They took it all away

It's almost May. May is Borderline Personality Disorder Awareness month. That's why I want to dedicate a post to the treatment of Borderline in Belgian psychiatric hospitals, and - why not? - also in Dutch psychiatric hospitals. As you may know, two months ago, I finally got discharged from the closed ward of the psychiatric hospital here in Leiden after 15 weeks of admission, 11 weeks of them on the inside. They even liberated me from my RM ("Rechterlijke Machtiging", which means that I was free to do what I wanted. If you have an RM, even a conditional RM, they can admit you a lot easier to the closed ward again after you do something, anything, that doesn't suit them, psychiatrists). 

I want to emphasise that the treatment of patients with Borderline Personality Disorder (from now on: BPD or Borderline) is often wrong in the sense that it might be inhuman and completely out of the ordinary. Let's take this treatment in Belgium. As you may know, people with Borderline might hurt themselves, especially by cutting themselves. At the youth clinic in Belgium, the punishment for this kind of behaviour was 3 hours in the isolation cell. Of course, I didn't allow this to happen, so I ran away. And - as you may have guessed or read in one of my earlier posts - they always caught me, and the punishment got even worse: a whole team of muscular men came to catch me, they took me to the isolation cell while I was resisting. I didn't want to stay in the cell, so they strapped me to the bed: feet, waist and hands. I couldn't move a damn muscle! And even then I couldn't calm down, I was so frightened and messed up! So I resisted during this process, which was a sign for them to inject me with all kinds of antipsychotics and tranquillizers. 

They took it all away: my youth, my innocence, my dignity. They just didn't know how to handle me. Neither did I. So they had to find something new, a new method to "take care" of Debz, because the process described above happened like... 3 or maybe even 4 times a week. It just wasn't bearable anymore, not for them, nor for me. So they came up with a new concept, the concept of the "secure room". This meant that after lunch and after dinner, they brought me to a room on another ward. This was a ward for adults because at that time the youth clinic didn't have this kind of rooms. In this room everything was attached to the ground or the wall, the wardrobe was locked as well as the bathroom. I had to go in there, take their medicine, called Etumine, a very strong antipsychotic, and I had to spend a few hours in there after lunch and the entire evening and night after dinner. They took it all away... 

I couldn't have anything in this room with me that had a cable, for fear that I would kill myself - I had tried to hang myself, twice. So no discman, no radio with cable, nothing. They took it all away. A concerned friend who was extremely worried about me collected batteries among the other patients so that I could have my radio on batteries with me, but the music made me insane. At that time, I listened a lot to Eminem and D12. The weird thing is that I'm listening to Eminem's new CD at this very moment... Anyway, I wasn't myself back then, but I think the meds turned me into a completely different person. I could take a shower, yes, but there had to be a nurse waiting outside the bathroom. They took it all away... My boyfriend could visit me, but only for a short time, half an hour or something. Luckily, he was smart enough to find the window on the outside and we were able to communicate for some more time, because although the window was darkened from the inside, I could see him, he could see me, and we could communicate: he was screaming on the outside, I was writing things on a sheet of paper which he could read. Of course, I couldn't attract the attention, so I had to keep quiet in there. They never discovered :-)

While I'm writing this, I feel bad. I've been feeling bad all day. I was in bed all morning, thinking about this post. I knew I had to write about this topic. Many people have no idea what it is to be locked up for more than 12 hours a day when you haven't done anything wrong, when you're not a criminal, just another lost soul, another psychiatric patient looking for that tiny bit of love and acceptance. If I would be able to count all those lost hours of being locked up, I think I would be shocked. The same counts for my last admission here in the Netherlands. Here, they also took it all away. I thought I was safe here, but that turned out to be an illusion. I've been living in the Netherlands, more exactly in Leiden, for nearly 12 years, and until November 2013, I'd never been in a Dutch isolation cell. However, it happened that I was locked up in there and stripped from my clothes while men were present. Many times. They took it all away: my pride, my dignity, my trust. I lost confidence, and there was nothing I could do about it. I was hopelessly lost, lost in a psychosis, lost in my voices who were giving me orders, who were directing me in the wrong direction. I couldn't do anything about it. I was locked up twice because of selfharm. I still ask myself if that was necessary. It had already happened. I was locked up once while derealising, depersonalising. I ask myself if that was necessary. Why didn't they just bring me to my bedroom? I was locked up a few times because I was blocking the door. I ask myself if they just couldn't have put me in a chair and have told me I had to quit this kind of behaviour or else... 

