Archive for April, 2007


Someone else needs/wants the computer but I gotta get this out!

Flurry of phone calls tonight.  Talked to my sister, ex-boyfriend/threesome-boy left a message so I told him where I was as he wanted to get together “for a drink”–haha.  He was supportive so that was good but the BIG ONE:

I called my Mom.  She and her husband weren’t home but I left a long enough message to tell her just about everything.  It basically included where I was, that ex-partner and I had broken up, that I moved, that things had gotten out of control with my moods and impulsivity and that I had always been afraid to call her when I’ve been hospitalized but because we’ve had some good talks lately I felt I should call her and that it would be okay(?)

Crap.  I don’t know if this will alleviate my anxiety or just create more of it but at least I called.  My sister said that if nothing more, I can expect nothing which historically is what we always get/have gotten from our parents.

Again, crap.

I think I’ll take my Seroquel and other meds early tonight.

Not to mention screamy-new-patient-girl is now wailing in the hallway about something incoherent and it’s just not what I need on top of my own tornado of mumbo jumbo swirling around in my head.

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The floor is weird today. The nursing staff is…cranky. Not nice and…well, maybe I was just getting used to a different flow, different staff…is it because it’s Monday? God, I even got yelled at for waltzing into the nurses’ station as we’d/I’d been doing in the past to ask questions. Indeed, it is “The Nurses’ Station” but hell, we’ve all been doing it or at least some us have.

And I don’t really like my nurse today. Whatever. You can’t have it all and have them like my dear S.

We seem to have “lost” Funny Gay Guy. He’s just not on the floor. He didn’t have off-off ward priviledges last time I checked so did he go AWOL? His mood was bad after we returned from our jaunt yesterday. He didn’t want to talk to anyone and seemed to pull an emotional 180. I am concerned. I left a note on his bed.

Ex-partner is funny. I looked in my case and found some of my Ralph Lauren (Polo to be precise) dress shirts. I always say, “It’s not a Fashion Show” when you go inpatient. You’re supposed to look like hell. That’s the point. You feel like it so lay about in your bloody pyjamas all day if you want to. Sure, getting dressed is “progress” and it can make you feel better but if you don’t want to, you shouldn’t have to.

So since they were there and I felt like such a piece of crap yesterday, I decided to shower and actually wear one of them today. Which brings me to my shower. I asked ex-partner to bring me my razor as I really needed (well wanted) to shave badly! I’m not really a hairy person (like you all care) but it was driving me crazy! Now I should turn in my razor to the nurses’ station but I just don’t give a shit. Certainly not for my own safety but for someone elses? I’m not about to go on a mass cutting spree with my Gillette Triple Blade Sensor…it wouldn’t do a good job anyway *rolls eyes* But ironically, someone pointed out to me that they have mirrors in the closets in some of the rooms here. How odd for anyone who really loses it–or might lose it? I mean, just smash that and instant shards of glass.

Maybe I’ll turn it in, maybe I won’t. I haven’t decided. I guess you could say I’m “in a mood” today. PA is not happy.

So I met with my psychiatrists and well…they are still trying to get me out in the real world. They have no problem prescribing me whatever I need–be it more Lamictal or Seroquel–but they don’t seem to know in what direction to head. But they want to know how anxiety provoking it is for me to handle going outside and “dealing with life” if you will. So “doctor’s orders” were to again go outside and do something. Fine.

I went back to the same cafe today and had some tea. Again, anxiety provoking and I kind got a little confused crossing the street with the lights (I think I’m still Seroquel impaired or I’m just basically completely retarded right now *laughing at self*) and had to run across the street lest I got run over. It’s okay, everyone’s used to pedestrians being dumb/arrogant here but you still need to be careful of aggressive drivers or ones that don’t pay attention.

So I had my tea, had a look through one of the local gay rags that I haven’t read in ages and then came back here for a Recreational Activity. Big mistake but there’s nothing else to do except go hang out in my room. Which I shall probably do after this. Or maybe a movie. Or take a nap. Or curl up in a ball in a corner. Or try and find the little mouse that has now taken up residence here (he was joining me at the computer last night but I couldn’t coax him out to play–too bad.)

So the Rec. thing was knitting and beading. Well I’d rather poke my eye out with the needle than attempt to learn knitting. I know my manual dexterity levels are not up for that. Never have been; never will be. I have tried beading in the past so I thought I could make myself a funky bracelet. Beats the ones they admit you with? Which I have taken off by the way. I thought I’d go with the Self Harm Awareness colours of black and orange but no luck in the colour selection department. So some blue ones: solid and others with some sort of Asian motifs.

