Friday, 26 April 2013

Catching up.

It's been a ridiculous few weeks, mostly in a bad way (ridiculous with me is often good. I am ridiculous. Sometimes in a good way). I absconded last week- went AWOL from hospital; remember I'm detained rather than here by choice- convinced there were all kinds of bad 'uns and rogues chasing me, when in fact the footsteps behind me belonged only to passersby and, well, members of staff who then ended up restraining me for a fair little while, whilst I sort of came around from being disassociated. It's a weird thing, disassociation... it's bloody frightening. The idea that you can almost be possessed by a being that completely wipes you, as a conscious being, away from your body, and make you act in usually completely unthought out ways. When you come around after dissociating, right, it's like a mix of waking up after being stupidly drunk and remembering nada and that feeling where you've tuned out and, like, gone somewhere on autopilot and found yourself where you meant to go, but with no recollection of the journey. Take those feelings and add over-whelming fear, a fear far greater than a worry that you might have done something stupid whilst drunk, because the creature you become when disassociated is far more of a stranger than your drunk self is. It's altogether quite horrific.

That threw me quite badly, even in the days that followed, and I couldn't bring myself to write. As well, the ward was really unsettled, a lot of us were struggling and the atmosphere was killing me. A whole situation unfurled between most of the girls here and culminated with me starting- and losing, it's fair to say, the smallest person on the ward hitting the biggest was never going to end well for the smallest- my first serious fight, on Sunday. And THAT situation made me even worse.

I'm doing a bit better now, but I'm so tired. Bone tired and mentally tired, there's no reprieve and all I can do is almost cry at the fact the weekend is finally here and at long last I can have catch-up sleep. I just need to be alone and mentally regroup, shake myself off, go easy on myself, and just rest. I'll be ok.

Thursday, 11 April 2013

Things I wish I knew 10 years ago.

Get to know who you are, not who you think you are. Eat the foods you like, not the foods you think you ought to. Wear what you want to wear, not what the magazines say you should to 'flatter your figure.'

Fuck the whole idea of dressing to flatter your figure. It doesn't need to be 'flattered', there's nothing wrong with it. Wear what you like, don't wear what you don't like.

TO REPEAT AS ITS OWN POINT- THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH YOUR BODY. It's your only constant; thank it by looking after it. Degrading it with primping and squeezing, cuts, drugs, starvation or other abuse won't make your life or mental health any better. Oh, and a 'stitch in time saves nine' completely applies here- start being nice to yourself now, because the longer you're not, the more you'll have to fix.

Two simple rules- don't be a dick. Don't let anybody else be a dick.

Sometimes, people need a swift kicking. If someone hits you undeservedly (if it's deserved, you shouldn't have been a dick), hit them back twice as hard. But don't tell anyone I told you to do so.

Comparisons are moot. It might feel like your world is ending because of a bad hair cut, but there is always somebody worse off. REMINDING YOURSELF OF THAT IS LIKE KICKING YOURSELF WHEN YOU'RE DOWN- you're allowed to be sad. That said, giving to charity is a very good way of not being a dick (see above).

Those fashion magazines aren't your friends. The fashion and beauty industries are not your friends, they're industries dependent on making you feel bad. A celebrity's weight loss does not justify your own, nor does it show that you have to follow suit. Their cause isn't yours.

Pay no attention to those who can't string a decent insult together. Be too impressed by those who can, to be insulted.

Tell white lies. Say nothing behind a back that you haven't said to a face.

Turn off the tele; stop watching sitcoms about American lives and start living your own life. The people around you, for good and bad, are infinitely more interesting and complicated than the ones who inhabit the TV waves. Don't miss the real for paying too much attention to the scripted.

The best music isn't the stuff that nobody else has heard of, it's the stuff that makes you... I was going to say happy, but sometimes you need music for other times, too. It's the stuff that you need, whether that's popular or not.

It doesn't have to go school > college > university > job > marriage > children. Sometimes the order gets jumbled, sometimes the gaps between the steps are blurred and sometimes you don't ever hit all those points.- none of that is failure, it's just a mix of chance and choice.

Create your own family. Add the ones who matter from your biological family, take away those biological relations who don't deserve to be in your family, and add anybody and everything worthy you pick up along the way. Blood isn't reason enough to count or dis-count a person.

Make a list of everything you really care about, for when you're feeling down. You're in a unique position in the world, and maybe that unique position is the point from where injustices are made right. You have a duty to the world.

The future is formed on seaside sand. Nothing is for ever and you can't predict the waves, but that doesn't mean building a castle isn't a good way to spend a day.

Saturday, 6 April 2013

Settling in and making the most.

This is going to sound really dramatic, even by my standards, but sometimes, I look at my collection of clothes and am hit with a wave of melancholy. I have some beautiful clothes and some 'beautiful' clothes- my sense of style knows no limits. I look at the collection that I've acquired over the last few years, and I'm almost sad for them; I have so many, my favourites number such a lot that the clothes I love the most, even, have had only a few days outside of the confines of the wooden box. I think about death and I'm sorry that my death would probably also equal their's (I know I'm talking as if my clothes are conscious beings, but that's pretty much what I meant about this being overly dramatic), because I can't see anyone else loving most of them. That's right; I think about the effect that my suicide would have upon my wardrobe. I suppose it's far less guilt-inducing than thinking about the people I love who, despite how shallow this all sounds, I love far more than any scrap of fabric.

Usually, when I'm hospitalised and I know it'll be a short one- a few months, tops- I don't really bother with pretty clothes. When I'm on acute (general) psych wards, I tend to live in trackies, pyjamas and leggings, with over-sized shirts- it's like a hospital uniform for me. I think that to wear the clothes I love would be admitting defeat to the system, agreeing that a ward is my home as such, rather than just me being a patient in the way you would be on a medical ward. Patients don't wear pretty clothes, people who are at home do, I think is the association. In that way, I've admitted defeat to this hospital. I'm going to be here a long time, and to wear my comfies every day would be a waste of all that I own. In a strange way, I'm actually looking forward to being here over summer, because apart from the week I spent last year in Spain, I'm usually in acute wards during summer and my summer dresses get neglected. I'm looking forward to the fact that this year I'll be able to wear summer clothes without them feeling like a waste, because despite it being a forced confinement, I'm still having to make a home of this place.

I'm used now to the rhythm of this unit and it's starting to feel a bit more homely. It'll never be home, but I'm getting used to it all. How to spot when to avoid people, getting used to volatility and allowing myself to be reassured by the fact that my symptoms match the other women here far more than on any other unit, despite nobody else here being Anorexic. I'm used to smoking being scheduled, only being allowed my laptop during certain hours and having to go to numerous groups and activities in a day. I'm ok. I'm open minded, because this is kind of a last chance saloon for me. I've tried everything else and it's been shown pretty well that I can't manage my mental health in the community and that other units are successful only in babysitting me when I'm suicidal, rather than being preventative of future occurances. I'm tired of being in and out of hospital, and I hope more than anything that this can prove to be the last unit. I need to make the most of it. I guess that my clothes and my attitude to them really show that.