There are times that you hit the ground hard, it feels a bit like a crash from a great height – most of the time, rather unfortunately, after you’ve had a good spell. After my swift bedroom change yesterday, I crashed.
Last night I slept in the lounge – not in a childish protest, but because I felt I needed my own space, a place without a single soul but darkness. I feel safer alone. My space in this new bay it tiny, I feel utterly exposed and nervous – although my bay buddies are really lovely and sensitive girls. Moving anything in my bay because it’s such a small space is a huge challenge. Today has been an utter nightmare; it’s seen me battle my lowest mood to date. I have made no secrets about the fact that I no longer want or wish to be here. My sense of security has been violated, and although the bedroom change couldn’t not have been apparently helped, I still feel a huge sense of loss. I feel insecure, low, unpredictable and impulsive. I feel totally lost. 7 weeks in my room had seen me come such a long way, passed lots of corners and feeling confident and well. The move has proven such an emotional / psychological blow. I know that changes happen in life, but being a severe BPD, I don’t take easily or well to changes – they can become huge challenges for me, certainly if they’re totally unforeseen.
Two members of staff made a huge difference to my life today and none of them are seniors, as you’d think. Seniors can come be at times harder and much more cynical in approach, I have found. Although – not every one in saying that. I think the health care staff I’m talking about today is both BANK. One held my hand and got me to move from my spot where I’d been lying in the lounge for about 10 hours. We sat drinking tea in the canteen for a while. Softly crying, I looked into her eyes for the first time today; she smiled a little reassuring smile back before saying that she hated to see what looked like a deep sense of ‘grief’ in my eyes. She told after whilst holding my hand a little tighter that she believed I could come through this. The other health care worker helped me transform my tiny bay space to a cozy corner. She placed two brand new sheets on the bed, dressed it with my lovely blue blanket and Ted, helped put my clothes on hangers and spoke to me with dignity and hope. Both showed tremendous heart in a difficult situation, with a difficult character that was largely unresponsive and deeply suicidal.
I’d like to finish the blog on a hopeful note but the truth is that the kind of low I’m feeling at the moment has striped me of all hopeful vision. It has also stripped me of the ability to make future promises about my well-being. It feels like it’s consumed me whole. So, if you can sit with me for a while, whilst I hope this nightmare low passes, I’d be so grateful, truly grateful – for I dread to weather the storm just to find that I’m lonely at the end of it all.