On the run

Today, I had one of those bad days on the closed ward of the psychiatric hospital where I’m residing. I didn’t have breakfast nor lunch, and I wanted so badly to go outside. The weather was beautiful, it’s Saturday, so there’s a lot going on in the city… But here I was, locked up, for the third week in a row. One of my bad habits is that I go as close to the closed door as possible, hoping for that one moment of luck. A miracle, you can say. And believe it or not, but today, I saw a green light where there used to be a red light. So tentatively, I went to that door and pushed it ajar… and it opened!

Afraid that anyone might have seen me, I started running. Although first a little bit disoriented, I could easily find my way down. What I didn’t know, and what I deeply deplore now, afterwards, is that two fellow patients saw what I did and decided to give it a go too. One of them is still missing.

Anyway, from that moment on, I was on the run. My voices told me to go straight up to the 13^th floor of the parking garage, as it seemed that nobody had noticed my disappearance. Still, I did understand them, and I wanted to jump, to get away from it all, but first and foremost, I wanted to see my little blue bird, my little Timo, before I took such an important decision. Maybe it was foolish of me to think that I could go to Timo – other part of the city – and go back to the garage without being noticed, but to Timo I went, completely against the will of my voices. Timo was so happy to see me, and even I’d had to lie my way into the building – which I didn’t like – and although I only was with him for 5 to 10 minutes, it was worth every single second and my mother heart was all his. I took him out of his cage, we talked a little bit, I ate some pudding, but then I received a phone call from a friend asking where the hell I was – I’d called her sooner – and to warn me that the police were on their way to my house and if we please could meet somewhere safe. Panic attacked me at that moment, so I put Timo back in his cage with a last kiss, and via another exit I left the building. Still no police to be seen, so that was good. I went into to city, planning to make a long walk so I wouldn’t encounter too many policemen and hoping I would get at the place my voices urged me to go to: the parking garage, floor 13.

Then things got a bit complicated. There was a lot of people on the street, because Sinterklaas (look it up on Google if you have no clue of what I’m talking about) made his entry in the city of Leiden. So the city was literally stuffed with parents and their children in a black Peter suit. Horrible! Too many people! I fled into a church and I cried and asked God for help. A friend of mine – well-trusted – came to that church too to meet. What I didn’t know was that she had a really cunning plan for me in store. She promised me we would go to Timo as she has the keys of my place. In the streets of Leiden there were an awful lot of police officers. Only later did I find out that she was waving to them behind my back so they could arrest me. Once this got clear to me, I dragged her into a narrow street and urged her to follow another route to go to my place. We were walking in a narrow street, I felt betrayed, and then all of a sudden, a policeman on bike passes by, looks at me, and seems to recognise me. So I run away – man, I could run very fast at that moment – but I was hindered by the amount of people in the other street and that policeman came by bike. He jumped on me, bike included, and I fell towards the ground. Another police officer appeared out of nothing, and they arrested me. I was dragged to their car, handcuffs too tight so it hurt a lot, and they treated me like trash. One of them even kicked me when I didn’t want to go in the car.

I was so afraid and mad and I felt betrayed by my best friend. I felt more alone than ever. Then they put me in a temporary cell. I don’t know how long I stayed there. I asked them to call my lawyer, but they said that was something for later. And then, they came in, handcuffed me again and drove me back to this clinic. Arriving there, almost the entire team came down, so I got so afraid that they would put me in the isolation cell once again, but the two police officers held a tight grip on me. I couldn’t run. They told me that I first had to talk to the psychiatrist and that only then the decision whether I had to stay in the isolation cell or not would follow. Either way, I had no choice, the police officers were still there, holding me tightly. 

It turned out that I didn’t have to stay in the isolation cell after we made a deal. The psychiatrist was still a rookie, so it was easy to say yes and amen to her. In any case, when I was back in my room on the closed ward, I couldn’t help stopping the images in my head of what had happened. The police officer jumping on me, the tight handcuffs, all the people in the street staring at me, the cell, the way they dragged me along with them… These images kept returning, all the time. The voices were furious, by the way. Had I listened to them and gone immediately to the parking garage, I could have been dead already and all would have been over. Say Amen.

