Feels like home

I knew it would happen one day. I knew it for sure. Only, I wasn't sure when and if it would feel good and especially, if I would really be okay. Today, that day has come. After a long night - which was the initial intention - that took eventually 15 weeks I'm back home in my cosy student room in Leiden. And honestly, I think I've deserved it, because I'm really free now. The judge had initially decided that I had an RM ('rechterlijke machtiging', judicial authorization) until the sixth of June - a period of six months, which is standard. Of course, there was always the possibility to go home earlier, that is, if I got better and if I behaved, which I didn't always do, let's be honest. I've seen the inside of an isolation cell more than I liked. Anyway, I consider myself lucky, because there exists also a conditional RM. However, I'm completely free, they took away my RM. Isn't that a reason to celebrate?

The view from my hospital room, yesterday evening late... Last night at the closed ward!

Coming home feels good, especially good to see that Timo has almost completely recovered from his illness. He had an infection from a mite, and add the stress from my absence and you get a sick bird. Now he's happy again, talking, flying, whistling... My good old budgy is back in town, as is his momma ;)

The coming weeks won't be easy though. I'll get help from nurses who come to my place and with whom I can talk and evaluate the day. We'll also clean up this mess which was once a clean student room. It's just one of the many projects I have. As you know, I'm writing a book in Dutch, and I'm also preparing something for the nurses from the closed ward. I won't go into detail because at least one of them reads this blog regularly, so it has to remain a secret for now. 

Furthermore, it feels good to be home, a positive start. With the help from the nurses I hope I'll be able to be fully recovered within 6 weeks' time. That's the time they give me to recover. After that, I'll have to arrange things again with my psychiatric nurse and psychiatrist. I'm hoping that my temporary psychiatrist will take me seriously too. It's only for six weeks, but we still have to get to know each other and he seems very serious, in the negative sense, unfortunately. I asked him about mood stabilizers. He'll think about it, which, in my opinion, means that he won't join my ideas.

Anyway, I couldn't have done this without my Lord. He is my Shepherd, he is the One that made this possible, because if I didn't succeed in getting better in those 5 weeks, I'd have to go to a centre where they are very strict, the CIB (Centre for Intensive Treatment). And believe me, you don't want to go there... although during the intake this week, they told me some different stories so it seemed that it's less strict and threatening than I thought.

Unfortunately, with a laugh, there are always tears in my case as I'm a rapid cycle bipolar person, or so it seems. I'm really going to miss some - if not most - of the nurses. After 15 weeks of intensive treatment in a high care setting, you get to know people and they treat you with respect, they treat you as a human being, the dozens of separations not included by the way. There was this supernurse I wrote about, but unfortunately I couldn't say goodbye to him, because he's injured and was also enjoying his holidays this week. In fact, during the last weeks I noticed that he's not the only one who deserves that title. There was this one nurse I could call super dooper nurse, because we've been working a lot together during the past few weeks and it was a real cooperation. We shook hands every day, every hour, at every achievement. He'll be missed by Debz, a lot! But honestly, most of the nurses of the closed ward have taught me at least something. There was this wise guy who also has budgies - 5!! - and a dog with the same name as my teddy bear, Lotje. He has shown many different sides of himself, but I'm grateful for the good and thorough conversations we had. 

I also think that I'll have to subject myself to more therapies, serious therapies, to get to know myself better and to be able to handle my emotions in a more steady way. I'd already started Schema Therapy non-verbally with my creative therapist and I want to pick it up again after the intensive visits by the nurses are over. Now is not the time, I think, it's just too early. You see, that's where it went wrong, that's where I heard those voices for the first time again, after all these years of imagined freedom: "you're worthless, you're nothing, you're a mistake" (their words) Now I know that I do deserve a good life, and I will fight for it. I'm thinking of taking up karate, I want to do some voluntary work and I want to keep on giving private lessons. Also, I want to join the astronomy club here in Leiden. You see, a lot of plans, but now I hope I can make most of them true! Please people, pray for me, praying is a powerful tool. If you don't believe in God, so be it, but then think of me. I can certainly use the support...

Oz

Oz is one of the most violent TV series from the late nineties and early nillies. It was produced by HBO and is – in my humble opinion – one of the best series I’ve seen lately. Oz is short for Oswald State Correctional Facility and is a highly secured prison. The story is mostly centered around Em City (Emerald City) where criminals of all sorts – murderers, but also people who committed less violent crimes – and with all kinds of sentences – from 5 years to life imprisonment without the possibility of parole - have to behave as if they live in a real society. They are responsible for every possible task: cleaning, kitchen, library, post office,… you name it. There are several groups which – in more than one opportunity - kill or harass each other: the Afro-Americans, the Muslims, the Neo-Nazi’s, the Italians, the Latinos, the Irish Americans and the homosexuals.

No, this is not another review about the series, although I do enjoy it a lot, but you can find enough reviews on the Internet. An episode takes almost one hour and I can guarantee you, a lot happens, especially because there is a lot of violence and at least one inmate gets killed during an episode. One group against another, betrayal within one group to kill one of the inmates, violence against the guards, affairs between inmates and between guards or other staff… 

My point is, I’m living in a kind of Emerald City too now. Life here is tough. No, no one gets killed, but there have ultimately been a lot of fights – in which I unfortunately also participated. With fights I mean that there have been a lot of separations lately. Some of my fellow patients – including myself – can be quite violent. You know, sometimes, when I go to the isolation cell voluntarily, I feel like I’m in solitary, which I actually am. Other times, when I have to go to the isolation cell involuntarily and they strip me from my clothes, I feel in ad seg, the hole, as it is also called. I’ve never seen so many naked men in my entire life as in Oz. When I’m in ad seg, I luckily get some clothes, but they’re not the most fancy ones, if you know what I mean.

