Itchy, scratchy 2014

On December 26^th, 2013, I got these things called urticaria in Latin if I’m not mistaken. I don’t know the English name, but you can always consult a dictionary, right? Anyway, since that day, some three weeks ago, I’m scratching myself all day long because they’re so itchy. And of course, by scratching all the time, it gets even more itchy. 2014 started quite itchy…

In the meantime I’ve tried about 6 pills before the 7^th finally brought some positive results. it has a funny name: Telfast. All these pills are antihistamines, and the dermatologist gave me high hopes by saying that in 90% of the cases, it can’t be found out what the exact cause is. See, the odds are never in my favour! It’s still itchy and scratchy the entire day, but at least I can sleep at night.

I got the urticaria probably as an allergic reaction to the clothing they use in the isolation cell. You’re not allowed to wear your own clothes up there, so they give you some clothes, made of a very strong fabric. Also the blankets are made of this fabric.

Would you mind giving me a minute so I can fetch the menthol gel that helps to ease the itching?

Ah, that eases it a little bit, just for a couple of hours… Anyway, in fact it’s strange how this allergic reaction came upon me, because I’d been isolated in many previous occasions in the same way. Maybe it has to build itself up, I don’t know. In any case, it was an advantage for me last week, when I was back in the isolation cell, because when they saw that after day 1 the urticaria were all over my body again, I was allowed to wear my own pajamas and to sleep with normal sheets and blankets. However, that was the only advantage. I was isolated – again – and had to follow the schedule.

And now, I’m standing in front of this huge challenge: get out of this cursed place in 4 or 5 weeks or going to the CIB. That last one is no option at all. I’ll take precautions before that ever happens. Anyway, I had to make a plan, which I did. The only thing is that 4 weeks is very little time if you know how seriously ill I was. Thanks to the doubling of the meds, I’m practically without voices all day. Sometimes, one or the other wants to break through the metaphorical wall I’ve built around my mind, but in few occasions they get what they want. Only the images are still very vivid. They show me how to break out. However, I begin to understand that that’s not really possible, although I forced a breakout a couple of weeks ago – which I’m still quite proud of, although I know that’s in fact pretty wrong. Now, however, the nurses know my thoughts and plans, and they prevent it time and time again. There was one possibility last week, but I was so stricken that I didn’t make use of the opportunity.

Now I want to talk to the psychiatrist and ask for freedom. I want to be able to walk with a nurse outside. I’ll really try to stick to the arrangements made beforehand, and the fact that those voices are somewhere outside of the walls of my sane mind is only beneficial. I think I can handle it, although I want to be outside with people I trust, preferably male nurses so that I know I can’t run away that easily. Not that I want to run away, no, not at all. I want to give my plan a chance, and let’s be honest, I’ve been inside for almost 11 weeks now, it’s kind of logical that I get crazy on the balcony. So the itchy, scratchy thing is also metaphorical: it itches to go outside, to go home, to Timo. The only thing is that I get so little support. Only a few members of my family support me. And the friends that pass by for a visit are extremely limited.

You know, when you’re in here, it’s sometimes not even possible to know what day it is. For example, I was just thinking it’s Saturday today, but no, it’s already Sunday. I make a schedule every day, but it’s not easy. The schedule is quite stressful, and in the evenings I have to cry because I miss my family so much. Then I try to write my book. Did I tell you about the book before? I don’t think so. Should I tell you about the book? I don’t think so. Maybe in a next post… so keep following my blog, people. I’ll tell you all about the book in one of the upcoming posts. Promised.

The sword of Damocles

It’s hanging above my head, people, the one and only sword of Damocles. I don’t know whether that’s an honour or rather the opposite, but for me it’s a big threat, as is meant to be, right?

It’s been a while since I wrote my last post on this blog. That’s because I’ve been busy writing my first book. It’s in Dutch, so it won’t be available to all of you, but once it’s finished I hope to find a company willing to publish it. Anyway, I was in a good writing flow till I got isolated (yes, again) on Friday, which meant back to zero. My mood was below zero, as you can probably imagine. So I had to have patience and be glad for the fifteen minute breaks I got once every two or three hours. Tomorrow I get out of the programme, but then comes the most difficult thing. From tomorrow on, I have 4 weeks to prove that I can and will get better. The psychiatrist – yes, the same one who denied my each and every proposal – augmented the medication - F-I-N-A-L-L-Y. I even got him to double the amount of Cisordinol I’m taking right now. Today is the second day that I’m on a double dose and although there’s quite some unrest in my head, I don’t hear my voices (at the moment). And that’s been a while, you know. Normally, they were constantly there, and now…

There is another option, and that’s what the title is referring to. If I can’t prove myself in those 4 weeks time, I’m being sent to the CIB in The Hague (Centrum voor Intensieve Begeleiding, Centre for Intensive Treatment). The stories I’ve heard about the CIB are pure horror. They start with a lock-up of 24 hours. Then you have to deserve each and every freedom you can imagine. I’m asking myself if that includes food and clothes. Anyway, my point of view is clear: I’m not going! Still, I have the RM, and the judge has decided that I must be treated in a closed ward of a psychiatric hospital until the 6^th of June. However, the RM can be reversed into some RM in which you go home but will be treated by all kinds of people, but not in a clinical setting anymore. That’s what I’m trying to achieve right now. But four weeks… it’s a short time if you think that I’ve been here for nearly 10 weeks!

Of course, the pills alone won’t do it. I have to make a programme to go outside, to do some sports, to go home, to take care of myself, to rest enough but not too much and so on and so forth. The key words are: trust, make arrangements (and stick to them) and timely intervention. It won’t be easy, but I hope the Cisordinol will start doing its work so that I can prove that the psychiatrist was wrong all along. Of course, I’m having trouble with the side effects. I’m a little bit groggy, that’s true. I slept in the isolation cell for three hours this afternoon. Tonight is hopefully my last night in that fucking isolation cell. After that, I only want to use it when I see that things might go wrong, to avoid things going all wrong again and me ending up in the isolation cell again.

So, that’s the situation right now: the CIB or a major improvement in my mental health situation. Please people, keep your fingers crossed, I don’t want to go to the CIB. I have no intention whatsoever to be even longer and farther away from my little Timo than is necessary. I hope he’ll still recognise me after all those weeks. I love that little birdy so much, it’s my man. I will fight, and I will try to mentalise his picture each and every time when I get into trouble or when things go awry. He’s my final objective: going home, playing with him and taking up giving English and Spanish courses again. That’s what I want! Please people, pray for me, I can use each and every prayer, for things won’t go that easily. After a lock-up of nearly 10 weeks, your perception of things change. For example, when I’m on the balcony and hear the busses, hear the trains, I almost get sick. Too much noise, and also, too many people down there. Other example: how am I supposed to take the bus? I don’t dare to think about it. This has been a life-changing experience, but I know what I want and what my objective is: Timo, my budgy! I’m coming home, boy, I’m coming home! Mama will be home soon and she loves you very much!