I relived each and every moment – including all the emotions – from that day and it drove me crazy. So I asked for some meds, but they didn’t help. Finally, I only saw one solution. I deserved the isolation cell, as two other people had gone missing after my attempt to escape. Still, I don’t like being held responsible for things I didn’t do. Yes, I’m responsible for my escape, but not for the escape of the other two, as I didn’t force the door, it was just unlocked. That’s the nurses’ mistake, not mine. They can’t blame me for their own mistakes. Some nurses blame me for the escape of the other two too, but I don’t think that’s fair, as everyone else could have told them that door was unlocked, even if I didn’t do so.

I can only try to remember the freedom, the fresh air outside, Sinterklaas, wandering in the shopping street and, last but not least, seeing my Timo back. If I’d have the chance, I’d do it again. But maybe then I’d better listen to the voices and go immediately to the 13^th floor. Although my little budgie really needs me and I want to see him again as soon as possible. I get very emotional while writing this, so I know that I want to see him once again before I die…

Have you ever...?

Have you ever felt compelled to do something you really didn’t want to do? Say, kill somebody you know, or even somebody you don’t know, just because there was that horrific voice in your head commanding you to do so? Worse, have you ever received the command to kill your own mum and dad by stabbing them in their backs while doing the dishes?

Have you ever been locked up and been judged by a judge in order that you should be locked up for the simple reason that you are a danger to yourself and to other people, taking in consideration that the doctors and nurses can do anything to you, i.e. lock you up whenever it pleases them instead of holding you and hugging you, give you injections against your will instead of going for a walk together?

And once again, have you ever had those voices in your head, urging you to attack people, more-or-less known? Urging you to grab the nurse’s keys, so you could escape from the closed ward? Urging you to knock them unconscious, so no one would know? Urging to beat them up, making even for all the bruises they’ve inflicted on you?

Have you ever had those voices in your head that panic? Yes, really panic, when they don’t see any way out? And have you had these voices who think they’re clever, sending you through open doors, making you climb fences, encouraging you to force the locked door that keeps you in that seemingly safe environment… and you still end up being caught? Guess who’s laughing the hardest then…

Have you ever had those voices that encourage you to cut yourself? At the beginning, they’re satisfied with every little drop of blood, but later on they aren’t that easily satisfied anymore. They want blood, more blood, they want floods of blood, they want to see the blood pouring out your veins…

Have you ever had that feeling that you weren’t acting on your own, that someone else was using you as a puppet? That you lost the entire control of your limbs? That your legs carry you to places you don’t want to go to, and your arms hit people you don’t want to hurt? That your hands and feet don’t act corresponding to your own will?

Have you ever been forbidden by the voices in your head to eat, drink and/or sleep? Do you know what sleep deprivation in its worst sense is? Have those voices ever forbidden you to take your meds? Fair enough, we all know why, but the question remains… have they? In any case, they turn out to be the victors…

Have you ever been encouraged by the voices in your head to fight back when you were being forced down on the ground by six full-grown men, while instead you wanted to cry, weep in a little corner with your comforting teddy bear and admit defeat, so that it would all be over?

Have you ever had the feeling that those voices want to torture you, abuse you, and then finish you off? As in… you’re worth nothing, so just do as you’re told, then maybe your life has had a purpose…

Have you ever been so enraged that those little voices in your head are taking over all your possibilities in life, all your actions in life, all what’s yours in life?

I don’t think you have. Well, I have. And it’s happening again and again, almost on a daily basis. And no one gives a sh*t about what happens to me. For them I'm just patient X in room 1.27.

Have you ever been so humiliated? So fucking humiliated that you lay there in a  police cell, naked, for hours and hours, until finally help was on the way? Have you ever been even more humiliated when you are dragged by force to an isolation cell, stripped of your clothes where men and women are both present? Do you know what humiliation is? Well, it sucks!

Have you ever felt lonely, so lonely, while at the same time listening to the chattering voices all in your head? The purest loneliness there is, is when you’re in a group and you know you don’t belong there. For at least, if you’re really entirely alone, you know that He is still with you. For ever and ever. 

