I have to do art therapy while I’m incarcerated as an inpatient. I can’t begin to put into words how much I dreaded this concept. I even told the very lovely therapist how I feel about art therapy. She was very understanding – and surprised. Because no matter how I feel about the activity, I am here to immerse myself in all the therapies, regardless of my preconceived ideas.
Same old, same old. Neither better nor worse. I feel my depression has sunk pretty low and I spent a lot of today mapping out “exit” strategies. But I also communicated this with the registrar and have requested to have my dose of pristiq increased. She’s also modified my leave to “escorted” which is fine by me.
A friend of mine has encouraged me to share my private journals of inpatient. I hope it’s not triggering for anyone. It’s deeply personal. And I’ve made every effort to remove identifying information of the clinic, staff and patients. It’s a long read! But this is what life is like.
How small a world becomes when locked away, be that lock constructed of our own fruition.
It’s a wild ride as an inpatient at a psychiatric facility. I can’t honestly say I’d recommend it. But then sometimes we have to do necessary things in life that aren’t necessarily enjoyable. I didn’t traipse all the way here for fun. I left behind all that was comfortable and familiar, to learn uncomfortable, unfamiliar ways of managing my emotional and eating behaviours. At this stage I am far from cured.
I made it to the clinic and apparently I’m settling in. Well – lots of people ask me every day how I’m settling in. What do you say to that? I’m here and I’m following the rules. I’d rather be at home cleaning my toilets but I’m not. So here we are.
In 12 hours, I’m heading off to the clinic. I think I know what to expect, but I also know I have no idea. Does that sound confusing? Of course it does. Life is confusing. Whatever preconceptions and expectations I’ve managed to construct for myself over the past few weeks, tomorrow will be the day where it all comes to pass and reality sets in.
I am a master procrastinator. Yes. It’s true. When I want to do something, or necessity dictates I have to get off my butt right now, I’m an amazing gogetter. But when I’m feeling a bit blergh about something, or don’t really want to do it, I can out-procrastinate the world champion procrastinators. In fact I believe if there were such a competition, I’d be inclined to win.
I’ve been away (again) for four nights – in a beautiful shack by the sea for a couple of nights with a friend, then a couple of nights with my husband (not friend and husband at the same time – just to be very clear for anyone wondering). It’s time to go home today, but I was thinking how very calm and peaceful I feel while I’m here – for myriad reasons – and it occurred to me – I’m very much a nature gal
Ever been really excited to go to the movies? Waiting and waiting for the release date and you just know it’s going to be great because it has your favourite actor in it, and you loved the book when you were 16, and your oldest friend who you never have time to catch up with can’t wait to see it with you. Finally it’s available on the big screen and you’re too busy working, and getting a root canal, and organising driving lessons for your own 16 year old, so the movie is down to the last days of showing. Two days before it leaves town, you finally go with a group of friends.
Today I did some dream writing. It was a technique I learned through Joanne when I did her Seven Day Challenge. I was super teary and tired when I started the day today. It’s been a bit of a rough road but you know – that’s life. These things happen. It’ll be fine. I knew I needed to do some writing and couldn’t think of what I needed to write. So I thought I would do some dream writing – I want to mix and match a lot of writing over the period of this January challenge (have I mentioned the January challenge is to write a thousand words every single day? Which doesn’t daunt me in the least. But I don’t want to write the same thousand words in the same boring place every day.) So today I thought – dream writing. And I did. Dream writing involves setting a timer for a set period of time (just 15 minutes today), starting with a “prompt”, and then letting your hand flow across the page for the entire time without stopping or resting or going back at all – just an unbroken stream of thoughts. I wrote the prompt “In the clinic I hope to…” and then my hand flew across the page for fifteen minutes with the following stream of consciousness.
I’m consumed with sadness today. I know it’s the stupid drug, but fuck it’s annoying. On the upside, the psychiatrist rang and said to wean myself off and I’m being admitted into the inpatient eating disorder unit instead. It’s a strange world where that seems like a good thing – right?
