I'm going back into hospital tomorrow, after my 6 days out. It's been weird and hard and weirdly hard. I fought so hard and for so long to get out, but I never put much thought into how it'd go when once I was home alone. Big mistake. Long story short, I went a bit nut-so yesterday and my social worker got me an emergency appointment with my psychiatrist. I'm not perfect, that I know only too well. But that doesn't mean I don't expect my endeavours to be such. I like things... in boxes. And it's hard to box transition.
I don't know what I want right now. I know I want out of hospital, full stop, but I also know that 'full stop' is rarely a sensible attitude. There's a lot in that little dot, a lot of uncertainties and potential failures. I've spent most of my life feeling like a failure for one thing or another (missing a word in a spelling test, leaving uni. And everything inbetween I can find failure in), that now I get too scared to do much in case I fail. I seize up and my brain goes empty, because I can't risk doing something I won't excel in. I haven't room in my head for any more failure. Yesterday was just one, long fail, and although today I've been so productive, I can't get it out of my head.
How does one fail recovery? It's a bloody bumpy road. As my mum told me yesterday, 'you can't climb Everest alone.' She's a wise 'un, but Everest is a challenge to anybody, whereas just being in the community really isn't. I'm determined to make it perfect, but with that attitude, I'll always fail. I don't know whether letting go of perfection is noble or not.
All in all, it's actually been lovely to be home, especially when my mum's in. Not that her being at work is a total ballache, because it means I can be naked. That's always good. It maybe says a lot that I focus more on my 'failures' than I do on the positives, and my family have been a huge positive, this week and every week. I LOVE YOU, GUYZZZZ.