I’m not going to fight anymore, I’m sorry. This first day of completely attacking the voices and trying to calm them down turned out to be a mistake. No one takes this seriously, which is probably for the best. From now on, I’m going to behave on this closed ward, because that’s what the voices are whispering to me. And then, when I leave, it will go straight to platform 13 of the parking garage. And yes, this is me typing, not the voices. I just can’t bear a life like this. I just can’t take it any longer. This is torturing me, and I no longer am the friendly housemate, the bright student, the lovely aunt, the listening friend that can take a lot. I’m a monster. And I shall be killed, whether I like it or not. It’s out of my hands now. Goodbye.

Far away

Far away, in a country dubbed “River Dunes”, strange things happen. And when I say “strange” things, I absolutely mean bizarre stuff. To begin with, it’s a land that promotes itself as being entirely friendly and safe for everyone. I haven’t felt safe here for one millisecond. Secondly, only invited guests are allowed to enter. If you don’t have that pile of papers required to own you a spot there, you won’t be given permission to enter. Unfortunately, it’s not that difficult to get these papers. Try jumping off a 13-level building. As a guest, you’re entitled to have quite a comfy room: it has everything you need in order to relax – which is a good but not sufficient reason to be here. I’m actually in that land right now, but instead of sending you all a postcard, I decided to blog about it. I’m sure you’ll understand why, just read along. However, turning back to the room, it’s a bit weird that in the entire 15 m² – approximately – the only thing that can be moved is a chair. All the other furniture seems to be glued to the walls or the ground. The window opens approximately 5 centimetres at the upper side. I can’t even put my hand through to wave at the birds flying by. The view is spectacular, though, especially at night. I can see Leiden by night, the district around the railway station. I can also see the parking garage with its 13 levels. What’s more, in this room, the walls seem to be soft, a kind of soft wood. And it’s all very, very quiet… The lights are built in the ceiling and/or the wall, mostly up high. There are only three sockets, but these are far away from the bed, actually on the opposite side of the room, very unhandy if you ask me. What would be the reason for that, for there must me some reason? There is a mirror in the bathroom, but I bet it’s not made of real stuff that can be broken. The shower, then, is just some button and a small hole where the water pours out. The temperature of the water is also altered. Forget about taking a relaxing hot shower!

You can probably already guess what kind of land I’m talking about. Yes indeed, I’m writing about the closed ward of the Leiden psychiatric clinic and I’m doing this on purpose because I feel extremely frustrated. Today, the judge and my lawyer had a meeting, together with me and the doctors and nurses, and the judge reinforced my IBS, which means that I’ll have to reside the up-and-coming 3 weeks in room 127 on the closed ward, with no permission to leave the building, except when I’m stable again.

This week has been horrible. You may have read about it in my previous post. I’m still in shock about what happened at the police station. I don’t acknowledge writing about that yet because I don’t have access to the Internet right now, and I’m writing all this on my laptop. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what happened, but it put me in shock, gave me another trauma and lessened even more my confidence in the so-called caretakers. Today I got separated again. This was the third time in a week. Yesterday I was just lucky enough to have people who gave me some more credit, or maybe it was just me who could fight harder against the voices. Otherwise, that would have been number 4. Because that’s what happens, you see: I lose control, the voices take over, and I can’t do anything about it. And then the nurses take over…

It hurts so much, you know. I’m all black and blue all over my body. 26 bruises. Of course, it would be easier just to admit defeat and give in, but that’s something I just can’t do… My voices make me so much stronger than I normally am. Physically, that is. They take over from one moment to the other. I’ve already been sedated by injection four times this week, and I’ve only been here for 1 week. I’m scared, you know, scared to death, because the meds are not (yet) working. Every day I have to take extra tranquillizers to behave, so to say. I’m completely lost, especially when the tranquillizers, like today, don’t do their work properly. All evening I’ve tried to distract myself, but there they were, again and again… This will probably never stop…

