Not for free

This week I read on Facebook the sad news that another girl who was once admitted at the CIB (centre for intensive treatment) in The Hague committed suicide. I almost lost count of how many people I've known from the CIB have passed away by committing suicide. It's so sad, so sad for those who have known her well. I only met her once or twice and she seemed like a nice girl, caring for the people around her, struggling with her past and suffering from whatever it was that kept her in the world of psychiatry.

RIP Marieke

It was then that I realized once again that I'm lucky, lucky to be alive, lucky to have the life that I have. But no, it is not as easy as it seems, although some, if not most, people will think I get everything for free. But they probably don't know where I come from. I know where I come from, though. I'm still a psychiatric patient, with a severe psychiatric disorder, as the ladies and gentlemen psychiatrists state. I still have this double diagnosis: the main diagnosis is Borderline Personality Disorder, although a year ago my psychologist claimed that I lost the rough edges of this diagnosis. He also claimed that I nearly lost all the characteristics of the second diagnosis, which is Psychotic Disorder (not otherwise defined). I mainly agree with him, but I think I lost the characteristics thanks to the meds I currently take. I've been on Clozapine for the past four years, and although this is actually medication for people with severe schizophrenia, it seems to keep the teasing voices in my head away. I'm very thankful for the fact that the psychiatrist I had at the CIB had the guts to try out the Clozapine. He literally said that if the Clozapine didn't work, that we would be out of options. But fortunately, it dit what it was meant to do, and at this moment, I've been free of psychoses for over four years, which is unprecedented. 

At the CIB I saw a lot of young girls throwing away their future by being rebellious and having a lot of self-pity. That's when I finally woke up and decided something had to change. I started working hard, especially in therapy, I stopped playing games with the meds and started taking them as I was supposed to do. After a year at the CIB I could finally go home, unlike most of the other girls, who were transferred to other clinics. I started with a clean sheet, with the help of nurses of the FACT-team here in Leiden. After a couple of months, I was even lucky to swap my student flat for a newly-built flat. That was another big change in my life, and I still thank God for the beautiful opportunity He gave me. The flat is awesome, it's so beautiful and I enjoy living here every day. But that was the easy part. The most difficult part was still to come.

For many years my days were full of activities. I finished university in 2013, and as well during my studies as after all those years at university I'd been in therapy, so my days had always been full of activities. But when I came back from the CIB in 2015, there was little left of all that. At the beginning, I still went to the CIB a couple of days for some therapies at the day care centre, but my psychologist was against this. He said I had to learn to take care of myself, and that I had to find activities outside of that small world I'd been in for too long. Of course he was right, but at the beginning, I felt rejected and hopeless. How could he expect so much of me? I couldn't possibly do everything on my own? I needed the help of therapists, right? Well... no, not exactly. So, very slowly, I started building up my life. I found activities which got the label "healthy" from my therapist: I went to the Leiden observatory, I went to karate, and slowly but gradually I picked up teaching private lessons at home. 

So that's how it all began. I observed that I really enjoyed teaching. And I think I can honestly say that it's something I'm actually pretty good at. I have a lot of patience and discipline, two indispensable characteristics for being a good teacher. I especially enjoy creating my own exercises, my own hand-outs, my own practice tests. It gives me a good feeling, as if finally, I'm contributing to society in one way or another. However, I know that many people I know despise teachers and look down on them. They really don't have a clue of how much work there is involved in teaching. It's not those couple of hours of teaching, it's all those hours dedicated to the preparation of a lesson that count. And people just don't see that. They have no respect for teachers, they even accuse them of being profiteers, because they have so many holidays. Well, people really have no idea how much time teachers spend working outside their classroom, at home, late at night, behind their laptop, working out some exercises or a practice test. Because yes, one and a half years ago, I also started teaching small groups at the Women and Child Centre here in Leiden. I can honestly say that I enjoy teaching groups even more than I do teaching individual students. I teach Spanish to small groups of women as a volunteer and it gives me a good feeling when I notice that my students seem to learn something, especially because I teach the beginners group, so after ten weeks, they are able to say something in Spanish.

It's been three and a half years that I'm home from the CIB, and no, it's not easy to organize my days. It's still a struggle to get up in the morning for example. As my meds have quite a lot of side effects, it's difficult to get up early. Also, they can give me stomach aches from time to time. And I still sometimes struggle to accept the fact that I have to take 17 pills a day. I know it's for the greater good, but still... When it's that time of the day again to take a couple of pills and people get curious, it's not easy to explain that or especially why I have to take them. I know I shouldn't bother: someone with diabetes also needs his/her insuline shots, but still, the taboo is still quite big when it comes to psychiatric meds. But, I can guarantee, those meds can be life saving. Never before have I had meds that could keep the voices outside. I truly hope my life can continue the way it goes now. I have to work hard every day. It starts with getting up in the morning, swallowing those five pills, and starting to do something instead of getting back to bed when I have no appointments. Things are going well, but it involves a lot of effort, day after day. I'm actually going to start a procedure to find a paid job with the help of a job coach of the mental institution. It's called an IPS-trajectory (Individual Placement and Support) and it's meant to help people with psychiatric disorders to find a suitable job. I do love what I'm doing now, but it's not enough to pay the bills and I also think I'm ready for the next episode. 