Well, I just about had it done (painfully…I am still so whacked out on the Seroquel and it’s making my motor skills even worse) so I checked to see if it would fit over my hand to get it onto my wrist. POW! Flying beads everywhere! The thing completely exploded. Knew the whole exercise would be a bad idea. Completely futile.

“Leave it to the experts,” I said as I walked out of the room. It was only myself and the Rec. Therapist so it wasn’t terribly embarrassing. Not that I really care. Too tired. Too irritable.

I’ve been trying to read. In doing so, I’ve decided that my writing stinks. Well, it certainly does now as I’m just sort of filing these mundane “daily reports” but they’re not very colourful, descriptive, emotive etc… But even beyond me being here…my writing still stinks.

Someone recently told me that they thought I would make a good journalist? Thank you, dear person, for that but I actually don’t like journalistic writing. Stylistically. I understand why it needs to be done in that way–accessibility for the wider audience but I don’t like the “Five Ws.”

I even briefly started down that path as well but at the risk of revealing too much about myself(?) I received a really shitty mark in the course because the man teaching it knew me. Or at least I suspect this was the reason. There really wasn’t anything wrong with what I wrote. The course was subjective! How could my articles be wrong if everything was covered–and concise, adhered to by instruction etc…? And copy editors chop up and mangle and alter unbelievably what reporters write anyway–trust me.

Okay, woo! Seroquel apparently makes me ramble in my posts? It’s funny because I do not feel like talking at all but I guess I just feel like typing? Blogging?

*brain goes pffft*

I think I need to rest a bit. I’m pissed off at being forced to go out when I’m so tired and I *know* I need to “get better”–I know that more than anyone in here–but I’m so exhausted…and yes, still full of a great deal of anxiety.


I’m trying to remember a phrase from a movie I just watched but I can’t seem to remember anything lately.  My brain is mush.  It was a Brit/Scots term(?) and I can’t find it on the internet.  But it’s perfect for my completely disaffected face right now.  My facial expression hasn’t changed in several hours.  Something about the wind blowing? Maybe it’s not even a “real” expression but the way it was delivered made it sound so.

I shouldn’t have even watched the damn movie.  Someone rented it and there was nothing else to do so whatever? But it was rather triggery.  Bugger.

I should have known to avoid it but I was thinking, it’s only a movie… and yes, it is and was but when your mind isn’t up to par…everything can be triggery.  I will work on forgetting it.  It’s fiction and even though it bears some relationship to aspects of my life…forget about it.

Bugger again.

Ex-partner came today with some things/essentials and that was difficult.  Or maybe it wasn’t.  Or maybe it wasn’t at the time but it became so later.  I was still out of it because of the morning Seroquel and kind of non-functional.  Or certainly not at full capacity.  I needed to take care of some banking and I could barely write my damn cheques.  It took me forever to get it together.  She is handling the rest for me.  I feel so completely incapacitated and incapable.  She stayed for a bit and we talked.  She asked how long I would be staying here and I simply said I had no idea.  I just felt so pathetic. 

This hospitalization is so different from what I’ve experienced before.  I didn’t “do” anything to get here (i.e. suicide attempt, self harm etc…)  Agreed, that is a good thing and yes, I did a voluntary before where I just waltzed in and said, “Here I am! I’m messed up!” but I only stayed a week.  Tomorrow/tonight will be a week since I was thrown into the ambulance and carted away.  And I am not ready to go home yet.  Not by a long shot.

An inpatient and a visiting outpatient (his friend) knew what was up after ex-partner left and persuaded me to go out with them.  Time to tackle the agoraphobia! So we went for some drinks (non-alcoholic, don’t worry) and I finally had some real tea.  Did I mention that they concoct some sort of “powdered tea” here? I’m absolutely dying because I love my tea.  And I think both the coffee and tea are decaffeinated.  Great.

So we sat around talking and I tried so very hard not to think of my normal life and going back to it–now that I was out of the confines of the hospital and actually out in the real world.  They were and are kind guys and kept checking on my anxiety levels.  Nothing like fellow nutters to understand.

We went to some shops.  Some crazy place that sold a variety of stuffed things and “funky” baby clothes and just a lot of kitsch, I guess and then to a second hand, “supposed” vintage clothing store.  I like second hand stores and vintage shops and sometimes you can find some neat things in them.  Although this one was quite lacking. 