It’s discouraging, you know, to feel so lost in space. I’m desperate that this will never end. Secretly I’d hoped to be released today, because I just want to go back to my normal life. But these insane voices destroy me, and the sadness that I’m now feeling is the result of having eaten a hot meal tonight. It’s their type of punishment…

Yes, I’m angry with certain people who work in this place, but I can’t say that in public because then they are going to separate me once again, to protect me from myself and from other people. Since when am I a ferocious animal? They all know it’s no good to keep people with borderline on a closed ward, they all know that I’ve got traumas from earlier separations, and still they do it. Why? What have I done wrong? They put me in a situation in which I feel threatened, and that’s why I react defensively in the first place, and in the second place I attack indeed, because survival of the fittest is clearly at stake here. And the yelling is just a natural reaction of frustration, of fear…

And the worst thing is, the voices are far from away. Right now they’re sending me images in which I’m going to be separated once again, all over again. That’s why I don’t dare go to sleep, afraid of the nightmares that will follow. I’d rather be dead, but I’m not allowed to say that either because then they’ll lock me up anyway. I’ve tried to find ways to hang myself, to cut myself, to escape and throw myself from that lovely 13-level building close by, but without any success. This situation is hopeless…

What more can I do to survive these three coming weeks, that is, if I want to survive those?

Despicable me

Nearly two weeks ago, I had a crisis at creative therapy. I can hardly remember what had happened exactly, but I know that talking about my low self-esteem and negative self-image didn’t really help. However, I’d never expected such a situation in which I was overwhelmed by the two voices I’ve been writing on and off about lately onthis blog. Still, their power has increased, doubled or even tripled in a matter of days. 

While I’m writing this, I’m hospitalised at the closed ward of a psychiatric clinic in Leiden. Yesterday, things got out of hand, and I mean really out of hand. I wanted to flee the ward, my voices were prompting me to do so, but barely had I reached the door when five men were already strangulating me on the floor. They dragged me to another corridor, where they gave me an injection. After that, they hoped I would calm down, but the voices in my head gave me a strength I’ve never experienced before. It turns out that eight men were needed to drag me to the isolation cell and to immobilise me. I was furious - that’s maybe an understatement - and the voices gave me the fuel that I needed to fight. I heard several of the nurses saying that I’d better give up and admit defeat, but I just couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I had this rage inside of me that goes back 13 years ago, when I got isolated for the first time in Belgium in a similar way. Still, this experience was even worse. While the men were present, they took off all my clothes and jewelry, really everything, even my pants. I was naked when they immobilised me in some wrapped blankets. At that point the injection started working, and actually I couldn’t opt for something else but to accept defeat, because I couldn’t move, I felt terrible, betrayed by the nurses and also extremely humiliated. Anyway, after my own nurse came to have a chat with me, I was allowed to dress in a special sort of shorts and long dress, and they locked me up. A psychiatrist came and had to give his opinion on the situation, and the bastard – although he seemed very friendly to me at first – was of the opinion that I had to be held here involuntarily. So I got this thing called IBS in Dutch (In Bewaring Stelling). I was locked up during nearly 24 hours in the isolation cell. It was horrible. Luckily, I slept the night away thanks to some extra meds. Now I have to wait what the judge will say next week concerning the length of my stay, which is usual three weeks. Today I met my lawyer. She’s a nice sport. I like her. I hope she will be the one defending my case next week.

However, there’s still this thing… I now feel even more worthless, even more desperate, even more hatred towards myself… Despicable me, the perfect title for this blog post. I think it’s because of the humiliation I’ve had to go through, and nothing has been done so far. I mean, I’ve been here roughly two entire days, but my meds haven’t changed, I’ve only seen the doctor in the isolation cell and the nurses try to keep me calm with some Lorazepam. As if that will bring me any good… They don’t get to the core of the problem, which is, in my opinion, the struggle with myself. Because that’s where it all started. There is still a lot of work to do over there, and I have no clue as to where to start, but they, the specialists, have to know where to start, right? Of course I want to learn how to love myself, but at this very moment it’s still a miracle that I haven’t cut myself. I’ve been fighting hard on this topic more than on all the rest concerning the tasks the voices want me to carry out.

