Have yourself a merry little X-mas

Tonight is Christmas Eve, normally one of my favourite evenings of the year. However, things are a bit complicated, it turns out. This is the second year in a row I'll have to spend Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve at the closed ward of a psychiatric hospital. No, don't pity me, just think about all of us, for I'm not alone. There are dozens of people who will have to spend Christmas Eve and New Year's Eve on their own or at least far from family and friends, without wanting this. 

Look, things got out of hand in August, and now I still feel punished for what happened then. No sis, I didn't choose my illness, nor is it true that I'm not working hard. I even got another compliment from the team in terms of collaboration. They say I'm doing a good job, and that they already see progress, although I've only been here for about two months now. 

But let's return to Christmas Eve. When I was a child, even a teenager, we used to celebrate it in family: mom, dad, sister, her boyfriend and me. My mom is a good cook, and thus the food was delicious, there were presents under a beautifully decorated Christmas tree and at midnight, we went to church. Not because we were that catholic, but because of the exclusive atmosphere it created. On Christmas day itself, we visited grandma and granddad from my mom's side, and in the afternoon my grandmother from my dad's side. Unfortunately, that last one died four years ago, but in fact, even then Christmas wasn't really the celebration it was when I was younger, I think because of the fact that my nieces were there and got most of the attention. Don't understand me wrong, I love them and I enjoyed buying them their presents, but my sister and brother-in-law turned hostile towards me, I couldn't play with the kids anymore and stuff like that. So the coziness was gone. 

What's left now? Nothing anymore, I'm afraid. Tonight, we'll get our food like every night at the closed ward, everybody will do what she wants, some will watch television, others will play a card game I still don't understand. Also, in the Netherlands they don't dedicate much attention to Christmas Eve, more to Christmas itself, and the day after, thus December 25th and 26th. I remember well that last year, on Christmas Eve and on December 25th and 26th I was in the isolation cell. I wished myself a merry little X-mas. What else could I do? I hope this year I can safely stay on the ward and not in the isolation cell, but you never know. I'm unpredictable because of my emotions. I have an emotion regulation problem. I just can't predict what I will feel within an hour from now. 

Right now, while writing these last words of my post, most of you will be celebrating with their friends and/or family. I want to wish you a a merry little X-mas, but I also want to dedicate some space here for the homeless, for people who are ill, be it physically or mentally, and have to stay in the hospital. Keep them in your thoughts... Also, think about the fact that many people are working: nurses, waiters, bus drivers... Don't forget about them either...

PS: You won't believe it, but I'm listening to a Belgian radio station, and which song are they playing right now? "Have yourself a merry litte Christmas" by Sam Smith. This can't be a coincidence, because I started this post hours ago and invented the title at that point. God, you do exist, don't you?

Lonely loneliness

My loneliness is feeling so lonely since I've decided to leave it alone for a while. Or at least, since I'm trying to do serious efforts to do so. I'm sick of it! It's been enough! Loneliness has been dominating me for the past few months (or maybe even years), and I've even started to feel things from my early childhood, where I also felt lonely in some situations. It's a topic I've been discussing with my psychologist, and loneliness has left a big gap in my heart. Loneliness because friends have left me, loneliness beacause some family members - who won't even take the time to read this - have disappointed me in their absence in the most difficult moments in my life.

At the clinic where I'm residing at the moment, I've felt very lonely in difficult times, even though I know I can count on some friends that I could call and on the nurses. Still, it's not the same. My loneliness comes forth from the lack of my family's support. Yes, there are exceptions - you know who you are :) - but it's kind of limited support. 

 
Still, I've decided to send away my loneliness in order for it to feel lonely for once. I'm asking myself if exposure to loneliness would change the characteristics of loneliness. Would it become more vulnerable? Would it become softer? Woud it understand people with loneliness better? I'm afraid not. In any case, plans are to ban loneliness out of my life. Problem solved, you'd think, but how to get rid of this nagging feeling of loneliness? 

It's easier said than done, that much is true. However, it would be great if loneliness could feel lonely for once. Then it would experience what people like me have to go through, how big the pain is that we feel, how uncertain the situation is in which we find ourselves. But no, mister Loneliness always wins, always survives, and that is just not fair!

