I never much want to be here. It doesn't matter how nice a hospital is (and this one isn't all that lovely), or how nice your fellow patients are (and these ones are especially lovely) or how much the treatment is needed (and I think we can all agree this is pretty damn necessary an admission), I don't think anyone much wants to be in a hospital, especially when they're there out of force. A hospital is a hospital and locked doors are locked doors. This last week though, I've wanted to be here even less. I'd usually beg you to take me anywhere, but right now I desperately just want to be back in Essex, getting ready for the uni's Summer Ball tonight. I want to be celebrating my graduation, with my best friends, and feeling giddy over the end of exams. I want to excitedly fear a bright future, not be sitting wondering if I'll have any sort of future, or at what point I'll re-emerge into the world and what my place will be. Will the place be back into the revolving psychiatric hospital door, or will it be as an uneducated adult, with no work experience in the last few years? This week should have been the best one since my first Freshers Week.
My best friend had a baby at the start of our second year of uni, and completed the end of her studies this week. Had you told either of us, at Freshers, that at the point of graduation that this is where we'd be- her with a toddler and me in a long-term psych hospital- I wonder at our reactions. Disbelief? Maybe at her situation, but with some soul-searching, probably not at mine. I wonder at what point this became an inevitable, maybe even fated, turn for myself. Are we going right back to the first time I was coerced into a sex act? The first time I sat in my infant school comparing my thighs with the other girls'? The first time my fingers went down my throat? The first time the blade went over my skin? The first time I didn't eat for a day? The first time I was tube-fed? The first time...? There have been a lot of firsts, I suppose, but what of the points that all of the above became second nature? Is it when all those firsts just became, well, life?
I don't mean to sound self pitying, and I suppose it's obvious, but this really was not how my life was supposed to go. I was bright. I never expected that I'd be left behind, educationally and in every other sense, and on anti-psychotics, anti-depressants, anti-anxieties and a tonne of supplements to try and aggrandise my terrible diet. I definitely didn't expect that I spend the afternoon of my final Summer Ball slightly disconnected through extra Diazepam and Haloperadol.
I'm really sorry, I mostly try to be as positive as I can, both on here and in real life, but this is all I can do and be today, and that has to be ok. I have to be ok. I will be ok. I just really miss the dream.