My World in Words
Welcome to my blog, the place I try to put my inner world into words, aiming to share wisdom gained through experience, hope, mistakes, and everything that makes life both beautiful and messy.
FYI - Posts will appear haphazardly and on no set schedule other than the one life sets out for me. Things get a little chaotic at times, but I will always return eventually.
A day in the life of a carer.
Some of the best advice I got was to speak of my child and the illness separately. Her illness didn’t define her, and it was the illness, not her, who was wreaking havoc with our lives. Our beautiful daughter Simone was still here. Our job was to love and care for her while we battled this illness together. It is a long journey and definitely a dirt road with many pot poles and dead ends. My hope and prayer that sustained me was that each day we battled through with Simone was another day with her still here, and another day closer to beating this damn thing!
Finding the right support.
We try to forget about all the times I was turned away. All the times I got stuck in between with seemingly nowhere to turn. We have been turned away from help because I wasn't sick enough, because I was too sick, because lived the wrong place or because I ran out of eligibility. We have knocked on doors of hope only to be told they couldn't be opened for us for one reason or another. We have spent painful time waiting at home on packed lists; with Mum being the one burdened with having to learn how to care for me and me feeling like I was ruining not only my life but hers and my families too. I prefer being in hospital or in other people's care, because not only do they know more of how to help but also it takes away so much guilt. Home is supposed to be where I am loved and supported, but not where I am put under hospital protocol and my family is subject to all the horrible things this illness makes me do. It's not their fault I am like this as much as it isn't mine.
A journey of finding peace in hospital.
Alone in my room, I look at my list of things to do each day. I tick off the things I have done, fill in my food diary, and decide study and my training diary can wait until tomorrow when I am not so tired. Curling up in bed, I am lonely, but that's okay. I am in the process of learning to feel safe in my own company; to love myself through all the struggles I have, and to not fight back against the waves of emotion that come and go. Yes I am living in a psychiatric hospital, but that is okay. I am where I need to be to feel safe enough to explore where I am at in life. I have the support and tools available to make the difficult task of completely opening myself up and facing my true self possible. I sit with my loneliness, recognising that what I am doing is hard, and that although the pattern I had gotten into of denying my feelings seemed easier in the short term, over time the denial will lead me away from who I am.
The wondrous truth of Electroconvulsive Therapy.
Finishing up on the bike I head to my room and shower, again marvelling at how a task that drained so much energy not long ago can so quickly become part of my normal routine again. At 12:30pm I head down the hall to the treatment room, ready to go in. Despite it being my third time now there is still a sense of anxiety about the process, the seeming seriousness of it all. For such an incredible treatment, the fact that they aren't even sure how it works induces both apprehension and wonder in me. I also start to worry about how much my memory will be affected this time, what I will forget next. Already I can't remember the names of anyone new I meet, and I find myself all too often walking into rooms and in the middle of doing things not knowing why. Still, I'll take that over how I used to feel.