So, what can we do to make mister Loneliness feel more lonely? Dedicate less attention to it? Yes, but how? Because loneliness is a feeling that won't retreat. It's there. Dot. 

In any case, loneliness is spoiling my life. Even here at the clinic in the Hague, where I have several fellow patients, I feel so f*cking lonely. And I know that I could choose to be more amongst them, but I just don't dare take the risk. I'm afraid they won't appreciate my company. And yes, that's tough to conclude, but it is like it is. 

Actually, when I look back at all those years that have passed by (my teens included), loneliness may have been my best friend, just because it feels safe to be alone and lonely. No one to bother you, no one to ask you difficult questions. Just me and my loneliness. However, the time has come to break through the pattern, however difficult that may be. I have to learn to be able to a) cope with loneliness and/or b) get rid of the loneliness. I don't know which one is het easiest one. Definitely, both options are difficult, but I'll have to choose.It's time I let loneliness feel what loneliness really is. Don't you think so?  

In the depths of loneliness

It's almost that time of the year, that time when you and your family and/or friends are going to celebrate X-mas and New Year's Eve. I used to enjoy those festivities, but this is the second year in a row that I'll have to spend the festivities at a closed ward of a psychiatric clinic. I think you and I can imagine better places to spend those days...

To live at 235 km from your family always brings along some kind of loneliness, but to spend the Christmas Holidays this far from home is even worse. Especially because it's not that I don't want to, but because I can't, I have no permission. The judge has decided that I should stay at a closed ward, at least until February 6th. Then my RM ("Rechterlijke Machtiging", Judicial Jurisdiction) is over. However, there's always the risk that the psychiatrist asks for a prolongation, and then there's nothing I can do if the judge thinks I'm still dangerous for myself or for others. That sounds horrible, doesn't it? But that's what's in the official paperwork.

Last year when I was admitted at the Leiden clinic, I was all alone in the isolation cell with X-mas. That was lonely indeed, but although I was on the ward in my room at the point that 2014 started, I felt even lonelier, even though there were people around me: some fellow patients and the nurses. 

I feel this loneliness creeping up my body. This year once again, I'll have to celebrate X-mas and New Year's eve alone. Okay, there will be fellow patients and nurses, but that's not the same. I wanted to be with my family, for Christ's sake! I miss my grandparents. I miss my nieces and I miss my parents a lot. Except for my parents, I haven't seen them since August 16th. That makes it exactly four months today. How time flies... And of course I miss my little birdie, Timo... I know someone takes really good care of him, but that's not the same. I miss him fervently...

This weekend, these friends of mine visited me and brought me my own mini-X-mas tree. It's beautiful, it even has lights. That made me happy, although it's still difficult to think that I will once again have to spend those X-mas holidays at the closed ward of a psychiatric clinic... 

I hope we'll have a white X-mas. That would be fun,, because I'm allowed to go outside twice a day for 15 minutes, with a nurse that is. Sometimes everything goes well, but not always. And that's a pity, because it closes the doors to individual privileges.  But a white X-mas would give that extra vibe, you know...

Never before have I felt so lonely. Honestly, even last year was less lonely. Maybe because I was at a clinic where they already knew me better. Now I'm in a different city, in a different hospital, with different nurses and doctors. I NEED A HUG!

Dear Jesus,

I know it's been a while since I've been reading my Bible. I know it's been a while since I said a serious prayer. But what about you? Where are you? Why do you allow all this to happen to me? Why do you allow the separations, the injections, the violations from my side? Why do you allow me to have become the person I am? 

I wish it were all different. It's so unfair, Jesus. I'm losing friends and family, all because of the fact that they don't understand my illness. Why did you give me everything from this illness called Borderline Personality Disorder - BPD from now on - and why does my sister have nothing from it? I mean, we have the same parents, and I assume we've had the same education, although of course, she was alone for six years before I spoilt her life. Maybe that's it, maybe that's why she doesn't want me in her life anymore. Plus the BPD. If only she'd had some characteristics, then maybe she'd understand me better, but you saved her from this illness.