 

Em city also presents the possibility to play games, to sniff drugs – which I compare with my daily use of all those pills – to attack others – something I’ve done in various occasions and am still craving to do in some situations, I know, I’m not too proud of it, but it is like it is.

There are also other similarities between Oz and the closed ward where I’m residing. The boredom, the television room, the psych ward, the verbal and physical violence – which I already mentioned – and of course, the being locked up 24 hours a day – in my case for about 11 weeks - and, not unimportantly, the feeling of wanting to escape. I actually saw an episode lately – because I’m now at season 4 out of 6 – in which two inmates escaped. I escaped once, but I got caught. Well, one of those two also got caught by the police, but the other one is still on the run. I’ll see if it turns out well or badly for him in one of the following episodes, I guess. I can hardly wait!

 

You know, the resemblance makes me sometimes sick. Those are all actors, but we really go through this stuff, and sometimes we are being treated badly. My last separation was extremely violent, and it took days to get rid of the pain in my arms and knees. I regret this, but I also have to be a little more rigid to myself: I’m NOT in Em city, and I’ll be out of this within two and a half weeks. Still, I can lose myself completely in an episode and then I get worked up because I feel lost, trapped and rejected. There’s no way to escape, I’ve tried everything. And the doctors, well, they could be seen as the warden, and the nurses as the guards, and then I get lost completely. I almost don’t dare to write about this because it could mean that I’m getting psychotic again, but it is like it is. I feel in Em City now, although they don’t have access to a laptop of their own, nor of mobile phones – which, of course, are present in the prison. Everything that is prohibited is in Em City.

Today I went home all by myself and I stayed there during one hour. I seriously thought of taking an OD, because I’m tired of all this shit. In Em City, it’s easier to get killed than to kill yourself – although this also happens – but I have to think about my parents, my friends and my nieces. It’s hard, it’s tough and it’s a lifelong struggle… I hope I get out of this Em City soon. If everything goes well, I’ll be up for parole in two and a half weeks ;)

Itchy, scratchy 2014

On December 26^th, 2013, I got these things called urticaria in Latin if I’m not mistaken. I don’t know the English name, but you can always consult a dictionary, right? Anyway, since that day, some three weeks ago, I’m scratching myself all day long because they’re so itchy. And of course, by scratching all the time, it gets even more itchy. 2014 started quite itchy…

In the meantime I’ve tried about 6 pills before the 7^th finally brought some positive results. it has a funny name: Telfast. All these pills are antihistamines, and the dermatologist gave me high hopes by saying that in 90% of the cases, it can’t be found out what the exact cause is. See, the odds are never in my favour! It’s still itchy and scratchy the entire day, but at least I can sleep at night.

I got the urticaria probably as an allergic reaction to the clothing they use in the isolation cell. You’re not allowed to wear your own clothes up there, so they give you some clothes, made of a very strong fabric. Also the blankets are made of this fabric.

Would you mind giving me a minute so I can fetch the menthol gel that helps to ease the itching?

Ah, that eases it a little bit, just for a couple of hours… Anyway, in fact it’s strange how this allergic reaction came upon me, because I’d been isolated in many previous occasions in the same way. Maybe it has to build itself up, I don’t know. In any case, it was an advantage for me last week, when I was back in the isolation cell, because when they saw that after day 1 the urticaria were all over my body again, I was allowed to wear my own pajamas and to sleep with normal sheets and blankets. However, that was the only advantage. I was isolated – again – and had to follow the schedule.

And now, I’m standing in front of this huge challenge: get out of this cursed place in 4 or 5 weeks or going to the CIB. That last one is no option at all. I’ll take precautions before that ever happens. Anyway, I had to make a plan, which I did. The only thing is that 4 weeks is very little time if you know how seriously ill I was. Thanks to the doubling of the meds, I’m practically without voices all day. Sometimes, one or the other wants to break through the metaphorical wall I’ve built around my mind, but in few occasions they get what they want. Only the images are still very vivid. They show me how to break out. However, I begin to understand that that’s not really possible, although I forced a breakout a couple of weeks ago – which I’m still quite proud of, although I know that’s in fact pretty wrong. Now, however, the nurses know my thoughts and plans, and they prevent it time and time again. There was one possibility last week, but I was so stricken that I didn’t make use of the opportunity.

Now I want to talk to the psychiatrist and ask for freedom. I want to be able to walk with a nurse outside. I’ll really try to stick to the arrangements made beforehand, and the fact that those voices are somewhere outside of the walls of my sane mind is only beneficial. I think I can handle it, although I want to be outside with people I trust, preferably male nurses so that I know I can’t run away that easily. Not that I want to run away, no, not at all. I want to give my plan a chance, and let’s be honest, I’ve been inside for almost 11 weeks now, it’s kind of logical that I get crazy on the balcony. So the itchy, scratchy thing is also metaphorical: it itches to go outside, to go home, to Timo. The only thing is that I get so little support. Only a few members of my family support me. And the friends that pass by for a visit are extremely limited.

You know, when you’re in here, it’s sometimes not even possible to know what day it is. For example, I was just thinking it’s Saturday today, but no, it’s already Sunday. I make a schedule every day, but it’s not easy. The schedule is quite stressful, and in the evenings I have to cry because I miss my family so much. Then I try to write my book. Did I tell you about the book before? I don’t think so. Should I tell you about the book? I don’t think so. Maybe in a next post… so keep following my blog, people. I’ll tell you all about the book in one of the upcoming posts. Promised.