Thursday, 31 January 2013

Coming to terms.

I told you Monday and Tuesday would be bad, didn't I? Monday verged on vaguely ridiculous. They said that I could be a day patient (I keep demanding to go home), and just come here for 10 hours a day, Monday-Friday. Sounds good, no? I'm sure they were expecting I'd bite the hand off the person making the offer. Instead, I told them I didn't think my CPN, Scunny's community mental health lot, or even Ginge, would have me in the community. As a 'compromise' I was told that I could be a day patient here and then go to the nuthut of a night. Because that makes PERFECT sense. The whole thing pissed me off so entirely that I spent 24 hours locked up in my room, refusing all meals and replacement drinks.

Tuesday and my big review came and they'd realised what a moronic offer that was, I think. So I'm still on the eating disorder ward as an in-patient, until they get me into the next unit, on the condition I comply, which I had and have and have had no problem with, apart from those mardy cardi 24 hours. Unless I suddenly balloon, I suppose, in which case I guess I will end up on the nuthut. Bloody woe is bloody me.

I'm kind of coming to terms with the fact that I'll be lucky to see any of this year out of hospital. There's one unit that they really want me to go to, that I'd have to agree to (I'm here now against my will), that offers a 10 month programme. That's pretty bloody daunting and I was dead set against it, until Ginge did some research and found out that their (I keep saying they and their and all that, I suppose because I lump everyone involved some way or other in the system as one) second choice, the one they can and will force me to if I don't agree to the other, has an average stay of 16 months. I keep begging them to leave me the fuck alone, but I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that that isn't going to happen, and either way I'm going to be in hospital a long time.

I'm so wobbly and unsure right now. Tonnes of people have told me that if I added up all the months over the last few years I'd spent in hospital, it would add up to far more than 10, which is true, and that this should be the unit to end all units (I'm paraphrasing, but that has a good ring to it. THE WAR TO END ALL WARS and all that). It doesn't help that I'm feeling so huge right now, and I'm still underweight. I've gained about 7kg (just over 15lbs) since coming here and it's really bloody tough, even though I'm still 10kg off what I was maintaining at before this relapse. It's taking me at least half an hour, and numerous changes, to come up with an outfit of a morning, which is a totally new thing to me. Usually, I just grab whatever I fancy first, add summat clashing and big jewellery or a tie or bow tie or a mix, and job's a good 'un, but now I'm dressing and redressing, just to find summat I don't feel I look obese in. That plays massively on my mind when I think about other units, 'cause the eating disorder grabs me with all the fake promises of what weight loss could bring, and although I know the promises are fake, the voice is so strong and I'm afraid 'cause I know wherever I end up, I won't be able to test the promises.

I just want to go home. I also want to be well. Ginge said that if they let me go home now, she thinks I'd be dead by Easter and I couldn't say owt back 'cause I couldn't promise I wouldn't be. I don't want to feel like this, but I don't want a year in hospital. It's going to happen though, whether I agree or not, so I really need to think, and I suppose a bit of reassurance that this is the right thing, that I'm worth and worthy of such NHS expense, and that I CAN, and this will be enough to make me, stable enough to cope with, and live, a real, decent, life.

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