It's been...

... a year! Or: 52 weeks, 366 (!) days (yes, 2016 was a leap year), 8784 hours, 527.040 minutes, or 31.622.400 seconds, as you wish. It's been a year since I left the Centre for Specialised Treatment - CIB (Centrum Intensieve Behandeling) - in The Hague. And I haven't regretted it for a second! Actually, I thought I'd have to celebrate this milestone!

Yes, it was a rough year, but I've survived. This is the first time ever, since my psychological problems started, that it's been a year:

- without psychosis

- without suicidal thoughts

- without having to be admitted to a clinic, not even for one night

- without a crisis that got out of hand

- without a suicide attempt (in particular by taking an overdose)

I could consider myself blessed. A year ago I would never have acknowledged that I would be where I am right now: stable in the most basic sense of the word, in my own apartment, having published two books and now even looking for a job to fill in the gaps that can't be filled with the few private lessons I'm teaching at the moment. Furthermore, being an active member of the Leiden observatory as well as of Daidokan Karate club gives me the feeling I belong to society in some way. I mean, I no longer feel a burden for society, which I did when I was admitted. I had a strong feeling of inferiority and it was just as if I was an expensive member of society. I didn't participate, I was nobody, nothing... Right now, I'm getting rid of that inferiority complex. 

October 5th, 2015, marked the end of a period in which I'd had to fight for my life, quite literally in fact. It was a difficult period in my life, if not the most difficult. Confrontation with my most extreme emotions, my deepest fears, also with the complex person that I am. It wasn't easy, but I eventually obtained the greatest good: freedom! They discharged me and trusted that I'd find my way back in society. And guess what,  I managed to live up to their expectations! Soon after I was back home, I started looking for a place to live in because, let's face it, I couldn't keep on living in a student's flat in a 3-by-4 room. And look at that, almost 14 years after coming to Leiden and moving into the Pelikaanhof, I finally found my own space! I'm still in treatment, but next to that I'm doing things that I really like. I'm teaching Spanish and Dutch as a second language to Portuguese native speakers. Also, I'm a volunteer at the Leiden observatory and I participate in a council from and for clients from the psychiatric clinic here in Leiden. Furthermore, I'm practicing karate, something I'd been dreaming of since I was eight. So it seems as if I'm doing great.

People aren't economical with their compliments, which I do appreciate. They see what they see, and that's kind of the truth: things are going well. I've finally found my way in life! I'm happy and it seems as if - finally - the odds are in my favour. Especially when I received the keys of my apartment did I realise that maybe times are finally changing. All those years of bad luck... or maybe it isn't a matter of good or bad luck, I don't know. And I know that, when things are going well with Debz, then things are going okay with my mom too. So all these things mean that my mom is doing great as well, which gives me joy. 

And yes, you felt it coming, right. There is a BUT. Of course there were difficult moments during the past year. I only managed to put on a mask in front of people then, in order to hide it from the outside. You see, this life remains a struggle. People are too naive when they truly believe "everything" is all right. My mind is sometimes clouded with inferiority thoughts, sometimes I feel worth less than nothing. The only difference is that, now, I somehow know how to deal with these thoughts. No week passes by that, during my session with my psychologist, I have to cry because I feel miserable. Sometimes I feel hopeless. More than once a week I feel so lonely that I get sad and I sometimes do ask myself why I keep on going. But then, eventually, I get up and start the day, although it's maybe late already and although I'm not really in the mood. Eventually I feel better, and go to my appointments. I teach. I go to karate. I study in order to keep my brain working. And no, it's not always easy. But hey, look where I come from! Finally I can truly say that I am proud. I've got so far already, but that doesn't mean it's going to get easy from now on. Quite the contrary, I'd say. Every day I set a new record. Wauw! In fact, I should celebrate every day, but maybe that would become boring after a while. Let's just celebrate this day, today. Quite a milestone it is! 

This has been written by a truly proud and happy Debz :) 

Battle scars

A couple of weeks ago, we had a family reunion. My grandparents celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. That was a good reason for me to go to Belgium and see my family. Usually I don't go too often to my home country. Not because I don't like to go there, but because it's a 4-hour journey and traveling from here to there is getting more and more expensive. Furthermore, I don't have any friends living there, almost all my friends live here close by in Holland. However, sometimes we have these birthday parties or other special celebrations, enough reasons for me to go back home.

Grandparents with grandchildren

So, I was there at this wedding anniversary party, and the entire family from my mother's side was there. I was especially happy to see my two nieces. They've grown a lot and almost lost all their childish characteristics! I can hardly believe they're almost 9 and 12 years old! But then the youngest one comes to me, settles down in my lap and asks me the following question: "Auntie, what are those wrinkles on your arms?" I was completely baffled because I hadn't expected that question to be honest. I mean, it's not the first time she asks me this question, and it was a really hot summerday,  so I could have seen it coming. But I hadn't.

