Trip Advisor

It’s strange that I find myself appraising the decor of a different psychiatric ward this evening. I am noting things like, well it isn’t very pretty and certainly not a happy abundant environment, no patients’ art work on the walls etc, but oh, they have duvets and 2 pillows, that’s nice. They aren’t all the same these places, there are pros and cons with the layout, the outside space, the furniture, the decor, but they have the same function to me – they keep me safe.

I just walked past a lovely picture of a boat and a lighthouse, which wouldn’t look out of place on the wall of a cheap hotel, but I noted that it would look nice in my hall at home, cause I’m going for a nautical theme. I can’t answer the question which looms in my mind, Jules, why can’t you sleep at home in your nice flat? And it looms in my mind as I investigate my new surroundings, the three other not very well people I am sharing a room with, the bearded men watching football in the tv room etc.

I could get to know the other people, that might stop the constant thought of wrist cutting out of my mind, but I don’t want to talk to them. I know they are there, that they are not well and that they are safe here. I don’t want to interact this time. I can’t. I’ve come here for a purpose,  I don’t know it yet, but for now I am happy to take on the purpose of trip advisor, because looking around and comparing, and noting the plus points is going to get me through tonight. I haven’t inspected the bathroom facilities yet. I will save that for later.

I think it is brave, to know when there is a problem, and despite everything, to try to overcome it. A few nights in an all inclusive like this might just help me to figure out what is next. I don’t want to think about my arms anymore. That’s why I came here, and i don’t suppose they will amputate them for me so until they stop being a problem, I’m staying. I hope it is not very long because I wish I had my colour charts with me. This place could use some brightening up.

The lady in the next bed has just made a declaration. She whispered to herself “i declare that this hospital ward is safe for time travel” and I want to say to her, shhh, I’m trying to sleep. But the idea of it all has me thinking.

Blogging from hospital, the safest place on earth.

I never imagined an additional chapter to my memoirs, based on my experiences and admissions to hospital. I thought going back again would be the biggest failure. It is kind of. But it’s the safest I’ve felt for a week. They are worried that I will run away, and I would, but I don’t have the energy.
I tried to leave last night from A&E because it was such a boring

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wait and I just wanted to go and get pissed and maybe score some good drugs. I ordered a taxi and as I opened the door to get in a nurse and a security guard came to stop me. I was quite miffed cause they are not the boss of me and I was calm and not behaving weird. But the nurse had read a letter that was at my house and was concerned. In the end the taxi drove off
and I called the security guard a prick (cause I hurt my leg by sticking it in the taxi door and he tried to push the door shut, idiot).
So I walked off, tried to hitch a ride out of the hospital. Luckily a bus was pulling in so a ran a bit and got on it. Got my ticket along with several others and took my seat. Thank god I thought, no more hospital. I was also willing the driver to go! The security prick had called the police. There was a who-ha happening at the doorway to the bus and the passengers where getting the hump, including me. Then two officers came on the bus and called the girl behind me my name. I stayed quiet. Then the security prick shouted “not her, the one on front of her”. So I smiled politely at the police and said can I help you, is there a problem? There and then in front of the whole bus they launched into a big shpeal. I kept calm and told them people were behaving over the top, that I came voluntarily and that now I was leaving. Always in smart arse mode.
One of them left the bus, talked on the radio, came back in and mentioned “136” to the other one. She then asked me one last time to get off the bus with them or they would drag me off and I got up, smoothing myself down and said “what a ridiculous palavar”. Really I was so pissed off because I knew I was about to be put on a section 136 which means the police can detain me under the mental health act until I am assessed by a panel who can then put me on a section 2. Mostly my fear was not being able to leave to buy ciggies, so I went freely.
On the way back into the hospital the female officer tried to lighten the mood, she said have a ciggie before you go in and then she said “bloody hell, didn’t that remind you of a scene out of Speed 2?” I smoked my ciggie and agreed with her to shut her up but she kept on talking. I don’t know why or how she got onto it but she told me her mother died when she was 14 and that today was the anniversary. I wanted to say something kind but I didn’t have any words and so I think I just said oh.
The police said if I was ok to leave they would take me to where I was going, when I said it was a pub they slightly backed out of that promise.
This was the second team of police I had seen in the same day. The first set were at my house a few hours before,.snooping round my back door with my neighbour asking if I had taken anything. I said no I hadn’t, which was true.and that I was sleeping, which was also true.  I opened the door to my neighbour but it was a trick to let the police in. I just went back to bed and put the duvet over my head. I think that’s when they snooped and found the letter I had written. Anyway they called the ambulance and all four of them, 2 coppers and 2 greenies tried to convince me to go to A&E. So that’s how I got there and tried to leave.