What I actually wanted to say: yes, I'm doing fine, yes, things are looking good, but I don't get everything for free. I work hard, and I think the only way I got all my successes is the hard way, i.e. by fighting hard against all the things and people who are against me. Because yes, I've lost lots of friends the past years, not only when I was admitted at the CIB, but also after that difficult period. People couldn't deal with the fact that suddenly, I didn't have that much time anymore to hang out all the time. I do know now who my real friends are: those who understand that I need time to work and also time for myself after I've been working hard. Because life still isn't easy, nor will it ever be. But I choose to live, and it's a pity that so many of my fellow CIB mates can't see that there's another way out, way beyond suffering, pain and eventually death. I wish I could convince them, but it's their decision. I pity them and I wish I can convince those who are in doubt between life and death: a good life is possible, just don't give up and fight! If I can do it, so can you. Just don't give up yet. There's always another way!

Love like you've never loved before

Every morning I check my Facebook while having breakfast. That's usually a relaxing moment, checking what my friends have been doing while I was still fast asleep (I get up quite late, compared with the average human being. Has to do with my medication). But Monday morning the bread lost its taste completely when I saw that one of my Facebook friends posted that Laura had died. Suicide. Another one... Laura is one of my friends of the CIB. Those of you who are familiar with my posts know that the CIB is the "Centrum Intensieve Behandeling", the centre for intensive treatment, in The Hague where I resided for almost a year and got out really well, despite some really nasty experiences. I fought my way out of it, you could say. Laura wasn't so lucky. When her time at the CIB was over - you cannot stay there forever, after a year more or less, they send you back to the clinic you came from - they send her back. And since then she has been in different clinics, in and out. She was currently staying in Rotterdam. However, a couple of months ago, it looked like the odds were finally in her favour. They had a spot for her in a care farm. She was really excited about it, and she would be going there really soon. So what happened that made her change her mind so suddenly?

R.I.P. Laura

Last week, there were some alarming posts on her Facebook. She posted that she was tired of fighting. That she could no longer go on. People encouraged her to hang on. Her last post was last Saturday, at 9.23 in the morning. In hindsight, action should have been taken. It was a very alarming post. It was a message from somebody who had jumped in front of a train and who said sorry to the passengers on the train and those waiting on the platforms in the stations. It was her last post. That afternoon, she committed suicide. 

Laura is the sixth friend of the CIB who commits suicide. However, I don't get used to it. It never gets easy in one way or the other. It may sound a little strange, but it confronts me with my own thoughts. I count myself lucky that I got out of the biggest misery. Been there, done that, you could say. Still, some suicidal thoughts remain. I'm a lot happier than three, four years ago. But some unhappiness and pain is still there. Still, I don't think it's a good idea to dedicate much time to it. Nor is it a good idea to go into details.

What IS important is the fact that we have to love people and ourselves. Love like you've never loved before. Because - before you know it - it can be over. I do know one thing: since I got out of the CIB and out of the biggest misery I'd ever been in, I'm a different person. I think I can honestly say that I'm a friendly person. Sometimes I'm just walking on the street and I smile to everyone. What happens is that some people smile back, while others look puzzled. "Why is she smiling to me?", I hear them think. "Does she know me from somewhere?" Nope, it's just me, being friendly. Because, before you know it, this life will be over, and while you're still here on planet Earth, it doesn't hurt to smile. Also, I try to be friendly to people I used to have a grudge against. Why is that? Well, it feels so much better to see the frustration on their faces. They know I used to feel a grudge against them and they don't know if I'm just acting or if my sympathetic attitude is for real. And guess what, it actually helps to soften the grudge. The best example is the psychiatrist who treated me really bad and who sent me to the CIB. I was really mad at that man. But somehow, he actually did me a big favour, because I came out so much better. I don't think he had expected that, because honestly, NOBODY had expected that. You know, when there's hatred in your heart, you can't live life to the fullest. I know what I'm talking about. Of course, there are still some people who give me really bad feelings, but I think that's just inherent to us, human beings. 

