I'm locked up inside myself. These demons are fighting an unequal battle, and they're winning the fight. Every day, I feel worse because of them. Every day they conquer a new part of my brain. It's a struggle, yes, a struggle on life and death.
A lot has happened this week, so much that it could have been the case that I wouldn't have been able to write these words. I ran away from the closed ward - I got an open chance - and the demons gave me the boost I needed to run away so that they (the nurses) couldn't stop me this time. I succeeded, but once I was downstairs, in the parking garage, every tinge of boost was gone. So I got these images: me going to the parking garage of the academic hospital, me going to the elevators, me pushing the button of the 13th floor, me climbing over the barrier and me jumping. Dot. So, I was completely overtaken by the demons, because I felt so weak, I could barely walk, I crossed the streets without watching if any car passed by... and I went to the parking garage, to the elevators, pushed that infamous button, and there I stood. Nobody had followed me, which was good. I could think things over clearly. Or so I thougth, because my mind was troubled by the demons. So I saw that there were two barriers. I climbed over the first one, which was quite an easy task, but the second one was higher, too high, so it seemed. I could hardly lift one leg over the glass, and I saw people downstairs, staring, pointing, yelling "hey", but I was in a dissociative mood. I could hear and see everything, but it didn't really get to me, and I obviously couldn't respond. So I tried hard to put my leg over the barrier. Only thing is, I'm short, and this barrier isn't made for short people.
Then the most horrible things happened: three men came and they pulled me back, pinned me down on the floor, asked me lots of questions I couldn't answer because I was still dissociating and said I should keep calm, that help was on the way. Help? Yeah right, police officers. They cuffed me, hands behind my back, I was lying on my belly on the ground. One sympathetic police officer introduced himself as being Nico and told me to keep calm, so that he shouldn't have to hurt me. I was frustrated, angry and especially, very scared. All those police officers... Then there came a car, and I had to get in. They would bring me back to the clinic. I struggled with the police officer in the car, without any result. We got there - at the clinic - and immediately I was stripped of my clothes and put in the isolation cell. For the fifth time in four weeks. I still feel the cuffs on my wrists, it still hurts. Bastards!
So, that was... when again? Oh, my short time memory is fading away so fast. Must be the pills. Anyway, today the demons did their job again. They led me to the door, I was completely numb. One of the nurses led me back to my room. And then trouble began. I was far, far away. I could hear what the nurses - and later on the doctors - said, but I couldn't react. All because of - indeed - the demons. I couldn't say anything, nor amost move a muscle. I couldn't open my mouth to take pills. I couldn't communicate while there were so many things I needed to say. I could only squeeze the nurses's hand: once for yes, twice for no. But that didn't always work out, because sometimes I didn't know, so I didn't squeeze, but he didn't get the message.
As I'm writing this, I'm still fighting to stay into reality, the here and now. It's so difficult. The demons are trying to take over all the time, and I'm fighting, but I think the nurses think I don't fight hard enough. Still, I try to do what I can, although it's only writing. The fact that they don't want to read this, is their f*cking problem.
September, 11th, 2001. Many of you will remember that day as one of the most horrific days in American history, or rather, in worldwide history. If you don't remember that day, then you must have spent that day and the following days on another planet. The United Stateds were attacked that day by a terrorist organisation, named Al Qaeda, led by Osama Bin Laden. So, where were you that day? I was in pretty much the same situation as I am in right now, although not in the exact same spot. Still, I was also in the isolation cell and heard the news after the airplanes had hit the Twin Towers.
I think many people think back to this day with horror and anger, maybe also with sadness. A lot of people have lost friends or acquaintances in the attack, and it's still so incomprehensible. Why did Al Quaeda do this terrific deads? Why kill so many innocent people? I just don't get it...
Terrorism is an act of unacceptable violence. That's maybe why I'm so against radical Muslisms, Muslims who don't adapt to the circumstances they live in. I grew up in a rather xenophobic, conservative family, so there's always been that hatred and fear against foreigners. No, I'm not talking about white people, but about black people, and especially Muslims. My father really loathes them, exactly because they come in the news so often, in a bad way that is. It's just that these extremists are the blame for the rest of the Muslim people. However, when I'm walking here in the city of Leiden and I see a group of Muslim women, lots of children, not speaking the language nor adapting to the clothing style of the country, I also feel some kind of loathing. Sometimes even I think a headscarf isn't acceptable in some jobs. In others, it is. It's a religious symbol, they say. I rather think it's a symbol of humiliation, but who I am to judge about the headscarf, right?