So I tell her somehow modestly that I'll explain that to her when she's a little bit older. However, she's stubborn and insists on me telling her that story now. I feel unbelievably uncomfortable and try to change the topic. It doesn't work. I feel hopeless. I want to tell her she has to ask her mom, but I'm afraid my sister will get mad at me if I send her away with this kind of advice. So I don't. And try to change the topic, once again. And I fail, once again. 

What do I want to tell her? Do I just want to tell her I did this to myself, because once I felt so bad and sorry for myself that I had to cut myself in order to save myself? In order to feel better? To survive? No, that's not what I want! What I actually want to tell her, is that those are battle scars, scars of a war I've fought, a war that is actually still not over. But what will she ask then, because, honestly, this child is extremely curious, and won't take that for granted!

Somehow, that's what they are: battle scars. And actually I should be proud. What a war has it been! I'd been cutting myself for roughly eight years before, one day in March 2008, I decided it should stop. It had been enough. I'd been tormenting myself for eight long years, without respecting myself for the person I was, without taking into consideration the long ride it had been. It had all started in the year 2000, and things got completely out of hand. At a certain point in time I used to cut myself three times a day. But look where I am right now: almost a year back home after being admitted at the CIB for a year,  without meaningful crises, in my own apartment now, doing great, trying to find a job and participating in society. Yes, I should be proud, but it isn't easy... especially because people don't value me for the person I am. 

Keep your eyes open for my next post! Then I'll try to give an overview of what I have achieved in the last year since October 5th! 

So sorry

Who ever thought a year ago that I would be where I am right now? Well, I bet you didn't! Neither did I, to be honest. Things can change drastically within a relatively small amount of time. As can thoughts and views about life.

I've done stupid things in life. So did you probably. But I mean really stupid things, things that I now truly regret. Things that I can't turn back, in no possible way. And the thing is, while doing that, I hurt a lot of people. People were shocked, astonished and maybe even scared. Yes, I'm talking about the cutting thing. I shouldn't have done it. Ever. But I guarantee you, I didn't do it to get people's attention. No way! I did it because I had no other way to cope with these crappy emotions. I couldn't deal with life. It was just too hard, too difficult, too much. And I was too weak, too small, alone and lost in this world. I didn't do it to hurt anyone but myself. I wanted to survive. I wanted to be there for everyone but myself. It was just my way to deal with a life that wasn't fit for me. You see, some people get a ready-made life. Others get a - well, less ready-made life, a life they still have to figure out themselves, like a gigantic puzzle consisting of 1,000 pieces that all seem to resemble themselves. And then it gets way too complicated. 

I could have acted differently, but there's no guarantee that that would have been less damaging. Some people find their solution in alchohol or drugs. Others in crime. I don't think these are healthier ways. Only a couple of others find a healthier way, but then I talk about people who are emotionally stable. I'm sorry I wasn't, I really am. But what do you expect? I grew up in an atmosphere of fear, without a sibling who showed real interest in me. I'm emotionally as stable as my mom, which means not at all. It's not her fault, it's no-one's fault really. It just happens. And then me being bullied at school, that didn't really help. Also, I already was a very insecure person. I had a bad self-image. As my therapist explained once to me: I'd learned to see myself as a bad person in a good world rather than see myself as a good person in a bad world. Makes sense, you know. All these factors led to me cutting myself. And you know, once I carved the word GUILTY in my left arm. You can still see the letter G very clearly. Fact is that I still feel guilty when people in my family start a fight, something that is actually happening at this very moment... I just can't help it, it happens :(

I'm so sorry, people, for having cut myself and having left you in disgust. But I can't say that I wouldn't do it again if everything would start all over. However, I do feel guilty. Also, I'm sorry for my suicidal expressions. I take authority over them and I am so sorry that I didn't take your feelings into consideration. When I was standing on the roof of that parking garage, 13 high, I never thought about you. I was only thinking about myself, about how much I'd suffered already and how much I'd wanted it to be over. I'm so sorry I didn't think about what your life would look like without me in it. About the emptiness I'd leave into your lives. I didn't think about me being selfish. I only thought about my own life, about how desperately I'd wanted it to end. Now, however, things have changed. It's been 9 months since I said goodbye to the clinic, and things have finally turned out in my favour. I have my own apartment, with new furniture, mom and dad who helped me to get it all ready to live in and believe me, it's my own little palace. I love living here! And my thoughts about life have radically changed. I now don't fear life anymore, I do fear death though. I want to try to get most out of life now, while that's still possible. All those years in which I was playing hide and seek with death... What a waste! I now see and realise that I have to start getting everything out of life that I can. And I guarantee you, I will. No more cutting words in my own flesh, no more playing games with death, no. It's time to enjoy life and thank God for my blessings!