Once I was back on there I saw a consultand straight away and he is possibly one of the nicest doctors I have ever met. Somehow he managed to unlock my brain in minutes and had me spilling everything like chunk from the goonies. Then he said he didn’t want me to go home and wanted me to stay here and be safe for a few days. So an hour or so later a nurse from the nut house came to get me, she knew me and was very kind. I’ve.been here 24 hours and they have all been very kind. The word blip is starting to do my head in a bit but I.feel safe.
I can’t go into anymore because I have to save that for the psychiatrist. I’ve got a feeling it might not just be a weekend break, it might be more like a week but it is ok. I still think the security guard was a prick cause I woke up with a bruise on my leg. I’m sad for that police woman’s mum dying as well.
Good night from hospital, the safest place on earth x

Sorry miss Jenkins

I can’t get the motivation I need to move on. I feel stuck where I am, lonely, uninspired, ungrateful, scared, lazy, frightened, on my own. But I don’t feel suicidal today, that’s a start.

Yes this is seriously what it is like and I wish something would happen to jolt me into action. But I feel like I’m wearing one of those sumo suits and that my body is now just too big to carry around. I now prefer to leave the house and go places in my dreams, the good ones anyway. I feel trapped.

I’m supposed to be getting this graded exposure program that lasts 6 weeks. They think that I’m going to be able to go on the bus on my own and into town and back. I question this plan. I’ve lived here for four months in a rural location and been waiting all that time for my graded exposure plan. It’s not going to work and I’m going to seem ungrateful when the person comes to do it.

My new CPN looks a lot younger than me and is so mousey I think she is half mouse. I hope she has had a breakdown. I really do. Otherwise how is she gonna get me gradually exposed? I’m just gonna ignore her or not answer the door. She’s going to struggle with me and I already feel sorry for her. She reminds me of my French teacher at school who I nearly gave a nervous breakdown to.

I was such a twat to her. At the time I loved it because I was on a roll, all of my smart arse comments came out brilliantly and even my follow up comments got a laugh. Moments like that don’t come along often so I milked it, I was like a professional stand up comedienne. But you know what? The best bit, and also the worst bit, is that every time she tried to shut me up and get me back on task I had perfect backchat, sometimes even in French, because I was good at French, probably the best in the class. I went on (controversially) to get an A at GCSE and after that my French teacher at college called me a natural linguist. And I never bothered. It was a waste.

I tortured that poor French teacher (by being quite funny) into walking out of the class crying and for what? Because I found French easy and her lessons boring? Because for once people were laughing and I was good and funny, at any expense, and for once I wasn’t miserable in that effing school, for one double French lesson.

I was taken out of her class (she rightly refused to teach me) and put into the nohopers class. The aim in my new class was not to pass French gcse, it was to not get pregnant, overdose on drugs or get stabbed. I avoided all of those things, pretended I didn’t know any French and got an A. The teacher helped me after class because if I spoke French in this classroom, even to take the piss out if the teacher, I would have probably have got battered. Everyone in this class was going to fail. There were one or two aiming for a C but the teacher and I knew it wouldn’t happen.