Many times, it was so unfair that they locked me up. And every time, the same pantomime: I was being dragged away, injected with Lorazepam, stripped of all my clothes and wrapped up in blankets. I felt so helpless... They took it all away, every inch of trust, every bit of pride, everything... Last week, there came another tough verdict. Because they think that my personality can't handle it, I won't be able to receive any more therapy. So no therapy to cope with my traumas or to cope with my OCD, no more schema-focused therapy. They are bound to limit themselves to recovery. Recovery? Why? More than ever do I feel the need to work on the traumas in my life: I want EMDR, trauma therapy, cognitive behaviour therapy, but no, my psychiatrist and nurse won't risk it. They're too afraid that I will have a relapse. I have the right to ask for a second opinion, but still, they won't do it. I feel lost, more than ever. They don't believe that I can handle it, that my "foundations" are strong enough. And they also believe that there's nothing more to do with the "foundations" of my house. My nurse literally said: "We've tried everything". Alas. The only thing to do is to strenghten the house on the foundations. That is, according to my psychiatrist and my psychiatric nurse. But hey, what about my opinion?! It obviously doesn't count. My nurse told me that, when she sees the amount of meds I have to take to be stable, she sees no other remedy. I'm too vulnerable, and I have to take that into consideration. Go to hell with that stupid vulnerability! I'm sad, I'm angry, I'm disappointed! She says it's normal. At least something that doesn't breach normality... 

BPD is a complicated illness. It makes you feel insecure about your each and every move. You don't know whether you're doing things the right way. Not only for yourself, but also - and especially - for others. That makes it so complicated. You'd rather die yourself than hurting somebody else. But that makes that others can take it all away, and sometimes they do. They take it all away. I've written a lot already about BPD, but remember this: we are very emotional, very fragile and extremely vulnerable, although on the outside we sometimes seem to be enormously tough. Still, this is just a matter of keeping up appearances. Last year, when my grandma was seriously ill, I seemed to be the strongest member of the entire family, but deep down inside me, I was fragmented. I was nearly dead myself. I just had to keep up appearances, I couldn't fail my family. I had to be there, for my mom, for my grandfather, for the sake of the entire family. So I did. The cost of it only came months later. People with BPD don't talk easily about their emotions. And that's not because we don't like you or don't trust you. It's just that we like to keep it to ourselves. Usually, we've been through a lot, too much for one person to carry. Think of Atlas, who had to carry the entire world on his shoulders. That's how I sometimes feel. But who will carry my weight when it comes down to that? 

I think I'm going for a walk. I need some fresh air. It will do me good. Afterwards, I will post this. Thanks for reading. I hope you will never ever have to deal with BPD in your family. If you have a friend with BPD, be extra gentle with him/her in May, which is Borderline Awareness Month. We all need it!

Family pride

I'm so proud of my family, at least, my mother's part. About a year and a half ago, that part of the family came back together after a quarrel that took more than ten years. That was my first pride. My second pride came when I was back home in Leiden and saw via Skype that the family came together on special festive days like Christmas and New Year's day. All my aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and my grandparents came together and had a drink and a chat. And then, my ultimate pride, came today, when I was part of this family reunion myself for Easter. We came all together at my parents' place: my grandparents, my parents, my sister and brother-in-law, aunts and uncles, cousins, my nieces Indra and Kyana and my grandniece Anaïs, a six-month-old infant and the youngest and cutest member of our family. 

Me and my grandniece Anaïs

About ten or even twelve years ago, when all my borderline problems began, trouble came over our family and some misunderstandings led to quarrels. These quarrels led to a huge family fight which resulted in not speaking to each other and ignoring each other, for over ten years... I felt incredibly guilty, however, I couldn't do anything about it. I was just a borderline case. I was ill, I had a psychiatric illness which affected my health condition badly. I became a different person...

Anyway, in December 2012, my mom had a brilliant plan to buy presents for my grandparents for New Year's Day, my mom and her brothers and sisters together. Everything went well, until New Year's Day came. I won't go into details, but the situation exploded with my mom's youngest brother. Since then, my mom and her oldest brother and two sisters came together and decided to form an alliance and her younger brother now has to figure it out on his own. He has gone too far in his false accusations and stuff like that. Anyway, since then everything's well between the four of them and I can talk freely again with my cousins again. 

Selfie of me and my cousin Andy

FREEDOM, once again! It felt so good to be able to talk to my aunts and uncles again. I had this wish deep inside of me, already for years. I'd been in touch with a couple of them via Facebook, but only when my mother talked to her siblings again could I talk freely to my aunts and uncles again. The stress factor was gone and I was relieved. So were my parents, and - as I have the impression - everyone in the family. 

Selfie of me and my grandma

Today was a beautiful day. I was together with my family, as it used to be when we were 14, back in the good ol' days. I saw my grandniece Anaïs for the first time. I saw the rest of the family after more than 6 months, my grandparents included. It's not always easy to live far away in Leiden, in the Netherlands, but it's what I want. I can't come back to Belgium. I have my own reasons for that. But this means that every visit to my home country can be a surprise: I see my nieces growing up, I see my grandparents, getting older, yes, but still healthy. I can only pray to the Lord that we can have them for a couple of years more among us. 

Four generations of beautiful ladies!

 

We only live once

As far as I know, we only live once. That means that we should try to live our live to the fullest and try to enjoy the moments with our family and friends, because Mister Time is ticking mercilessly and Time goes by, slowly, yes, but it goes by. Every day is a day closer to your death, to say it rudely. Every day is one day that has passed and that will never happen again. 