The problem with the voices is worse than ever. I can’t remember when it was this horrible. I’m almost constantly under their influence, there’s nothing more I can say. Although not always talking, there is this kind of fog and chaos and white noise in my head. And occasionally, they come through and we have a conversation. I think I did quite well today. I even went – with the help of a nurse – to the living room where I watched some TV show. It helped somehow to catch them off guard, as if they were also watching and enjoying the show. There’s only one thing, and it bothers me, but at the same time, I feel like there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t have the permission to eat. And I haven’t eaten anything for the past two and a half days. My last banana was last Thursday at 12 PM. The strange thing is that this order is not that difficult to follow and it keeps them quiet for a while. I'm just not hungry. However, I’m also not allowed to take my meds. Just a few minutes ago, a nurse came in with my meds. I was doubting whether to take them or not. In the end I decided it would give the judge a bad impression if I didn’t take my meds. About the food, he’ll probably not know. I do have permission to drink. On the other hand, I’m not allowed to sleep. So this is the first night I’m going to try to accomplish that. It’ll be tough, and I think that eventually I’ll give in. I mean, I just took my meds, you know.

Despicable me. That’s where it all starts. If I loved myself just that tiny little bit more, if I could accept myself just that tiny little bit more, then probably things could have turned out less bad. Not well, just less bad. I’m so fucking upset with the IBS. I have never been in this situation before, and it’s almost too coincidental, but a few weeks ago, I was with my ex-psychiatrist in Utrecht as a hands-on expert, and the class had to study the file of the IBS. Now I see the same file lying on the table next to my bed, only this time with my name on it, and my data. It’s hard to swallow. This is an extreme backfall. I don’t know what to do, I’m really desperate. I’d like to write a letter to God, to ask if He can somehow save me from the worst. Because, if I listen to the voices, this is only the beginning. Deprivation from food first, now deprivation from sleep… what’s next? And the images in my head are so richly detailed and sometimes they go in slow motion so that I can catch each and every detail. They drive me insane.

It’s 11.32 PM. I’m writing this in my bed on the ward. Yesterday I was a lot worse off, because I was still in the isolation cell. Still, I was quite at peace with the situation. Now it’s different somehow. I’ve got my freedom back, albeit partly, and I want to start doing something to change things, but… where to start? The only thing I know for sure is that the voices also want revenge on the few men I recognise from the isolation procedure. They hurt me pretty badly, I’m all black and blue, almost as if I was beaten up. Some spots really hurt, and my muscles are sore. Maybe tomorrow will be better, at least, that’s what I hope.

I should get some sleep, but I can’t. First of all because I took the meds so late, and second because they’re threatening me that if I will sleep, tomorrow will be even worse.

I hope you guys out there really keep your fingers crossed so that I don’t have to be here for three weeks, which is more or less normal for an IBS. I can honestly need some support, even though you live at the other side of the world, I don’t mind. Every little bit of hope is welcome…

White noise

Apparently I've been too brave not so long ago, in the sense that I thought I could handle some things in my life that I actually can't, or so I'm told. Yes, I'm talking about the voices in my head. Not even a week ago, I wrote about them on this blog. I also talked about those two bastards last week with two friends of mine, very openly and freely. Somehow, I thought I was stronger than them. But I was wrong, horribly and irrevocably wrong...

Right now, while I'm writing this, I feel quite all right, though. Things were a lot worse yesterday and the day before yesterday, when it all started. I spent last night at the psychiatric clinic. Things weren't going too well and I knew that if there was somehow no protection, things could really get out of hand. Luckily, I could rely on the rational me, and that one told me it would be better to sound the alarm. I have really reliable and professional therapists, and although one of them tells me time and time again that, when I'm in a crisis, there's no possible way to talk to me or to make arrangements with me, I think I made the right decision this time. 

