Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

it's almost X-mas! The most important day of the year! I nearly forgot to send you a letter, but if I send you this one by Super Dooper Santa Post, it must reach you on time.

Dear Santa,

this year I don't want to ask for books, nor for CDs or DVDs. As you might remember, these are my regular wishes. Nor am I that kind-hearted at the moment that I wanted to ask you for world peace or any such thing. No, this year my wishes go out to me and my family. Admittedly, a bit egocentric, that much is true, but 2013 hasn't been one of the most remarkable years when it comes to luck or positive things for me and my family. First of all, there was my grandma's health which has been in jeopardy more than once. Then there was my mom's complicated back surgery, from which she is still recovering. Also, the deterioration of the bond between me and my sister and brother-in-law. Not to mention the death of my true and loyal feathered warrior Chico. And now I'm here, writing you this while I'm lying in a bed in a closed ward of a psychiatric hospital. 

I'm truly dispapointed in 2013. I'd known - almost predicted - it wouldn't be a good year, but this bad...? No, that, I hadn't expected. Surely there must have been some good times, you must ask me. Well, for one, I graduated Cum Laude and can call myself now a Master in Latin American Linguistics. Furthermore, and difficult though it was, I lived three months with my family in Belgium, to take care of my mother and grandmother. I hadn't been so close to them since 2002. It wasn't always perfect, but I was close to those who needed me. That felt really good. I also was the only one who didn't give up on my grandma's health. I knew for sure, thanks to God Almighty, that she would come out of the coma and that she would recover, albeit with some ailments here and there. I had Faith, Faith that I've lost now when it comes to my own situation.

I don't only think of myself and my family, but also of good friends and their family who have had to go through difficult times. It wasn't a good year for some friends who lost family members and loved ones. I can try to enumerate them, but I'm afraid I'll forget someone, so I don't. Cancer is a tricky disease, spreading rapidly and destroying people's lives. Heart attacks occur more and more often, and again, with people who are still young and vivid. Sarcoidosis is bothering my Blue Friend, of whom I still think almost every day, because he was the one who encouraged me to start this blog and because I've got loads of respect for him.

You see, dear Santa, there are many things not going too well. And then I should make a list of wishes for the festive days? ... I don't know, Santa. I can sure as hell ask for a stronger bond between me and my family members. All of them, a few in particular. I don't want to waste time crying over spilt milk. I doesn't make sense to look back, but rather to look forward. There is so much more we can do... together. I'm so happy that the family on my mom's side is gathering together again - with the exception of one we don't need to talk about. Together they take care of my dearest grandparents. As I'm in this hospital involuntarily and decided by law, I won't be able to go to them to wish them a Happy New Year. That breaks my heart, honestly. What breaks my heart even more is that my parents are apparently so ashamed about my situation that they're lying to people about my whereabouts. I understand that they lie to my grandparents, because they aren't too well, but I'd wish they told (part of) the truth to my two beautiful nieces. They're 6 and 9, for Christ's sake! They must be able to handle the truth: aunt Debz is in Holland in a hospital because she isn't feeling too well, but she's got a lot of very good doctors and nurses around her that take care of her. Dead-easy, right?

However, Santa, there are a few things we need to discuss. The voices, you know. Where do they come from? What is their purpose in my life? Why don't they go away with the prescribed medication? What more can I do to push them away, in the background? Because that's where they belong... So tough a relapse I've never had before, and it's hard to accept it. The voices haven't been so strong ever before, nor have there been four. The Snake Princess wants me to join her army, the other three want me to escape, bang up a few people on the road and jump off the thirteenth floor of the parking garage. All they want is destruction, aggression and violence. I don't want to take this any longer, Santa. I want to cooperate with the nurses and the doctors, although the latter ones don't take my case seriously, so that cooperation is a bit harsh. Still, Santa, I have to have hope for the future. I have to find back that pride I had when I just graduated. Celebrating X-mas in a closed ward of a psychiatric hospital involuntarily makes me very unhappy, but there's nothing I can do to change it. There are apparently no redeeming circumstances. 

Dear Santa,

this was my 2013 letter. I'm calling for peace, peace in the family and peace in my heart and soul. That's all I want. I hope you have a piece left of it in your enormous store. 

Sincerely yours,
Debz

Supernurse

Written on the 12th of December, only published later for obvious reasons (see other posts)...

Forget about Superman. Forget about Spiderman, Batman, Catwoman or even Mega Mindy. Now there is SuperNurse!

I have to be honest, there are a lot of nurses I know who could certainly deserve this title. I even have a supernurse in my family – you know who you are, cousin ;-)

However, here on the closed ward where I’m residing at the moment – tomorrow it’s been six weeks, incredible how time passes by! - there’s one guy who absolutely deserves this title, so I decided to dedicate this post to him. I won’t use his name here, that would only be uncomfortable for him, but honestly, truly, he is my SuperNurse.