Take this sad story. A friend of mine who lives with her husband and two children in Belgium plans a trip to the United States to visit her dad and the rest of her family. It's been four years that they've seen each other in real life. At their arrival, her dad isn't feeling too well. They recommend him to go and see a doctor, but he refuses. A couple of hours later, he dies. They only had time to say goodbye to him, to give him a hug and that's it. His life is over, only 58 years old, and he leaves this friend of mine with an enormous sadness and a lot of grief. What had to become the trip of her life, became a true nightmare. I truly feel her grief, and she and her family are in my thoughts and prayers.

R.I.P. Patrick Bruneel

What I'm actually talking about is this: I want to change my life radically, and in fact, I've alread begun doing that. I graduated a couple of months ago, and these times are hard times to find a job, but besides finding a job, I should also try to do what I really like. Also, I should try to accomplish some things I've always wanted to do. Take this: I've always wanted to be a karateka. When I was about seven years old, I wanted to take up karate lessons, because in our small town, we had the following sporting facilities: football, karate and gymnastics/trampolining. I wanted to take up karate, but my mom said that was for boys, so I was doomed to take up gymnastics and, later on, trampolining. I wasn't that bad, even got one golden and one silver medal and some bronze, but I got injured badly once, and less badly a couple of other times, and since then, I didn't enjoy it that much anymore, as you can probably imagine. Injuries from trampolining made me scared to do it again, but I was somehow pushed by my parents to continue. So I did, although I didn't like it anymore. It actually is quite a dangerous sport. Guess what I did last week?! Right, I took up karate. I already got my gi (suit) and obi (belt, white, as I'm a beginner). 

I'm so proud I took this decision on my own. I'd been looking on the Internet a couple of times earlier, but when I was admitted to the psychiatric hospital, I started looking again. I realised I had to do something about this enormous wish I'd been carrying with me almost my entire life. I found a karate club, women only. It's called Daidokan and it's in Leiden. I knew this was what I wanted. They don't only practise karate, but also Arnis, martial arts from the Philippines. I went to the introductory course last Wednesday, together with a friend of mine and we both knew: this is what we've wanted to do for such a long time. We immediately decided that we were going to continue the lessons.

Another thing I'd wanted to do is something I did on Sunday, March 30th. Oh well, you'll probably laugh, but I went to a concert of my all time favourites: the one and only Backstreet Boys. No, they haven't split, they're still together and even released their new album in the summer of 2013. They've been touring through Europe and had two sold out concerts in the Netherlands, can you imagine? So I went with two friends of mine and it was awesome! I had the time of my life! I made some great pictures and short movies from the show. I even bought a T-shirt! No, I didn't feel like a teenager, because they've become grown-ups, and so have their fans. It's different in comparison with 16 years ago, when I saw them for the first - and until then, also the last - time. It was fun, especially because I also met a new friend over there, a Flemish girl, and I invited her to spend the night at my place instead at some expensive hotel in Amsterdam. It's good to know that you can still trust complete strangers in your house, even in these uncertain times... Okay, let me give you an impression of the BSB concert (sorry for the haters among you ;): 

So, I've decided that from now on, I'm going to do things that I really want to do. One of those things is a pretty insane idea. I want to be a volunteer at the Olympics of 2016 in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. Actually, it was an idea from one of my nurses who came to visit me at home during the first six weeks after my comeback from the psychiatric hospital. She's such a nice nurse, but she has the craziest ideas. However, though it did sound crazy in the beginning, right now it doesn't sound that crazy anymore. I'm going to apply in August and see if I can survive all the tests and interviews. Yes, it means I'll have to go to Rio a few times on my own account, but hell, why not? 

Also, I started voluntary work this week. It's something I've wanted to do for such a long time, but I never had time to do it because of my studies. Right now I teach two illiterate women how to read and write. It gives me the satisfaction I've been looking for for such a large amount of time. I know there will be people who will belittle my work as a volunteer and who will say things like: "Oh, it's only voluntary work, she'll never be able to find a real job", but I know what I'm doing. While I'm still living in a student's house, I can afford it. However, I'm longing to have a place of my own, and I do believe that God is going to provide, only when He thinks the time is right. 

So people, today's lesson is a simple one: you only live once. Try to make the best of it. I know some of you - including me - have gone through rough times in their lives. I know you can't forget about what happened to you if you've been harassed or abused in one way or another. I know you can't forgive the people who have done that to you. Still, the time will come when God will take away your pain. I know it's not easy, and I'm still struggling with it myself. My book - which is nearly finished, just some corrections and the illustrations which have to be added - was a proper means of coping with the separations. However, it wasn't conclusive, it didn't solve the problem entirely. I still have nightmares in which I'm being followed because they want to lock me up. So if you are experiencing the same or something similar, leave a message, and I'll pray for you. You never know, it won't harm you, that's for sure. If you want me to pray for you because you've been hurt by other people, just write a comment. You can put an anonymous comment, or you can add your name. It doesn't matter. I will pray for you.