The time has come...

... for me to take another step in my psychiatric career. I hope it stands out on my psychiatric CV. Today word came to me that Wednesday they will transfer me to the CIB (Centre for Intensive Treatment) in The Hague. I was shocked, astonished, horrified, and these words don't even cover the emotions I felt. That's because I was on a waiting list since a month, and it would take some 3 to 6 months before I could get there. And now, today, my psychiatrist tells me with a solemn face that they have a bed free... for me...

This is what Google offered me when I googled on CIB, it seems to be a living room

I don't know what to do. I've cried all the tears I had, there's nothing left. Never before have I cried so much in my life. My eyes are red. I cried, not only because of the fact that I have to go to the CIB on such short notice, but especially because I'm not allowed to see my budgy Timo anymore. I'm not allowed to go outside anymore. The risk that I would run away is too big, so I'm on the inside for the next two days. AND... I have to go by ambulance, something I loathe. It's all because I have the RM (Judicial Authorization), I don't have a choice. But I won't make it easy for them, I'll play a dirty game too. 

It's just... There are so many more things I have to arrange: Timo is only one of them, but also, bring stuff from home... Why on such short notice? Why not next week? I'm suspicious maybe, but I think that my psychiatrist already knew this before, and that he waited to tell me this because he knew it would hit home real hard. I also think he'd rather have me in the isolation cell for these last couple of days, but I won't let it come that far, oh no! 

So, what will await me there? We start with a clean slate, that much is true. There, they don't know anything about me. Hey, they barely even know that I exist! Debz is now still a fuzzy name in their list of patients-to-be. 

There's one positive thing, though. I haven't told you guys yet, but the first book I wrote, from which I once posted the first chapter - which has undergone many changes already - is now at the publisher, waiting to be approved or to be rejected, but I already started a sequel. Because, if the publisher refuses to publish the book - which is not unthinkable, since I'm a beginner - I'll do it myself, and the same counts for the sequel. However, the sequel is much more autobiographic than the first, and so Timothy also has to go to the CIB, or some sort of clinic of that kind. In the book, I was almost there, and so I got out of inspiration, so this is a good point. Now I can go on writing, that is, if they allow me to have my laptop over there, which I truly hope.

Timothy, as drawn by J.J. Pan, the illustrator of my book

Please people, pray for me or - if you don't believe - hope for me that they can help me over there, that there is a treatment which will truly help me. Otherwise, it's been all for nothing... I'll try to keep you up to speed. 

Love,
Debz  

 

Wanted: doppelganger

It's been eight weeks that I'm in this clinic and where am I, concerning my health? Right, nowhere. In those 8 weeks I've been on the outside for four days. That's worrying, isn't it? And it didn't always end up well when I was on the outside. So I thought it's time I got some fresh air and that I got my normal life back and that somebody else took my place. That's why I need a doppelganger.

Listen well, you don't have to do this for free. I'll pay you. What's even more, the room service in the isolation cell is excellent. You call, and they bring you your coca cola, or your pudding, or your plate of paella - that is, if that's available at that moment. You do have to take into consideration that you'll have to take a whole bunch of pills a day. Let me count... sorry, it takes a while... give me a few more minutes... 30 pills as a maximum. I know, it sounds worrying, but let me tell you this tiny little secret: if you've never taken these pills before, you'll sleep very, very well. So see this as a very relaxing holiday. The only thing is, you're confined to a psychiatric ward with two corridors. Still, you can watch TV, there is Wifi, the food is considerably good and the nurses are... well, most of them are okay (if they don't put you in the isolation cell). However, your behaviour will probably be less violent than mine, so you'll never end up there, especially with the 30 pills a day. 

The rooms are very comfortable. I'd say, three stars. The beds are quite cozy too. Each person has his/her own room with his/her proper shower and toilet. The rooms are being cleaned for you, you don't have to do it yourself. What more luxury do you want?! The view from my window is spectacular, at least, at night. All the lights of the city come alive. It's awesome. I don't know if you'll grasp a lot of the view with the 30 pills a day, but well... there are always disadvantages. The only thing is, you'll have to stay here for the coming 3 months and 2 weeks, as the judge's verdict was an RM ("Rechterlijke Machtiging", judicial authorization) of 4 months. Eventually, you'll also have to go to the CIB in the Hague, a specialised institution, but if you behave well - which is what I expect of you - you have a good chance of leaving there early. 

Furthermore, if you behave well on this ward, you'll get chances to do sports, to go outside and stuff like that. As I don't have control over my demons, I don't usually get that far, but of course I expect that you'll behave neatly.

So, if you look a bit like the picture I'll post, and you think "sounds kind of cool", please send me your CV and a motivation letter. Don't forget to include a recent picture of yourself. I couldn't risk of being caught in the act because a blonde female tries to replace me because of the appealing conditions, now could I?

That's what I look like right now

 

Nothing really matters anymore

I know I shouldn't think like that, but I do. I feel hopeless, helpless and meaningless. What else can I do? Last Monday the judge convicted me to four more months in this hospital, which I'll have to complete unless I can go to the CIB (Centre for Intensive Treatment) in the Hague earlier. The time on the waiting list for the CIB lies somewhere between 3 and 6 months. I have to go to the CIB anyway. And how many months will I have to spend there? I just can't handle it anymore. I'm frustrated.