I was a strange teenager. I was clever but I threw it away all the time. I didn’t care about getting into trouble, or maybe I did care, and wanted to get into trouble because I was so bored of school. French and all of the other classes just bored the crap out of me and so I was always looking for something to get up to. The most infuriating thing for my teachers was when they tried to shut me up and make me work, I knew my stuff. I knew what they were teaching or I had decided it was pointless for my life (i.e. quadtratic equations) so I always had a smart arse answer. I was the ultimate bad student, the type that good teachers love to hate and bad teachers fear with intensity.

And I went on to become a teacher. The irony is massively ironic. But as a teacher I would never meet a worse student than myself, not even to this day. I’m not proud of that. I found teaching easy and loved the naughty students because I knew every trick in the book myself but also because it was a challenge to engage them in learning and most of the time I managed it (even if it took ages and I had to resort to swearing at them). I was fortunate that I never got anyone worse than me. Fortunate and now as I’m older, embarrassed.

The teacher I made cry and leave the class, was called Julie Jenkins. I called her mamoiselle Julie. I was not allowed to but I did. Then I started copying the way she wrote her name and writing my own name like that. I wish I hadn’t been such a smart arse. I also wish miss Jenkins could see me now, stuck at home lonely and not knowing how to proceed. I’m not such a smart arse now miss Jenkins. Still, I’ve still got a feeling that my mousey CPN is in for a ride. I can see her walking away from me crying and asking for a different patient because I’m a smart arse, or, uncooperative. But really it will just crumble because I’m scared and she doesn’t look strong. She doesnt look like she will shout at me. She looks like if I shout at her she might cry.

This is not good because my plan b is to eat myself into the house so that I get so big I can’t get out, like an American. My only reservation, and why I havent started plan b is in case it doesn’t work and I lose heaps of weight one day and try to leave the house and live etc, I would be left with those flaps of excess skin that nobody can do anything about. I’m not keen on starting growth of those flaps just yet so I’m holding off.

Hibernation confirmed

i have worked out why i have been sleeping so much, it’s because of some medication i was put on just before christmas. i swear it has taken me to Narnia, and not a good Narnia, no Aslan for starters.

So I stopped taking it a couple of days ago and i’m slowly returning to the real world.

I’m writing this as a reminder to myself that I have some statements that I want to publish on here. I want to show both sides of me so that people can see how mental health can make you live a double life, how one person percieves you in one reality and how somebody else percevies you in another. And i want to ask how it is possible to be both? because that’s where i’m stuck, how to knit both realities together. I dont want to go back to being two people and having two realities, i just want one. And when you see these comments im sure you will agree it is going to be a challenge!

I’m 16 days into the year and I’ve already had some amazing days and some sad days. That’s my life, the ups and the downs. it’s like getting on the viking ship at the fair and realising you can’t get off, it’s going to go very high and as you are up you can see the down bit coming and your tummy doesnt know what to do. I would like to be on another ride, just the swans or the boats floating around the fairground, the ones going slowly and calmly. I just want to add for no particular reason that i HATE the tea cups, they are just maddening! its the waltzers for the wusses in my opinion. (not kids, kids can go on the tea cups, but not adults!)

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9

forgot about day 9, it was THAT interesting.

8

It’s the 8th day of the year and I’ve nothing to say about it. Viola.

Day seven

An achievement. Hooray!

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Day 6

Couldn’t sleep last night, facebook people going round and round in my mind. Emailed somebody to ask them to remove a school picture of me that was upsetting me, had no answer.
Slept all day.
Have moved to sleep in the living room for a few days because I can sleep in here and not in my bedroom.
It’s chronic fatigue I think cause I’ve been twitching and shaking a bit, oh and dribbling. I don’t even have the energy to go and get my tablets. The careline people called me twice today to remind me to take them. They are next to me now cause I get embarrassed when the careline people call. I always think that they must think I’m lazy cause the pill spaceship makes a really loud alarm noise for half and hour before it dials through to them. They must think I’m taking the Mick.
Going back to sleep now, just awake from 7pm to midnight, mostly to catch the spaceship from embarrassing me.
Try again tomorrow.
Need milk and cigs and electric, so kind of an emergency in terms of needing to leave the house. Probably need sunlight as well.
Night x

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