It's been a bad week. Actually, to be fair, only Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were bad, but the bad feeling continued up until about yesterday, so that's why I've not blogged. After I post a positive post, I hate following it with negativity. In fact, I hate being negative on here, full stop. But it's been bad, so I'll let you know what's been going on, mostly because I use this space to work out how I really feel about things myself, I suppose, and if one person reads this, that's always a plus.
Mondays are always a shitter. They involve getting up earlier (on a normal day, they wake us up between 7 and about half past- and they usually leave me 'til nearer the half past mark- to do blood pressures and all that malarkey before breakfast. Everyone else then gets ready before breakfast at 8, whilst I go back to sleep until my breakfast is on the table, hahaha), for the weekly weigh-ins, ECGs, blood tests and the daily blood pressures. They also involve ward reviews, with the psychiatrist, a nurse and the dietitian. My review did not go well. I'm not a huge fan of the shrink anyway, I find her patronising to fuck. I actually told her that I wasn't a 'bloody moron' and, in a similar/slightly worse language (I'm from Scunthorpe after all, comes with the territory), not to treat me as such. She essentially told me that this isn't a nuthut, I shouldn't behave like a nut. Which, of course, TOTALLY stopped my flashbacks et al.
Tuesday involved the dietitian telling me I don't need to add variety to my diet- which I wasn't too arsed about 'cause I like having the same thing every day- like she encourages everyone else to do, because I'm here to gain weight before my next unit, not to recover. I know that I'm here to get to a certain BMI because originally the plan was just to send me straight to rehab, after all, but my weight was too low for them to take me so I ended up here. The thing is, knowing that and being told you're not here to work towards getting better, are two completely different things. All the 'challenge this food, challenge that food' shite that the staff bring to every meal just became meaningless; I lost all motivation to give, say, carbs, my freakout food group, a shot. Wednesday, my CPN came and we just had a long conversation where he told me I was going to another unit and I told him I wasn't, then he reminded me I was sectioned and I told him to piss off. Back and forth, back and forth.
So after that, I was completely lost. The staff all seemed to be against me and I felt like a battery hen being fattened up before being sent to the abattoir. So I dealt with it in typical Rebecca Condron styleee, by spending far too much money that I don't have, and honestly? I felt better. Not great, but better. My mum came on Wednesday night and I just cried at her, but by this weekend, I wasn't too bad. I spent the end of the week mostly online shopping, colouring mermaids and watching crap online and it helped; oftentimes, I just need to be left. Left to bad tele and bad colouring books. I don't brood when I'm alone necessarily, and I don't isolate myself, it's more just time to recover myself before I can put on the front I use around other people. The weekend has been nice though, Ginge came both days and since I'm allowed 'up to two hours daily escorted leave with staff or [my] mother', we went to a giant Asda yesterday (I love supermarkets. Like really, really, really) and to the seaside today. It was bloody freezing, at the seaside I mean, but we had such a laugh.
This week is going to be a bitch. On top of the usual Monday crap (please let me not have gained weight. Please let me have gained weight), I have my big review on Tuesday, with all my Scunthorpe care team, all the care team here and Ginge and ARGH. I'm trying not to stress, Ginge and I spoke about it today, basically agreeing not to talk about it beforehand and agreed that we're not going to agree in the meeting, but afterwards we'll go get a cuppa somewhere out and cool our jets.