Hospital, Section and Compassion

Trigger Warning – Depression and Suicide 

Before I start, I suppose I should apologize for the delay in blogging over the last few weeks. It has been a tremendously difficult month and for those of you who follow me on Twitter/ Facebook you will know that I have been admitted to a Psychiatric Unit and sectioned.

Depression has stuck its sinking claws into me for the last months, but there are also certain ‘obsessional ideas’ (medical opinion words) that are ruling my life at the moment. I won’t go into too much detail about those on here – what I will say however, is that I believe clusters (hundreds) of translucent spiders are running through my blood and head – collecting data (that’s in turn being encrypted and sent away to specialised data centres) about how we go about problem solving. I suppose the situation is quite ironic really. If I could well and truly problem solve effectively – would I be in and even sectioned?

I came into hospital in the early hours of 13 of March and explained to doctors about the spiders in my blood and in turn was admitted and sectioned. I have not been able to write in detail about a thing and I generally find it difficult to concentrate, but thought it a challenge to update my blog and let you guys know what’s happening.

I am taking meds as prescribed and am conforming in ever way I can to my care plan, but being in hospital has its challenges. I have not really had much detail / sense regarding diagnosis yet but Borderline Personality Disorder and Depression keep coming up in meetings. Since 2013, this is can easily be described as the lowest of all my episodes. One of the cruelest things about depression is the fact that it can eat your soul, the very thing that at best makes life worth living. Hours can feel like days on the ward and days like weeks. At my lowest I really do wonder why I try and push through it all? My soul, after all, seems like a corpse-like hostage to a cruel heartbeat that stubbornly refuses to stop beating. I get-up each day, hoping that it will be better than yesterday. It hasn’t been over the last couple of months. Nights seem too long but yet too short. My answers to medical staff and doctors who challenge ideas I have about ending my life – I’d rather be a cherished / valuable memory than a living liability that not only causes pain to myself but to others I love. 

On better days, I think about my gorgeous family (my Dad, beautiful triplet sisters) my sheep dog Wini Lwyd and my amazing mother that I lost at the age of 17 – without mentioning all my kind friends. I think how beautiful they all are and how I hate dragging them all through this hellish, unrelenting tempest, that is mental illness. An illness that has achieved its sick intent in crushing my life four times, since I was first hospitalized in 2013. Each time I end up in hospital, it becomes harder to fully recover, harder to get-up and go back into the community and harder to hold my head up high. Each time I come back from hospital – a part of me has changed forever, just gone it seems. A part I sometimes grieve about – whilst trying to build myself up once again. Only time will tell how my soul gets through this one, what damage will be done and how recognizable I’ll be at the end of it all. What I have / if I have at all to offer the world?

The one thing that has touched me throughout the last 5 years is how powerful support can be on a human level. I wouldn’t be still here if it weren’t for friends and their kindness and generosity. The effect one human can have on another through merely offering support and reaching out is extraordinary. Friends and family can harbour individuals that are in the most vulnerable of places. Some visitors are scared to speak when they come, that’s OK. Others do little but speak about current affairs, world news and the price of pears! Others bring pastry and talk about the weather and global warming. Some send Facebook messages, some Twitter messages and others cards and packages. It’s all OK. In a matter of fact, it’s all much better than OK. This is all compassion at its best. A smile or glance can make a difference, as can the gentlest of touches. When I break it all down, even when I’m in the weakest of places, I’ve come to believe that much of it all comes down to humanity with mental health. Humanity, compassion and support towards each other. These in my mind are equally as essential and significant in recovery as is a box of pills.