Why is there so much hatred in this world? In my own family there are some terrible quarrels, and I feel so helpless, because I'm so different. I don't want any quarrels, nor do I want to encourage hatred. I really think that we should love each other more. Life can be so short! Look at Laura, she didn't get older than 22. If someone commits suicide, they must feel like they're all alone, like no one loves them anymore. That's why we should love, love like we've never loved before. It can be over so fast... 

Reminiscing

Today was an important day for Belgian boys and girls between two and a half and seventeen years old: the very first day of school after summer holidays. I can imagine that not everyone was happy that school started again and that there were some mixed feelings. Every year the first day of school also gives me mixed feelings, but for different reasons. 

Until the age of 16, I loved school. I did appreciate summer holidays, but after a couple of weeks I couldn't wait until school started again. I had some really good friends back then and in those times, the Internet didn't exist yet. We still had to rely on the good, old postman to keep in touch and we saw each other only once or twice during those eight long weeks that separated us from seeing each other on an almost daily basis. I learned easily, and I was always hungry for knowledge. I was a good student. School was my habitat. Until the year 1999... 

As every year, I went to school that first day with a lot of enthusiasm. I knew that I'd end up in a newly composed class because I'd had to choose a new study package. Unfortunately, the most unexpected thing happened. I ended up in a class full of bullies. The most arrogant, conceited girls had been put together in one group. They formed about two thirds of my class. The rest were people like me: shy, hard-working students who didn't want to get into trouble and therefore kept a low profile. Those bullies all had a reason to be conceited though: mommy and daddy were doctors, lawyers, dentists... highly educated people, all of them haughty. Don't get me wrong, I'm not ashamed of my mother and father, not at all, but it was reason enough for them to look down on me. I didn't feel at ease in that group, not at all. They knew how to make me feel uncomfortable. So it didn't take them long to throw me off balance. And once this process had started, it only went down. 

I tried to hang on, but this situation had a serious impact on my exam results and not in the least on my well-being. I did pass the exams at the end of the year, with lower grades though, and for once, the summer holidays that followed were more than welcome. However, when school started again in September 2000, I couldn't handle it anymore and it was barely October when I broke down completely. As I was very depressed and I harmed myself on a regular basis, the decision was made that I would be admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a couple of weeks. After that, it was thought, things would turn back to normal. 

Alas... nothing went ever back to normal. Things got completely out of hand. I never went back to school since that day at the end of October 2000. I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital on November 3rd, 2000. As that didn't seem to be a success, they sent me to a specialized clinic for young persons with psychiatric problems. And after that to a closed ward. And that was only the beginning. You see, the last year at high school is supposed to be the most beautiful year of those first eighteen years of your life. You go to a monastery with your class for a couple of days, you go to Italy with last-year students, you celebrate the end of high school with all the last-year students, and more of those activities exclusively for last-year students. I missed everything because of this stupid illness, an illness that isn't even visible. I did the exams at the end of the year, fair enough. I passed the exams, fair enough. But at what cost? I got low grades, very low grades, whilst I was always used to high and very high grades in the years before. It hurt, it still hurts, you know. 

Because of all that happened during those last two years in high school, it feels as if I haven't finished school. People won't understand it, because they will say, "you graduated cum laude from University, right?!" Right. True. However, I can barely remember how I managed it, finishing those exams at the end of high school. During the exams, I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, I had to use a lot of medication, from time to time I was limited in my freedom (read: they locked me up in the isolation cell). The biggest issue is that my fellow students from high school had no clue of what was going on. I missed them, I really missed their support. When I was in the first clinic, some of them visited me, but eventually, they also stayed away and I was left alone. No one can understand what it is to go through this when you're not even eighteen years old. 

The beginning of the school year makes me very sad, as does the end of the school year. People don't understand why this is such an issue for me. They think I make things unnecessarily complicated. But it's just this feeling, a feeling of having unfinished business. I have this ridiculous thought of redoing the last year of high school. Somehow, I think this would give me peace. Of course it's absurd and not realistic, but I do think a lot about this possibility. Perhaps I'd better redone the last year. But the problem back then was that I was too proud to redo the year. I didn't want to be seen as "that psychiatric patient who couldn't finish her last year because she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital". At University, there were very few fellow students who knew the truth about me, and not without reason. I didn't want to be seen as "psychiatric patient", that just doesn't feel right. 

So what to do? I think I've found the solution, but I have to admit that this one is only a partial solution. I try to study one hour every day, a different subject every day. That gives me the feeling that I'm still at school. I have a fixed schedule: Portuguese on Monday, Spanish on Tuesday, Latin on Wednesday, French on Thursday, English on Friday, astronomy and mathematics on Saturday and German on Sunday. So, I think that the bullies can now call me "blokbeest" (a really nasty word to insult someone who studies a lot and gets high grades) with reason :)