We were gone for over three hours and it completely exhausted me.  Then we watched the “damn movie” and that didn’t add to my already plummeting mood. 

I feel like I have taken some steps backward.  I am feeling extremely non-communicative, almost to the point of becoming non-verbal but when people address me I am saying something.  I did speak to my nurse today finally after dinner as we had not had a chance to “check in” all day.

I need to call my sister shortly.  She has suggested that I call my/our mother and tell her that I have gone to the loony bin as it’s possibly a step in the right direction of bringing more of the family bullshit to the fore.  My mother always evades my mental illness subject matter when I talk about it but seeing as I have now tackled the issue (with rather strange yet not catastrophic results) of my birth father with her, maybe it’s time to let her know that I’ve thown myself into hospital.

I do not know.  I do not know if this will help or it will stress me out further.  I don’t think a visit from her would be a good idea–good lord they’d probably lock her up and we’d become roommates?! No, I’m sure they must have some sort of regulation about family members being kept separate…

Anyway, I’d better try and get prepared to try and “talk” and make some sense to my sister.  I really don’t feel like talking to anyone though. 

Oh and you’re all probably wondering about the “damn movie.”  It was called ‘Dear Frankie’ and about a boy who doesn’t know his birth father and his mother goes to great lengths to make him think he’s “out there” and in communication with him.  Finally she hires a stranger to meet with her son out of necessity and he falls for him and blah, blah, blah…  That’s the sort of beginning but in the end the kid knows he’s not his real dad.  Whatever.  It was an alright movie–not great cinema for sure but considering I don’t know my birth father? Uh huh.


Well, we had some more excitement last night.

Last week I missed some sort of floor meeting as I was seeing my psychiatrists.  I guess I have two but only one really speaks to me.  The other just sort of sits and observes, perhaps makes recommendations and there is usually some form of student/resident/in UK terms maybe some level of House Officer? Anyway, lots of people looking at me.

So I walked in about five minutes before it ended which was probably a good thing as apparently they handed out “chores” for the ward.  Now, not that PA doesn’t like to or won’t pitch in and help but really, she’s here to get well, not participate in some sort of mental boot camp.  But really, there’s not a lot to do so it wasn’t that bad from what I gather.

One of the things was to clean up one of the lounges and clean out the fridge.  Yes, we have a fridge for people to put their own food in etc…  Well Funny Gay Guy decided to kindly take that over for another older man who just wasn’t feeling up to it.  He did this last night.  I was on the computer (typically) and had no idea what on earth he was doing, having missed this part of the meeting.  I just thought he had a worse case of ants in his pants than me! But no matter, I was just laughing at him–or his behaviour.

So we sat down afterward and this ancient nurse comes in and looks in the garbage and starts screaming! FGG had thrown out a bunch of equally ancient oranges that had been in the crisper drawer for who knows how long.

The nurse from somewhere, perhaps an old Eastern Bloc country(?) started shouting very loudly, “Only in Canada! Never in Europe! This would only happen only in Canada! There are starving children in Europe!!!” On and on she went! “Don’t ever throw anything out ever again! No, no, no! Never again!”

Well, FGG would have none of it.  I mean, we all could have just sat there mute and claimed ignorace but he started yelling back that he was told to do it, the oranges were rotten and on it ensued.  I couldn’t hold it anymore and started giggling again and probably looked equally as “guilty” in her eyes.

She started digging all of the oranges out of the garbage can and the entire scene just got more bizarre.  I thought, rather slowly because I’m a little impaired right now, but thought it nonetheless: what is she going to do with the oranges? They were in the garbage? Give them back to us? Send them to Europe?

Another nurse came in and told her that she couldn’t take them OUT of the garbage once they were already put in there.  I agreed in my head.  Not a good thing.  You usually don’t eat things out of the trash.

FGG was still not done.  He marched out to the Nurses’ Station and I so wanted to follow but I kept my ass glued to the couch.  He returned and I asked him what happened.  He said he got an apology.  Wow, I thought.

We continued laughing about it and I told him how it reminded me of some parents telling their children to eat all their dinner as there are starving children in Africa and how it just doesn’t make sense.  I mean, there are starving people right outside our front door.  Literally.  I suppose we could have given the rotten fruit to them if we’d been more inclined but the oranges were bad! What do we need, food poisoning and upset tummies? Digging oranges out of the garbage!

