Every now and then I look back at my blogs to see where I was a year or 2 years ago and to see what and how things have changed. I re-read March's blogs from 2012 today and I worked out that today is a year since my Nanna died. And I didn't even know until I read the blog and worked it out. How bad is that.
With my other grandparent, my Nan I know the exact date and time. I dread the day each year and am aware most of the day that that is the day my Nan died. I feel quite bad that I feel so differently about this. That the whole day can go by and the only reason I know that it is the first year anniversary is because I read about it in my blog.
Also, I can't believe it's been a year. It was this time last year I went into myself and I just stayed in bed for weeks on end watching films and Scrubs on my laptop, not talking to anyone. I had been on that PICU since December 30th so by this point I was just getting to know people and I had my favourite staff and not so favourite ones.
It sounds stupid but sometimes I kind of miss the staff. When I go to my appointments with the psychologist I hope that I will bump into them so I can catch up with them. I know they don't care about me. I was a patient and they were doing a job. But then some of them told me a lot more than they probably should have done and were a lot more open about their personal life's than I would have ever been in a professional relationship. I don't know if they were like that because we bonded or because I had just been there so long that, well, who knows.
There are 2 or 3 I miss in particular. There's the guy who would take me to the pub who I used to have a laugh with and we used to have some really open and frank conversations, that were honest from both sides. There was the woman who was amazing and she told me a lot about her ex husband and what a knob he was, she would drive me to the supermarket and take me out on leave. There was the girl who I would spend hours speaking to on night shifts and chain smoking with while she listened to me moan about how I felt. She also forced me into going in to hospital one night and jabbed me in the bum, but I don't hold that against her. I didn't really leave her with much choice. There was a guy who was just too nice for his own good and when people were horrible to him I couldn't help but stand up for him. I knew this guy from when I worked on the wards and he took a shine to me then and I am not sure if he remembered me from when I worked on the wards but he was always checking I was ok and asking me if I needed anything.
There were so many good staff on that ward. Amazing staff. At times I put them in awful positions like when I swallowed things, cut, ligated, ran off etc. I hadn't needed to be restrained until June time. 6 months after first arriving on the ward. I was so close to some of the staff that it must have been the first or second time that it happened that because of it and that they had never had to do it to me 2 of the staff were in tears over it. Talk about feeling bad. I just lost it and couldn't handle it. I was having an anxiety attack, massive urges and was refusing medication. So they said they couldn't leave me like it and grabbed me and jabbed me.
Another time it was after a self harming episode, I was angry and was pushing the staff out my room. So they dragged me down to the De-escalation room and I was jabbed again as I didn't want to take the medication.
Then there was the time because I was crying. I was a bit annoyed about this. I think it may have been because I rarely cried. Well never let anyone see. One night I had swallowed something and I refused to go to hospital. I was assessed by the doctor and she said I didn't have capacity to refuse so I was being forced into going. I don't know what hit me but I was sitting on the floor between the bed and the wall. It was quite comfortable down there and I used to sit there when I wanted privacy as it gave me that little bit more and made me feel a bit shielded. But, I was sat there and just started crying. A lot and couldn't stop. I couldn't get my words out. Next thing I know I am being hauled onto the bed and jabbed in the arse. Think they just wanted to make sure I didn't kick off at the hospital or try and do a runner. I was a bit annoyed about that incident though. Never mind. It wasn't like the incident with Fingers though which left me fuming.
I hope I am not like that now. The psychologist mentioned a bit about this the other day. We were talking about anger etc and he said that he thought a lot of the incidents that occurred before we met where I had ended up being restrained for hours at a time were due to anger. There was one occasion where I was restrained for over 4 hours. So I have been told anyway. I used to dissociate when it happened and can't really remember what happened. What usually led to it though was self harming and then disappointment and feeling let down with myself that I had been found. There was the self loathing and anger at my whole situation I was in. I suppose I was quite ill.
But then I say that, I look at what I wrote before I was admitted, what I wrote about the thoughts and feelings I was having and now they're not that much different. Throw in the hallucinations or what ever they are now and I suppose that would make me worse. So am I more ill now than I was nearly 2 years ago when I was first admitted? Or maybe because I am more aware of it and have more insight I am not ill? Is it just that I know now what to say and what not to say to stop me being admitted again?
I don't know. Anyone else got any insight on this for me. Other peoples opinions will help.