At this very moment, I'm listening to the radio, and that keeps the voices out, albeit for now. I'm quite sure they'll be back later today, when I'm getting weaker and tired. Unfortunately there are only a few possibilities that could be of a help when I want to keep them out of my head. One of those is medication, another one is getting lots of sleep. Mostly, those two go hand in hand. The good thing is that I have a feeling of inner peace then, the bad thing is that I'm not capable of studying, teaching or anything else that requires some concentration. So actually, I'm their puppet. The past two days were horrible, they wanted me to do crazy things. Luckily, I'm at a point in my life that I can share what they want me to do with other people - or myself, for that matter. Yesterday evening, while talking to a psychiatric nurse from the clinic who is actually a very good and reliable man, I felt this urge to attack him and to fight him, only to see what would happen. Why? Well, mainly because that's exactly what the voices insisted on. So I shared this with him, and he said he didn't like the idea. Nor did I, but I had a constant flow of compulsive images, very lively and real, richly detailed... You know how hard it is to fight against the urge you feel to just do what they dictate? What's more, they wanted me to end up in an isolation cell. This part I didn't share with the nurse, it was just too confronting. I saw those images from the time in Belgian psychiatric clinics, all passing by in front of my eyes, as if I were watching a movie at double or even triple speed. All those images, in front of my eyes... The voices thought I deserved it to be locked up and eventually tied up, as was the habit when I was in the Belgian psychiatric clinics. I was so afraid, but this I couldn't share, this wound is still too fresh, even 13 years after the facts... 

Anyway, it all started last Wednesday. I was at creative therapy, and we were talking about my feelings of low self-esteem. Suddenly, I went numb, I couldn't communicate anymore, I was feeling so weird. My head went all crazy, and there they were: Male and Moses. I was lost, lost in space, or so it seemed. I felt this frustration deep inside of me, they were taking over. I had to hurt myself, I had to kill myself, so my instinct told me to just shut myself off completely. It didn't work, though. Other people wanted to talk to me, so I had to encourage myself to keep on talking. It was very hard to remain conscious of the fact that there were other people in the room. I'd rather shut myself off completely, because then I'd know for sure that I wouldn't hurt anyone but myself. And that's exactly what they wanted: They wanted me to cut myself, and not just a few superficial cuts, no, the real stuff. But I didn't want them to win this fight, so I tried to knock them down in my mind, which wasn't really successful... Actually, I was the one who was knocked down by them...

I was terrified, you know. And that's what I told the people around me, but I don't think they were able to grasp the seriousness of the situation. For one, they don't hear the voices. For them it's just something weird, maybe even insane. They just can't imagine what it is if one hears voices that are not theirs in their head. Anyway, I was so scared to go home, but there were some nurses that encouraged me to go home. As they were strangers to me, I didn't feel safe, and I didn't tell them about the visions. Visions in which I saw myself riding my bike and showing up right in front of a bus, only to be overridden and not yet killed, but barely alive. 

My blog is the only safe place to write about the voices. I don't even manage to write about them in my diary anymore, although I have no clue what the difference is. Maybe it's just that via my blog, I expose those bastards and they can no longer deny that they are evil. Because that's what they are, pure and utter evil. How to deal with them is a tough question. My pastor and I agree on the fact that these voices are sent by our enemy, the devil. They are certainly not from God, and although I admire Eleonora Longden, I can't see how these voices can be a part of me. Such destructive thoughts don't belong to a person who cares so much about animals and other people. It even hurts if I have to kill a spider, imagine! How could I have these bloody thoughts of hurting myself or even other people? It's abhorrent! These malignant thoughts are like a tumor, they have to be removed in a figurative way. 

I just deleted an entire paragraph, written a couple of hours ago, when the voices were back to attack me and to make me hurt myself. I called my nurse immediately, and although we almost had a disagreement, she was of valuable help, and I decided to take some pills. It's just that something had to be done. Now I'm feeling more quiet once again, there's tranquility in my head, and let's pray that we can keep it this way for the rest of the evening as I'm all alone. I wish I could do something more permanent about this problem. I wish it were possible to have these voices surgically removed. People are frightened when I talk about their aggressiveness. They don't trust me, because they are convinced that one day, the voices will win this fight. And in fact, they have good reasons to assume this, as I allowed them to take over in the past. Now, however, I have my God, who is bigger than all the problems I've ever had. He can heal me, he can save me from the utter destruction. I trust upon Him. He will show me the way. He'll never let me down...