 

 

This one looks quite like my SuperNurse... when he's in his costume, that is ;)

Last week was a bad week, as is this week. Exactly a week ago, I ran away from the ward, but I got caught in the parking garage. The consequences were grave, as you may have read in my earlier post: isolation with some short moments of freedom per day. That freedom was extended from Wednesday till Monday, but on Monday evening, something went wrong, terribly wrong, although afterwards, I don’t agree with the doctors’ and the nurses’ actions, and this will certainly be a point of further discussion. What happened? Well, I just disappeared from the radar, also called dissociation, depersonalisation or derealisation. And the nurses thought I was a danger for them and the other patients – which, of course, I wasn’t. So they thought it was safer to lock me up in the isolation room again, and as I was quite unaware of what was happening, I just let them do it, without resistance, without any complaint.

However, the next morning, I was told by the psychiatrists that, because of what had happened, I would start the program back from zero. Consequently, that meant that while I was at 1.5 hours out of the isolation room three times a day, this was reduced to 6 times a quarter of an hour a day. I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t want to believe it. After my good behaviour I had shown during the weekend, back to zero?! So I argued, but without any result.

This will be bad news for my SuperNurse. He left me on Monday at midday, and he was completely confident that everything would be all right. He’s done so much to get me through the weekend. He was the one who took his chances, he allowed me more than was prescribed by the doctors. He even had some interesting chats with me, in which I could tell him about the past. In short, he was the angel I needed to survive such a long period in the isolation room.

In any case, he is without doubt my SuperNurse. He made it possible for me to change my behaviour radically. Instead of being stubborn, including not eating, almost not drinking, being bad-humoured and all, I became a different person. I saw light at the end of the tunnel again. I could think in terms of “future”. I had high hopes of winning this battle against the voices.

However, he wasn’t here anymore when happened what happened on Monday. He only came back today. I thought he would be upset and/or disappointed, but we just talked, and neither of those two counts for him. Still, there is this nagging feeling of guilt, although also for me it’s perfectly clear that this – what happened on Monday – wasn’t bad behaviour as described in the contract. It wasn’t a breach of the contract, so I shouldn’t have been punished like that. It would have been okay if they had taken a step back, I’d have had peace with that. But completely back to zero? No, I’m still upset about those measures.

Now, SuperNurse is so funny too. He can make you feel better when you feel down, but he takes you seriously whenever you feel sad. It are those small things: a handshake, a comforting pat on your shoulder… That’s it, but it’s enough. It’s known that people with Borderline often idealise or even idolise other people, and perhaps this is one of those cases, but SuperNurse is just the best I’ve ever met – or comes very close to that. Anyway, for now, he is SuperNurse. That’s why I was so desperately sad when everything went back to zero. I thought he’d be at least disappointed. But he sees it in a different way: Maybe we asked too much of Debz, maybe the time wasn’t right yet. Could be, but I keep clinging to my theory: I need a lot of structure, I need one and only one clear guide per shift, and the nurse who guided me was lost somehow, so I started wandering around in the corridors, I started talking to people, they let me rest in a room in which you here every single sound… There were just too many incentives, I guess.

You see, it seems like SuperNurse knows me very well. He knows when jokes are appropriate, he knows when they’re not and seriousness is needed. He brings good news as if I’ve won the latest Euro Millions or Lotto or something like that. He might be kind of ADHD sometimes, but he is and stays my SuperNurse. Maybe it’s bad to trust him like I trust him now, but I have to trust someone at least. Maybe my trust will be disappointed one day. However, for now, it’s good to know that even in this hopeless situation, there is a SuperNurse

Now they let me out more than before, and I hope I can keep on handling it. Normally today I can be out of the isolation cell for 1.5 hours, three times today. I hope to see and talk to SuperNurse again. I honestly think that he is one of those people you just need to get through difficult situations. Someone who takes you and your illness seriously. Someone who knows when a joke is appropriate and when it’s not. Someone you can trust, even in difficult times. Someone who listens. Thát is my SuperNurse!

Psychiatrists gone insane

Written on the 6th and the 7th of December 2013. Only published later for reasons to be made clear in this and the following posts...

Friday, December 6^th 2013. I have no clue as to if and when I’m going to post this, but I do have the intention to. Only, there’s one disadvantage, namely that this is the third consecutive day that I’ve been in the isolation cell. At this moment, I’m enjoying half an hour of freedom, which is something, because yesterday it was only a quarter of an hour. Only… never before have I felt so sad, agitated and upset when it comes to isolation. More than 36 hours… never before has this happened to me. They don’t fixate me here in the Netherlands, but I can’t say it’s less bad than in Belgium, for in Belgium 24 hours was the maximum, more or less. 