Jesus, I'm losing friends too. I've been at the CIB for a month now, and I have only had visits from 3 different friends, 4 if you count the one that is on her way. These are lonely days. I miss my friends, but I think they're afraid for what they're going to see. Although I have to admit that the horror stories about the CIB were slightly exaggerated. Yes, I've been in the isolation cell, 7 times already, but only for short amounts of time. The longest separation lasted two and a half hours. What's worse is that they give me IM medication, injections that is, although that is to avoid the isolation cell. Still, it hurts and I need two injections per day to be able to make the day.

Dear Jesus, I don't have great wishes for X-mas. I don't want big presents, I only want my mental health back. I want the demons gone. I want the voices gone. I want to be out of this hospital a.s.a.p., although they've told me it'll probably last at least some 6 months before I can get back to society. That's an awful lot of time, if you ask me. Jesus, why? I think I'm backsliding. I haven't been in church for a long time, because I was admitted to the hospital in Leiden first and now in the Hague. But why, Lord, why does even the pastor seem to have forgotten about me? They can say that they pray for me, but prayer alone won't help me. I also need to be able to talk to them. To see them. To communicate with them...

Jesus, actually I think I'm a little bit mad at you. Why do you allow all this to happen to me? The past 14 years have been like hell, although of course, I've no idea what hell looks like exactly. However, for me it was enough to feel like hell. Dear Jesus, be merciful and careful with me. I need you so much. I promise I'll try to start reading my Bible again. However, it's not easy when you feel so rejected, if you know what I mean...  

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! 

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. 

 

You don't know what you've got until it's gone

It's a cliché, I know, but it's a goddamn truth. I thought I didn't have anything when I was in step 8, but at least I could go to the outside. Now I'm in step 5, and I'm still in the isolation cell. Less and less, that's true, but don't you think it's paradoxical that I have to take medication to be able to handle the time in that rotten cell? I'm traumatised, nothing more or less. I wish I were a child again. Then I had so many things that I have lost now, and only now do I know what I got... but they're gone...

First and foremost, family. Older people die. That's what happens. Only when they're dead do you realise how much you loved them. I was a lucky one: I've known three of my great-grandparents and all of my grandparents. Now there are only two left: my mom's parents, and I'm really careful with them because I know that, irrevocably, that day is gonna come. The day they're going to die. And I forbid myself to think of that day. At least, I try to forbid myself this, but it's hopeless. It doesn't work. I'm hopeless at being optimistic. 

Secondly, what do you think about friends? I haven't got any friend left from high school. Yes, on Facebook, but that's something completely different. No one sends me a Christmas card anymore. And I do understand that people were in shock after what happened in the sixth grade, when I got admitted to a psychiatric hospital and never returned to school. But it's a bitter pill to swallow, it is. Also, friends who committed suicide. I'll never see them back. Maybe I only valued them after their death...

Then, the pets I've had. You don't know what you've got till it's gone. I'm especially talking here about my budgy Chico. What a sweetheart that was. Now I have another one, waiting for me at home, but unfortunately, he'll have to wait another week to see me back. I can barely wait. I love him so much. At the beginning of my admission here, I didn't miss him that much. I think I had too many problems with the demons in my head, but now I'm finally coming back to earth, and slowly but gradually, I start to miss him. My little Timo. I do realise what I've got, so I hope he won't be gone too soon.

Chico, give me a kiss, will you?

Furthermore, being a student. Oh, how I miss student life. I thought it was only hard work: going to classes, studying for exams, writing papers, you name it. But it was also nice in some way: I had things to do, I had a regular schedule, I knew what I was up to. Right now, only uncertainties... Yes, I'm doing voluntary work, but that doesn't pay the bills if you know what I mean. And now I'm back at the clinic, I don't know what I can do more to find a job. A paid job. Will I ever be able to work? Only God knows...

However, it doesn't have to be the big things in life, it can also be small things. Like this what is happening right now. Only now do I realise that I was in step 8 and how hard I fell back to step 1. I didn't value it enough, I guess. But even then, I can assure you, the demons were acting again. It's also my freedom. For many of you it's just a normal thing. For me it's a precious little thing that I have to cherish once I have it. I'll certainly have to be more careful with it. And after this admission, maybe - only maybe - I can go home for a couple of weeks/months, but still, I have to go to the CIB in the Hague, a closed ward - again - where I'll receive the treatment that I need if you ask my brilliant psychiatrist (I hope you have already spotted the cynicism here). So it's not over yet... still a long way to go. 

