No cuts, but bruises

That resumes my first week at the Centre for Intensive Treatment (CIB) very well. I have a lot of difficulties to adapt to my new environment + I can't go outside. I have no privileges so far, even not after a week. I'm not to be trusted, they say, because I have these frenzies in which I kick at doors and stuff. Right they are, however hard it is to admit. Furthermore, I bounce my head against the wardrobe, against the walls, against the bathroom cabinet. Bruises everywhere on my head. Same goes for my knuckles. As a karateka, I like to punch, so I punched at the wardrobe, the walls and the bathroom cabinet. Painful, but only the day afterwards...

It hasn't been easy. They're quite severe here, although some of them have a lot of humour, which I also have, fortunately. That's one of my strengths, they've said. However, humour hasn't brought me in the isolation cell. Three times already. In 8 days. It wasn't pretty. A lot of manpower had to be called in to bring me to that freaking isolation cell. Again, just like it was in the clinic in Leiden. So again: lots of bruises, because they haven't been very gentle with me. Although I do understand, it hurts. No, not the bruises, I'm not a sissy. But in the heart. My heart feels bruised. 

It's just that I had the intention to do things differently this time, to start with a clean sheat, although I knew that was barely possible. Still, I wanted to try. You never know... However, that seemed to be impossible. My behaviour hasn't changed since I'm here. Although - knock on wood - I haven't been isolated the past two days, and I hope to make that a third today. The doctors are fooling around with the meds, but I'll have to trust them. I have no other choice. Although in fact I'm a hands-on-expert, they know best. They've studied for years. And still... I also know a lot about meds already... I know this dose of Diazepam isn't going to work out.

It's tough... Being in a new place, with new people, new rules (a lot of them!), new sounds... it doesn't allow me to fall asleep at night. Or during the day. Luckily, there's the comfort room, a nice and cozy Ikea-styled room in which you can get a rest for about an hour. It looks a bit like this:

It's not all bad. You won't hear me say that. But it's adapting. And that's not easy. My fellow patiens aren't that bad either. Well, some of them aren't. I know some of them don't like me at all. But that's their problem. I'll go ahead with the ones that do like me. That's the spirit, Debz!