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...