Just Get Over It

It's the motto of the people. Just Get Over It. Because a mental illness isn't really an illness. You don't need to diagnose it, or treat it, or beat it. You just need to Just Get Over It.

So many people love to regale me with stories about how they had a hard time after a break up and then they just got over it. They just decided that they weren't going to be sad about it anymore. So they just put their problems away and got on with their life. Hooray!

Unfortunately mental illness isn't like that. It manifests over time. It builds and builds and builds, slowly infecting the rest of your life like the fucking parasite that it is. For me it started as a few years at school, not knowing what your crying about. Moving on to hurting myself with a number of tools. When I reached drinking age it became a new way of hurting myself. Drink til I'm sick. Behave in ways that weren't very kind to myself. My dignity took a battering. I stopped feel proud of myself.

Over the years I have tried to fight it. I have tried to Just Get Over It. It hasn't worked. In fact, I think it has made it even worse. The anxiety grew and grew. The sadness and emptiness deepened. The self hatred got stronger.

Through all of this I have come to realise that I can't beat this. Instead of trying to Just Get Over It I need to treat it. In order to treat it, I need to accept it. Accept that I am going to be anxious. Accept that we are going to get depressed. Accept that we are worthy

Self Care Sunday

It's one thing to focus on the negative mental health state. It's a whole other to focus on the positive side. The self care side.

As a consequence I have decided that Sunday will now be known as Self Care Sunday. Each Sunday I am going to do something good for myself. Something physical, social, emotional. Just something.

So today I had my girlfriend come see me to cut my hair and wax my eyebrows. I joked that my eyebrows were actually caterpillar's who had half digested their dinner. In fact I only half joked. They really did look that way.

I am pleased to state that not only have my hair and eyebrows improved, but my sense of well-being has improved too. That could have been the awesome company too.

While it is important to think about what is weighing you down, it is important to consider what will help us float.

Are You OK?

***TRIGGER WARNING***

No. Tonight I'm not ok. My insides hurt, my brain hurts, my heart hurts, my skin hurts, my bones hurt, my everything hurts. My brain hurts the most. Followed by my heart.

My brain hurts because I know the way I act, or overreact comes from a shitty place. But I don't know how to get past it. It keeps ruining relationships for me. It stops me from being happy. It stops me from achieving everything I could possibly have ever achieved.

My heart hurts because it really is still just little Allison. That young girl who learns how to walk on eggshells and to try to not do/say the wrong thing least we released the dragon in my father. Sometimes if we gave him nothing to be angry about he would go looking for it. He would always find it in my bedroom. Clothes shoved under the bed, desk drawer cluttered and not messy. The clothes in my wardrobe may be on the floor of the wardrobe instead. Then the kraken would come cracking. He didn't just use psychological violence. Physical violence was his speciality. The amount of fractures my poor mother suffered are innumerable. Not to me room the territory anguish wondering whether tonight would be the night. And if it was my sister and​ I would argue about whose turn it was to get in the middle of them.

My skin, bones and everything hurts because of my stupid undiagnosed illness. I keep losing feeling in my fingers in both hands. The almost burning pain I feel down my spine. The fact that I now often poop my pants unknowingly. Like fucking hell. Haven't we got enough here???

So after having an argument with Trent I jumped in to the car wondering if I would just drive in to something or if I would just go back home. After a call from my eldest asking me where I've gone and when I'll be home, I think I will go home.

Double Denim Day

Yesterday I had a chat with a friend about her outside view on the private psychiatric hospital that I'm in. We discussed her views before she came to visit, and after she arrived. We also discussed if she would consider admission if the situation were to arise for herself or for her make believe late teens child. We also talk about cheesy bread. A lot.

Prior India was under the impression that it would be a lot more clinical. Like, much less nice and comfortable. Originally she didn't think there would be anything nice about it at all, assuming it would be bare rooms, barred windows, typical movie type set up. Initially she was concerned she would have to sign in like a jail, behind locked doors. She expected the patients would not appear to be as "normal"as they mostly are. Another thing that struck her was the limited number of staff that are in the ward. There is more free reign and not as stringent monitoring. I filled her in on the fact that it is up to the doctors about who is monitored how regularly. I am not monitored regularly at all as I am much less of a risk to myself and others. It really isn't possible for me to just organise to sign in and out. The psychiatrist needs to give approval for me to have leave, how often they need to check me, etc. based on risk. Although those on stricter monitoring aren't watched by orderlies in white coats, like they are in the movies. I originally expected it to be more like https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioBueVTZ0RM

India admitted to me that she has had some encounters in public mental health as a child seeing a psychiatrist, but never admitted as a patient at all. When asked if she'd consider being admitted if a health professional told her she would  benefit from being hospitalised, would she consider it, she said "Yeah I’d definitely be more inclined to do so. Less afraid. I’d be like wondering where the drugs are at. Hook a sister up! Where’s my sizzler buffet you c*nts are talking about? I want my cheesy bread!" Prior to having visited the hospital and seen it with her own eyes she originally would have told them to "literally go fuck themselves. No chance. None."!

What if the time came that she had a teenager sick enough to be here? "Fucking oath. Absolutely." I think that is something that is confronting for both of us as a parent. This isn’t as if it is an unrealistic possibility. Both of us have our own mental health issues, and that does increase the possibility of a child of our own growing up with them too. My stepson said to me “Yeah cool. I will probably need to come stay here myself sometime soon” hahahahaha. I find it frustrating seeing “normal”people out there who don’t come to places like this when clearly they should. And that is where the problem is. People are too afraid because they don't understand the reality.

To India, the place has a nice tone to it. Although the first time she visited and we went to dinner (still no fucking cheesy bread) she felt rather confronted by seeing some of the people were clearly depressed, or had obvious physical ailments, and those who were sitting alone because they are socially isolated and don’t know anyone or they are too anxious to sit with others. I must admit that I find the communal style of dining to be quite difficult and having to sit and eat with people I don’t know. Even after 4 or so weeks I still find it really awkward to sit across from someone I don’t know. I usually just plug in my earphones and listen to music while I eat.

The worst part about it would have to be the cost. A couple of weeks in a place like this would set you back a couple of thousand dollars. And there are some self funded people here. However with private health funds you are usually covered for psychiatric treatment 2 months after you start yor policy. Please check with a provider and don't take that as gospel. But for anyone who might need some extra help, please look in to it. Private psychiatric inpatient time is vastly different to public inpatient time.

You know you are in a psych hospital when

There are so many subtle differences ​in this ward that make you realise the seriousness of what some people go through. These are all related to stopping people from suiciding. Consider this a trigger warning.

Where do we keep our clothes? In a series of shelves. No wardrobe rail. Fold your things and put them away. Stuff that requires hanging, like dresses, you can skilfully manage to get them on the curtain rail if you are tricky enough​. There are no coat or hat hooks, so thankfully we don't live in the 1950s.

The bathroom makes me feel really sad. The mirror is made of glass. The hand rails are completely covered over so that nobody can get any material through it.

From the moment I first stepped in to the shower I was so confused. How the fuck do I get the water out. They only have these small things that you have to twist to get the water out. The hot water is that hot that I only need to turn the cold on a smidge. I have my theories about the reason behind this, but I won't delve in to that part.

Here's the shower curtain. It is connected by a strong magnet. You can give it a good tug but any extra weight would result in the connection breaking. The shower rod and anything/one conected to it would collapse to the floor.

The door handles are at an angle. Makes it really hard to open them when you have are.s full of stuff. But...

That is probably enough of the dramatic stuff. Just thought that it was really interpreting (interesting/depressing).

Hope you're having a wonderful weekend x