i was in the hospital for the last 6 days because of a raging infection on my arm (CRP was 101). to say the least, i was extremely reluctant to bring myself to the hospital because i knew what would come out of it. because of the nature of my wounds, it was expected that the psychiatrist would be involved, and that was the cause of my worry.
i didn’t want to go back to the psychiatric hospital again. and my worries were not for nothing. it was technically decreed for me to be sent to the psychiatric hospital after i was cleared medically. i wasn’t surprised, but i wasn’t pleased either. when they made it clear to me that i could not head home, my mood crashed while i panicked in my mind about what i should do to avoid being admitted into the psychiatric hospital. i slept for hours on end today in a bid to run away from the anxiety of impending doom.
i left the hospital in an ambulance, like it’s always been the last few times. i told my parents that the only way to change this “fate” that i have been condemned to, was to persuade the doctor in the Emergency Room, that i was in no need of an admission. so that was what i did. i almost cried in the consultation room because i have almost never walked out of the psychiatric hospital’s Emergency Room “scot-free”.
no one will understand what a psychiatric admission means and feels. being locked up with triple locks (you have to get through 3 locked doors), the bare minimum to live on, and nothing much to make you feel any better… it is fucking demoralising. it’s the place where you’ve fallen, and try as you might you can’t pick yourself up. it’s the place you know that you’re so fucked up, but they remind you of it everyday anyway. it’s a place that’s a vacuum, that is devoid of hope. one doesn’t leave the ward “all better”. one leaves the ward to be left alone to pick the self up and to put everything back to place again. one leaves still demoralised, and sometimes it never goes away.
i didn’t want to go in again, because the last 1 month out has been so incredibly difficult. i haven’t even managed to get my shit together. i wasn’t ready to be thrown in again, and have all the progress i’ve made undone. i know that whatever that i am right now, going in would change things and throw me off balance. i was scared, to be honest, of going in. and this comes from someone who has spent more than 2 years inpatient (added up).
being back home again is putting things in perspective again. i remember all the times i came home from being inpatient, feeling like all is foreign, yet also having the real sense of longing. it’s the place where i belong. not inpatient, no matter how much i’m used to being inpatient. so yes i feel extremely blessed that i was given a chance despite the shit that i have done to myself.