. My fiancée is new to this game, and I’m worried she’s not going to do it right. And I loathe myself for saying it because it sounds like I don’t trust her and I do, I truly do, but I also want her to go have a life that doesn’t revolve around my illness.
I’m still excruciatingly suicidal. The immediacy ebbs and flows, but it’s still there, cancerous.
To my credit, haven’t thrown up yet. Get me! I’ve had the opportunity, but haven’t, so go me, ladies and gents, I’m still here and I’m still fighting.