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.