"I get knocked down, but I get up again"

Yesterday’s effects are like the aftershocks of an earthquake. The words of the horrifying experiences of the other patients that they felt to unburden me with go through me like unpleasant shudders. On the hour. Every hour. Their words on a cruel loop in my mind. A record on repeat I can’t seem to stop.

“James” has been happy today, singing songs and even dancing a jig during this morning’s “behavioural activation”.

“Hal” has been laughing and sharing jokes with other patients. He contributed ideas in today’s 2nd groups therapy session which pleased the facilitator so Hal got praised and was beaming.

The Eating Disorder Girls seem much happier today too, smiling across at each other and sharing jokes and funny stories about Uni, boys and sex. Good for them.

“Suzie” or whatever pseudonym I gave her yesterday is wearing a bright beanie and has glitter all over her eyelids and carefully placed in pretty patterns down her cheeks. I’m slowly learning this is a sign of her happiness and on “bad days“, Suzie is fresh-faced and tearful.

Everyone seems so much better.

I feel 100000000000000000000000 times worse.

As patients, we are told to:

1. Try “emotional regulation techniques” to calm ourselves down. NOT WORKING. I’m distressed and feel like I’m drowning. No distractions are working.

2. See our appointed Nurse. Today “Sally” is my Nurse. She was my Nurse last night, too. There’s something familiar about her I can’t seem to place but I can’t shake the feeling we’ve met before outside of the hospital setting. I’ve tried THREE TIMES to tell Sally I’m distressed. On this very cold day (I’m wearing jeans, a jumper and thick socks), Sally suggested “an icepack on your head to calm your Vegas nerve, Janet”. WTF?!? When I’m already so cold? It’s a hard NO from me. Then Sally suggested “a little lay down in your room” which just allows the memories of yesterday’s carnage free reign in the dark, deep caverns of my mind. NOT FUCKING HELPFUL at all. On the 3rd request for some help, Sally said she’d call my psychiatrist Dr C and ask to give me anti-anxiety medication.

Gee, thanks. What the fuck do I do in the meantime?!?

I’m so angry!!! I’m upset. I’m alarmed that nothing is fucking working and that as each hour passes, I’m feeling more and more suicidal.

I want to die.

I’ve tried so hard, you know. I’ve admitted myself to Hospital voluntarily, I’ve asked repeatedly for help and I’ve tried a variety of things to calm myself down, but my anxiety is through the roof AND I NEED IT TO STOP. NOW. NOT IN A FEW DAYS OF “MEETINGS” between bilergerant (sp?), uncaring, disinterested “Nurses” and a Psychiatrist I never see about what they could do to maybe help me.

Now. I need help right now!!!

Panicked, I rang Alun.

He is hungover from a huge party with his friends last night and had nothing to contribute apart from a few yawns.

“I’ll come see you at 3, Gorg – have a rest until then”

Alun. You sound like one of the Nurses!!!

I feel so hopeless. Literally HOPE-LESS.

Zero hope of anything getting better.

How is someone supposed to live like this?!?

I literally don’t know.

Dying is the only option left.