*PA shakes head*

One nurse tried to give FGG his meds early and he was like…WTF?! They’re trying to put me to bed early and get rid of me!? Again, we just laughed.  He nicknamed the crazy old “Save The Oranges Nurse” Granny Gumball, for which reasons unexplainable to me, I find ridiculously funny.  Again, everything is funny here.  I can barely type this post I am laughing so hard.

Now this morning, after breakfast, again let’s all go outside and smoke up (oh, wait…not that way) and on the way back in, a Schizophrenic woman accosted me in the elevator and started kissing me all over the cheek and hugging me! Oh no! I mean, I can handle any disordered person but I need my personal space–most especially while I am in here–and if it’s not someone I trust…someone I even know? Yikes.  I’m okay if I am comfortable with the person, I can be  touched again if I feel comfortable with them but  it depends who they are.  Just not everyone right now.

I mean, she was lovely and kind and telling me how wonderful I was and all of that but she was obviously very disinhibited.  She kissed another man’s hand who was with us but it seems little PA got the brunt of all her affection–the whole shebang.  I used some of the disinfectant hand wash as soon as I got up to the floor to clean myself off.  I know that sounds terrible as the woman actually looked in pretty good shape but you never know?

I think she may be confusing me with someone else? I’m not entirely sure but I did see her yesterday and she said that we had spoken (we had not) and that I had given her matches (I had not.)  However, she kept going on and on about how wonderful and sweet I was even though we never knew each other.

I spoke to my nurse about it.  I wasn’t completely freaked out about it but for both her safety (someone else might pop her one if she tries it with them) and for mine (I don’t need a stalker) she’s going to call down to their ward and just let them know.  I don’t know her name but I gave them her description.  Actually, maybe she did tell me her name, maybe not but if she did, I was so overwhelmed by the whole situation, I’ve completely forgotten it.  I’m bad with names anyway under the best of circumstances.

So yes…so far everyone’s just kept to themselves from other wards but leave it to me to be a “crazy magnet!”

HA! FGG can see my blog and is laughing at the title.  He’s the funniest crack addict I know.  Well, he’s the only crack addict I know?


No, PA hasn’t become completely delusional and thinks she’s in Hawaii.  Nor has she discharged herself, gone completely manic and bought a one way ticket there in order to completely attempt to escape all reality.

I keep forgetting to mention it and it’s become a big laugh around here but that is the name of our floor.  Or rather, MAUI: Mood Anxiety Unit Inpatient. 

I was so bloody stupid and out of it I couldn’t figure out the complete acronym so I had to ask! I got the Mood-Anxiety part but the rest completely confused me.  And isn’t it kind of backwards? Shouldn’t it be “Inpatient Unit?” But I guess it’s harder to say, “MAIU.” Mai-yoo…not really.  I can say it.  Or maybe someone really thought naming this poor floor after a beautiful, island paradise was a really sick joke.

Anyway, Funny Gay Guy, myself and another gent…who I’ll call S. decided to go for our regular “after dinner smoke.”  Yes, things have become so routine around here–and of course, the intigator, FGG decided he wanted to explore a few of the other floors where we are.  Well there aren’t many in this portion of the building and we could wander further but I suppose no one really wanted to? They also have long term care where people have been living here for years.  There are some really, really mentally interesting people here…

I was kind of curious too.  Who else resided outside of our little Maui? Well, we found the Schizophrenia floor.  Okay.  Also on that floor was the “Treatment Area” (I believe I know what goes on in there–if not it’s on that floor) and something about “Genetics” as well.  Hmmm.  I was certainly curious about that.  What are they doing regarding Genetics?  

So then we went to the next floor but we didn’t realize something.  The elevator doors shut and oops! We were on a locked floor! The elevators wouldn’t come, we were trapped by bars at a stairwell (it’s the same floor where our dining hall is but they unlock it only for meals.)  Oh shit!

We felt really stupid but we were totally laughing as they have all of these signs about patients being AWOL and here we were…wandering around…when will the alarms start ringing and they send out the “crazy police” to come and get us? Again, jokes all around. 

We’re not a high risk floor.  Or even high risk patients.  Just a little stupid and unfamiliar with our surroundings? Curiosity killed the cuckoos? 

We didn’t want to bother the nurses on that floor.  My nurse (who I really like–she’s a real sweetie, just a young thing starting out–so unjaded, eh? She is good though and gives me lots of attention) had just gone for a smoke with a patient who didn’t have off ward priviledges so we thought we’d wait for them to come back and yell up to this open balcony/bridge when they walked past to let us back upstairs.  Luckily we didn’t have to.  A nurse from that floor came out a few minutes later with a patient and let us back on to the elevator with a key.