Furthermore, this week I had a chat with my psychiatrist. I was irritated, angry actually, because he didn't want to call my parents. So I pushed a table aside, in his direction. It was interpreted as physical agression towards him and thus I got a one-way ticket to the isolation cell. Once again. Seventh time in less than seven weeks. 

I'm feeling so depressed now that it seems that nothing really matters anymore. If they lock me up, well, let them lock me up. If they hurt me while isolating me, well, let them. If they want to send me to the CIB, well, then let them. While lying in the isolation cell just an hour ago, I heard this song which gave me the inspiration for my blog post's title. I don't recall the singer nor the title exactly, but I've heard the song before. It gives me goose bumps, because it's a very good one. I'm sorry I can't provide you with more information. Problem is it's a brand-new song, so I don't have a clue who the performer is. 

I know I should fight. For my family. For my friends. But I'm dead-tired of fighting. I know I shouldn't give up. I know I should show who Debz is and what she stands for. But I no longer can, because it's been enough. Because I'm sick of all this sh*t. Locking me up all the time won't help me. What could help me is talk. Talk, talk, talk. And listen. That's what one male nurse did this week. I was angry, I was pissed. I stood in the corridor, ready to fight. He approached me and first took my first fist very gently, then my second one, while talking to me, also very gently. Then he led me to my room, and while he took a seat, I stood by the window, yelling, screaming, crying. He just let me. He only listened. Then, when he politely asked me to sit down, I sat down on the floor, right by the chair on which he sat. He took my hands and he talked, and he listened, and I had the feeling that he really cared for me. He gave me some extra medication. And then I was screaming and crying again, and he let me scream and cry, but he firmly held my hands. He was there for me. He took his time, the time I needed. Needless to say that this is a better option than the isolation cell, which was the option the other nurses who were in charge that evening had in mind. 

It's tough. I don't want to be pathetic, but the fight with the demons is hard. Today, I already had to fight them in the isolation cell for about an hour. They were hurling through my mind. Unbelievable. They made me scared. And I know I shouldn't listen to them, but time and time again, they make me scared. Gosh, when is this inner struggle going to end? You should expect that the meds would be doing their work right now. There are moments in which it seems like that indeed, but there are more other moments. And at this moments they are whispering in my ear that they are only going to make me sicker and sicker and that there will be more escalations, which will make sure I end up in that rotten cell. People, I'm sorry, but I can't anymore. And still, I will have to. What other options do I have? Killing myself? Haha, as if that's possible at a high care ward of a psychiatric hospital, let alone in the isolation cell! No, I'll have to find another solution, but I haven't figured out yet which one...  

The truth lies

That's what someone said at a TED talk. However, what is the truth? The truth is what you think. Or maybe not. The truth is what people say to you. Or maybe not. The truth is what appears in the news. Or maybe not. In any case, in this specific situation, the truth was what that guy THOUGHT was the truth. For example, that he was nothing, that he was nobody, that he didn't deserve to live. And it was only later on that he discovered: the truth lies.

That man was depressed. So am I. So I kind of think in the same way like he did. I feel nothing, nobody and it's just as if I don't deserve to live. That's why I've been in the high care facility of a psychiatric hospital for nearly seven weeks. Also, I hear voices who clearly don't tell the truth. I call them demons, for I'm a christian and thus believe in demons. Every time they tell me something, it seems that they had been lying, as I discover afterwards. 

The truth - at least, what I think that is the truth - is that I will never find a job, that I'll be chronically ill and have this psychiatric illness for the rest of my life. The truth is that I will never find a boyfriend - or a man for that matter - and that I'll never have a family. The truth is that I'll only lose people around me: people who die or people who just leave me. That is the truth. The truth is that, after this admission, there will follow more admissions, until the day I die. And the truth is that I will die young. 

The truth is that I don't feel loved. It's just as I'm living in my own bubble, and that no one can penetrate that bubble to give their love and support. Therefore, I can never feel loved. I want to be loved, but it's as if I can't. The truth is that love is a very complicated thing on the one hand, because love is somehow intangible, but on the other hand it can be so easy: take someone's hand, give someone a kiss, write somebody a card, send somebody a text message... Such easy things, but o so difficult for certain people... even in my own family.

However, rumour has it that the truth lies. Still, today I received my RM. Four more months to go. If I get better earlier, I can leave the hospital, if not, four months it will be. And then the CIB. Maybe they can really help me over there so that I never ever have to be admitted again to a clinic or - in the worst-case scenario - only for a short period of time, not for weeks or even months as the past two times. But I don't want to be locked up again and again and again. That cannot be my destiny on this planet. I was born to be a teacher, goddammit. I now have 7 students waiting for me... and I'm not there. Some of them don't even know what's happening, because I feel too ashamed to tell them.

If the truth lies - and it better be so - I can still have a happy life. I can still enjoy my life. But then things will have to change drastically. And soon, real soon.