My take-home message of the day: cherish everything you've got, be it people or things or the intangible. You can only have it till it's gone... 

 

Back behind closed doors

It's unbelievable. It's incredible. It can't be true. It's also indescribably difficult for me to tell you this. Because I was doing so well. Because I was on the outside again. Because I was finally making some progress. But it's as true as the fact that Elvis Presley is dead (yes, my Blue friend, he is dead): I'm back behind closed doors, as in the isolation cell. 

What happened? Well, I was on the edge of reason. I was mad, mad on somebody. Won't mention who, however, but (s)he who reads this will know that I'm talking about him/her. We just had a row. On Facebook, for that matter. Welcome to the modern world where cyberfights are possible ;) 

I went to the isolation cell to calm down for just one hour. This is an inside agreement: If you don't feel well and you're afraid things are only going to get out of hand and you're going to end up there anyway, but then for a larger amount of time and involuntarily, just go there for an hour. After the hour had passed, I had a look at what (s)he had written on Facebook via my mobile phone and although it was still a bitter pill to swallow and although I was still fuming, I decided I didn't want to spend an extra hour there in that rotten cell. So I went back to the ward. Wrong decision! The doors to the ward opened, and - as one of the nurses told me afterwards, for I had a black-out and can hardly remember anything between the moment of walking in the corridor, back to the ward and being in the isolation cell for the second time - I took a dive for the entrance door, so that a nurse had to grab me away from there. Punishment: isolation cell, back to step 1. I was in step 8 at that time, goddammit. I had the freedom to go outside with company. How incredibly stupid of me! But then again, how much control did I have? It were these m*therf*cking demons... again...

Had I listened to my inner voice who told me to stay just one more hour in that cell! Had I had the power so that the demons didn't take over my body, for that was what happened: they took over my body once again and took a dive for the entrance door, with the purpose to escape. It's always them! I loathe them! I despise them!

Three nurses brought me to the isolation cell, but soon they called alarm for more. If I remember well - but my short term memory is terribly short at the moment - at a given moment there were six people on and around me, and still it took them so long to undress me and to put me into wrapping blankets. I was fighting all the time, thank you so much, memories from Belgium for what happened over there. That obviously doesn't help. I just can't cooperate then. I have to fight, to resist, to show what I'm worth. That's my way of coping with the situation, because then it feels like I'm dissociating. I'm in a completely different world. And then I'm not myself. I'm a monster, because I'm very strong. That explains probably the six people. Finally, when everyone leaves the cell and they leave me in the wrapping blankets, I lose all my power and am as powerless as a newborn kitten.   

Now we're almost two days further. I can't bear it anymore in that cell, I just can't. Luckily, the time outside is increasing and thus the time inside is decreasing, but still... I still have to spend the night there, in which I wake up at least 5 times. I'm there from 9.30 PM till at least 7.30 AM. With a bit of luck, then I can get out, if I'm in one of the higher phases. See, this brilliant psychiatrist of mine has made this brilliant plan: the first shift, I can get out 3 times a quarter of an hour, then 3 times half an hour, then 3 times an hour, 3 times an hour and a half - where I am right now - 3 times per 2 hours, and then one day in which I only have to rest there after lunch and spend the night there. Right then we're in step 6. Step 7 means deseparation. However, step 7 is divided into step 7.1, 7.2 and 7.3, another brilliant invention from my brilliant psychiatrist. So this deseparation takes 3 days for Christ's sake! And then I'll finally be back in step 8, that is, if everything goes as planned. And then, only then, can I get back to the outside. So it seems I'll be back behind closed doors for a while again... and we'll have to deal with that, want it or not...

PS: Seems like today is not my lucky day... After their conclave, the nurses decided I can't go from phase 4 to phase 5, and all because of the fact that I dissociated in one of the three mobilisations...  That sucks... :'(