I only have 13 minutes left, so this post won’t have an end yet. The day before yesterday, I saw a great opportunity to escape from the ward. So I did. Only… the youngest psychiatrist followed me and he was capable to pin me down. More and more people came to help him, so they brought me to the isolation room. The next morning, the psychiatrist came in and told me they were going to use another approach starting from today – that was yesterday. I would be locked up for longer periods of time, with only every two hours a quarter of an hour of freedom in the room in front of the isolation cell. If that went well – which it did – this would be extended to half an hour, then to an hour and so forth. Of course, this is beyond reason. That’s where the title comes from. Gotta go now. Back to my cell.

Same day, only now it’s 6.38 PM. I’m truly disappointed in the nurses. They didn’t stick to their promises, while I have to do so. Furthermore, although tomorrow a doctor will come and see me, (s)he won’t be able to release me from the isolation room, which means practically that I’ll be incarcerated for at least 5 days. This is so unrighteous and so inhumane! Never before have I felt so desperate and helpless. I know I have issues when it comes to behaviour, but this is not the right way! How can I make them realise that? This approach leads only to more traumatic experiences, less trust in psychiatrists and nurses and especially, it takes away the little self-esteem I still had. It’s punishment, although they all say it’s not. Well, let’s swap places and see who will come out of the isolation room crying and in shock!

I only have 17 minutes left, so let’s be quick. If they want to drill me, it won’t work this way, not with the aid of this approach. I’m just not that kind of person. Furthermore, they are destroying every little piece of me, every single piece of self-esteem I still had. I’m on the verge of crying now, but I’ll wait until I’m back in my cell, so that the nurses can’t enjoy to see my tears. I’m actually asking myself why some of them chose this job. Don’t understand me wrong, some of them do have talent, others however are rather useless at it and are just enjoying the power they have. No names will be given…

I don’t know how I’ll have to survive this weekend. Being at a closed ward is bad, being in the isolation room is worse, but the worst thing is being locked up without it having any effect whatsoever. What’s more, my mom’s in a crisis, my dad doesn’t answer my text messages and my sister ignores me completely. What about helping each other? I probably ask too much.

Anyway, I’m getting really angry now, but I have to go. Will be continued… -_-

Same day, 9.08 PM. I’m sitting in the practice room again, writing about my frustrations because of me being locked up for the third day in a row and with at least two more days to go. You can’t imagine how restless I am, how frustrated I am, how I want to kill myself so nobody ever has any problems with me anymore.

I’m sorry I ran away, doctor.

I’m sorry I don’t let myself catch that easily, doctor.

I’m sorry nurses that I’m not easy to handle.

I’m sorry to you all that I don’t let myself put into an isolation cell without fighting back. That’s all because of what happened in Belgium and because of the voices.

So I’m sorry I fled from Belgium to the Netherlands.

I’m sorry I brought my psychological problems to the Netherlands.

I’m sorry I cut myself earlier so I had psychological problems.

I’m sorry I was depressed so I cut myself.

I’m sorry I was bullied by half the class at school so that I got depressed.

I’m sorry I went to school so that people could bully me.

I’m sorry I grew up so that I could go to school.

I’m sorry I was born so I could grow up.

I’m sorry I was born…

Saturday, December 7^th. I feel more and more depressed, this approach is just not working! Haven’t seen a doctor yet, but that’ll probably be of no help. This is one of the first times that I’m lost for words. I just don’t know what to write anymore, just how f*cking sad, upset, scared, lost, humiliated, hurt and rejected I feel…

That psychiatrists can go insane is proven by their actions now. I just don’t know what their goal is. I miss my birdie, I miss my family, I miss my friends. I’ve been cut off from the outside world for four days right now, and it just doesn’t feel right. But what can I say, what can I do? Nothing, that’s right. I’m a prey to their methods and I can’t do anything. I feel so helpless, so f*cking helpless. What have I done, dear God, to deserve this? That the doctor is a nutcase is the plain truth. But what can I do about it? Nothing, I’m afraid… Five minutes left to go to my cell again. I honestly think this is worse than prison, for prisoners are at least allowed a book or a television in their room. And I’m behaving so well, honestly…

Same day,8.40 PM. Although this isolation period won’t be over today, I decided that I’m going to end this post today. Tomorrow there is room and place for some other post, I have the entire night to think about a title. It’s insane what’s happening now, although today, I was allowed three hours of freedom. Not bad, is it? Still, it hurts, it hurts a lot and my heart is bleeding. When this day ends, I will have been looked up for 76 hours and counting. Furthermore, I have high hopes to be out of the isolation cell on Monday, but as there is a meeting about me that same day, it could only end by Tuesday or, who knows, maybe even later. It’s so unpredictable and I’m scared. Trust in most of the nurses is lost, although they’re probably just doing their job. Trust in the psychiatrists is completely gone, for it are they who should have been locked up for such an elaborate piece of time. It’s not only the humiliation, but especially the self-esteem that’s been hurt pretty badly. How much time and work will it cost to go back to the time in which I felt pretty confident of myself? For that time is over. I feel so small, so small, a tiny block of Lego in an immense universe…