Last summer, I very nearly had myself convinced to drop out of my politics degree- a subject that I'm so irritatingly passionate about that you proper don't ever want to try and watch the news with me. Or ask me an opinion. On anything. I'm actually a nightmare for conversation at all, hahaha- and go study nursing. I have never once wanted to be a nurse, or a doctor or a teacher or really anything concrete, apart from the few years where I desperately wanted to be a rabbit, and that confused period when my big brother had me convinced that girls grow into men and I was quite excited about being able to wee standing up. Right now, I don't completely know what I want to do, besides a vague idea about working for a charity or a cause that I believe in; for an atheist, I'm not short of things I believe in. That doesn't sit comfortably with me, the idea of not knowing, and that was very nearly enough to have me on the path to a career I didn't want, just because then I'd have a near certain outcome at the end of it. Needless to say, I got myself together and realised what a shite idea it'd be and I reck had I decided to do it, a million people would have popped up and told me not to be an utter moron.
I'm constantly trying to guess what's coming up and the more I do that, the more it scares me. I find myself planning what would be the best thing to take next time I'm in hospital and panicking over how much I want to do over the last few years and when my next hospitalisations will fit, when can I afford to be sectioned? It's ridiculous and it sounds even more so now I've put words to the thoughts and the plans, but when you think that I've had 7 psych admissions in the last not-quite-three years, it's a bit of a depressing actuality. Bizarrely, perhaps, 5/7 of the admissions have been in the Spring and Summer, one in October and one in January so I find myself worrying more now than I did over the Autumn and Winter, despite feeling much better now than I did at the end of last year. The last few months of last year were so terrible that I can't imagine still being alive now had it not got better, had I not got better, yet I still sort of waste time hoping that I'm not in hospital this year when I ought to be in Spain, since last summer I was locked up when I was meant to be in Belfast.
The inspirational quotes tell me all kinds of bullshit about thoughts becoming reality and about me being the master of my own destiny. I wish I was and I think a lot of it is about that, me trying to convince myself that I can plan my breakdowns because I can't handle not being in control of such a massive thing. The thought of not knowing how/if I'm going to be healthy in both the short and the long term. While on some things I am my own master, I'm not studying nursing, after all, on others it's so horrifically and hideously not true. I know nobody can plan everything, but it seems such a huge thing to be unpredictable. Your thoughts and feelings, at least, should be... I don't know. They should feel like your own, in the way my own don't always. I'm not in control of my demons, not all the time, and that uncertainty is such a bitch. I can think happy thoughts 'til the cows come home and I can decide that tomorrow everything will be perfect, but I can't think myself healthy. I HATE that, not the whole happy thoughts thing, because I think only boring people can construct totally happy thoughts, I'm too deep and mysterious (I'm also full of shit, in case that wasn't apparent), but just that I can't decide to fix things and fix them and then have everything... fixed. Total overuse of the word fix, hahaha.
I sometimes sit and wonder how long I can go, at what point I become dancing on borrowed time, before my next episode. I know people go into a sort of recovery, a remission, but I don't feel like I'm there for the long term right now. This is a bit melancholy, I am in recovery from my eating disorder, I just feel a bit uncertain about everything else and it's annoying. I have a lot of faith and a lot riding on the new therapy that I'm starting in a few weeks, after all the therapies of the past, I have more faith in what my new therapist thinks we can do. So we'll see. But I still can't know for sure... I can't cage the demons and my head just goes around and around thinking about when it'll be and whether my next admission will be in Scunthorpe or Essex or Christ knows where. Eurgh.
I do over-think though, that I'll admit. I read about girls on eating disorder wards or I think about being on myself again or having feeding tubes again, and plan what I'd do differently this time. And that's definitely something I can control. Eating disorders are slippery bastards, and although sometimes I fuck around more than I ought to, and I fanny about with my weight, I know that, quite simply, I can't go back. Physically and mentally, I cannot start another war from the beginning. And so I won't; I fought long and hard and I won't go back. I think that's the difference though, I feel like I worked long and hard with my eating, but it feels more like, well, medication, is what's controlling everything else, and I just don't trust anything or anybody but me, to save myself. I'm the only person I know I can rely on and that's quite a heavy burden. Ooft. Sometimes I wonder if the next hospitalisation will be a relief, because then I know I'm free for a few months, but since I got sectioned last year two days after I got off the section before that, I know that's not how it works. I need to know something, ANYTHING, right now.