Walking through that door makes the blue a little lighter. She holds space as I gently spill. We sit, we talk – we water, dig and bury. Nurturing a shoot. Aiding it in light – to find its path through thorns – Malan Wilkinson
That the bare unit walls and the plastic white duvet will start to feel like home.
That good friends after a while, start to lose hope – maybe walk away, as my hospital admission gets ever lengthier. (None have done so up to date thankfully, but it feels inevitable, as my stay gets longer and I become evermore entangled in depression)
That severe urges and attempts at ending my life go wrong resulting in serious physical/mental harm
That if and when I leave, the world will be too fast and I will be unable to adapt to the ‘normal’ pace of living
That my whole life might be overcast by the dispiritedness of deep depression
That severe impulsivity (a hallmark of Borderline Personality Disorder and something that I struggle with greatly) might serve as my ultimate undoing – despite ongoing efforts to regulate emotions in a more effective and measured way
That my beautiful Blue Merle dog, Wini forgets who I am whilst I’m kept in hospital.
That I’ll eventually be rattling with so much pills, I’ll lose the essence of myself in the middle of it all.
That I’ll be unable to get up and start all over again following intense episodes of depression. Each hospitalisation creates new challenges for me – challenges that exhaust my spirit.
That society after a while will come to perceive me as a weak, confused, thrown off balance individual – ineffectual in contributing to society in a meaningful way.