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’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?
My psychologist (I love her to bits!) has suggested I consider a specialised Eating Disorder inpatient treatment program.I once again had a […]