Anyway, I am a christian, and I'd like to defend my religious beliefs. Of course there are also radical christians, but they don't do - or in any case much less - war. And that what it's all about in Islam: Jihad! "Spread the word and kill anyone who doesn't want to accept the word of Mohammed!" Because we, the non-believers, are the enemies of the radical Muslims. We should be eradicated.
When I think again of the images of people jumping of the buildings of the Twin Towers that day, I get goose bumps, just like any other time when I think back about it. It was horrible, it wasn't human, it was a disaster! So many innocent lives because Mister Osama Bin Laden wanted war with America. Well, he got what he wanted, and now the miserable bastard is dead. That's one. Now we have to end with any kind of radicalism, be it christian or islamic. There's nothing good about radicalism. So eradicate that!
So, where were you? Were you at work? Maybe at the bus stop, reading a newspaper? Were any of you in New York that day? I was in the isolation cell, as I am today, with every now and then a short break to write this blog post for example. I'll never ever forget that day, especially the images. It still tears my heart apart. RIP to all those who died that day and to all those firefighters, policemen and other people who helped to save other people, but who died in the attempt. You are true heroes!
I've been at the closed high care ward for more than a week now, and if everything goes well, tonight I can sleep in a normal bed and not in the isolation cell anymore. That is, if I can keep control and if the psychiatrist who is in charge with my case agrees to the ending of the separation programme.
Now you have to know that I'm not very keen on living anymore. I know, there will be times when it will be better again. I know this because I've been there where I am right now and eventually I ended up happier than before. I've been that depressed, I've had these periods in which I've heard voices, but usually not depression and psychosis together. And although I've been there and although every time I didn't drown but could bring my head back above the water, it's getting tiresome. I just can't anymore. I don't want to anymore. I've had enough of it. After a period of hell, a better period rises up. But that's not enough for me anymore. I want the guarantee that this was the last time. And since no one can give me that guarantee, I want to quit, I want to stop, I've had enough of it.
I've read the Hippocratic oath, just to know what's in it. And I cant guarantee you, there's nothing in it about keeping people against their will in a hospital when they want to kill themselves. There is something in it that you cannot help them to die, but they don't have to push me off the 13th floor or put those pills in my mouth. So what the f*ck? It's all nonsense! I will confront my psychiatrist with it the next time I see him.
Let me ask you, people, have you ever thought about what will happen when you die? Because it can happen at any given moment. A bus could override you. A plan could crash. You could get cancer or have a heart attack. So now let me think about what I want after my death. First of all, I want to have a service both in Leiden and in Beveren-Leie, so that friends as well as family have the opportunity to say goodbye. I want pastor Micha van Vliet to do the services in both places. I want to be cremated and be put in a special grave for urns at Beveren-Leie's cemetry. I absolutely don't want to have a catholic service, no way! That would be absolutely disgraceful. I'm not a catholic anymore, I'm a member of the evangelist church and as such I want to be buried.
I want Timo to have a bright future at my aunt Mieke's place. There he'll have the time of his life with his cousin Tweety. I want that my books, CDs and DVDs are divided between my friends Gi, Lars, Alain, Femke, Marlies, Marcela, my cousin Vicky, my English teacher Randy and maybe some others I forget to mention here. I want that my parents decide what will happen with the furniture. The study books should all go to my students: Wil, Alice, Iolanda and maybe some others.
I want to be buried - and thus burned to ashes - with Lotje, my teddybear. She has been the most loyal and truthful teddybear I've ever had, she has accompanied me in isolation cells and she has comforted me in very difficult circumstances.
I only have one wish, namely that my book be published. Even though it's not that good, it's my legacy. I want to write a second book, a sequel, so maybe when I'll be dead, that one will also be ready. Because, dear people, it's not said that I'll kill myself immediately. Hell, I can also be overridden by a bus tomorrow. But then it's clear at least. These are questions we have to think about, no matter how young you are, from your 16th birthday on. At least, that is my humble opinion. Now people will know what to do when I die. Yes, I'm suicidal, but that doesn't mean I'll do it right here, right now. I'm usually a woman who thinks things through, as you may know. It's just... I feel so lonely in my battle. There really are people who help me, people who seem to care about me, but I can't estimate if that's enough, if you know what I mean...
Things are devastating me. As I had a small relapse this afternoon, I had to spend an hour in the isolation cell and I'll have to spend the night there once again. If this tiny problem hadn't ocurred, I could have slept in my own bed, well, in my room at the closed ward, I mean... The same counts for the days yet to come. If something goes wrong and I go voluntarily, then I'll have to spend the nights there, but if I don't go voluntarily, things are even worse. Then we're back to zero. I don't know how or when this will end...