Oddly enough, there are a lot of key switches that say “GA Key” on them.  I have no idea what that acronym means either but I’ve made a little joke that it stands for the “Generalized Anxiety” portion of GAD.  Quick, get the “Generalized Anxiety Key” and TURN IT OFF! I’m freaking out!

And yes, there was a sign indicating use of the “GA Key” on the “lockdown floor” to access the elevator.  Stress on the lockdown floor…not good for anyone claustrophobic?

Oh dear…that was just “minor trouble” really…what else are we going to get into? Even my nurse didn’t care what we were doing.  It might get to the point when she’s on shift (as she’s my primary) that the lunatics will be running the asylum.  Just kidding.  We’re not that bad. 


I told you all? Oh Seroquel.  It’s actually kind of fun.  I should enjoy it while it lasts though.  My body will get used to it and I probably won’t enjoy these enjoyable effects.  Basically, Seroquel gets me pretty stoned.

Everything is funny.  Nothing is funny.  I giggle for no reason.  I guess that’s pretty good in light of recent circumstances? Laughter is therapeutic.

As for any negatives? I’m a little bit dizzy, my mouth is dry, I become sedated but that’s kind of the point, am nauseous, perhaps lack of appetite (the latter two are certainly no hardship or anything new after the last several months.) However, I still didn’t sleep well! I started to get drowsy (was still all giggly mind you) and did fall asleep but still kept waking up and yes, was awake early.  I was still out of it enough to get back to sleep alright but another problem is that I was freezing

People have always said that PA must have ice running through her veins.  I’m not a cold person characteristically or emotionally–or at least I don’t ever mean to be.  If I am it’s unintentional and probably just because I am unaware and typically in outer space/consumed with something else or just lost in my own thoughts.  But physically I am cold, cold, cold! Just about all of the time but definitely at night! I can usually be quite comfortable in long sleeves and pants in the middle of summer unless it is sweltering here.

So anyway, I think this post is relatively coherent.  If not…?  Sorry, I think my blog is declining.  No one is responding to my posts anymore so I think everyone is indeed getting tired of my “life on the inside.” I don’t mind.  I’m still going to keep writing about it.  It’s therapeutic too.

Yes, it’s a funny place.  Between the more stable (relatively speaking, we’re all in here) nutters on my floor and the others we see outside…whew!

We all talk on our floor, it becomes show and tell with our cutting scars, talk about our prior admissions to wards, our “addictions” and problems…

One man outside just asked me for some of my water.  I was like, “No!” I was having a smoke with Funny Gay Guy who I think has now become my best buddy here because he just makes me laugh so hard and I said to him re: the other guy, “Oh yeah, sure…lick my cup!”

Now there’s a euphemism you can keep.


So I hope “all y’all” aren’t getting sick of my blogging about the psych ward. Sorry previous incarnation of PA there…no she doesn’t think she’s from some part of the US where that term is prominent; she actually thinks she’s from the UK. 

I guess that’s about all that’s going on right now and I don’t know if I have the brain power to blog about anything else or the time as sometimes I have to “share” this little toy that we nutters all play with.  Yes, PA always shares her toys.  Except her MacBook.

But who knows? The Seroquel might turn me into (more of) a blithering idiot and I might not be able to blog at all for a bit? Doubtful.  I’m a junkie.  I’ll just perhaps make no sense.  Or less sense.

I had this great song that’s really appropriate and as I can’t stream music over here at WP, I was going to post a YouTube clip but there’s a version of Flash on this piece of junk where I sit typing that’s too old.  So I started monkeying and tried to download a newer version of it and I can’t.  First, I kept getting broken images on the screen and when I downloaded Firefox and tried to do it via that, I got an error about not having Administrative Priviledges–but I can’t see that having anything to do with anything.  It’s the machine.  I had to download the Firefox App. to the Desktop and not even to the HDD!

I’m tempted to post the clip anyway but I just can’t without viewing it first.  That would be irresponsible blogging! Like I don’t do enough of that already?

*ponders*

So I finally heard from my sister.  Apologies abound but at least we are now in contact.  Better late than never? I suppose she can’t help it.  Well, maybe she can.  I don’t know.  She avoids the phone like I do if a number isn’t recognized but at least I pick up my messages.  I just blame everything we do on how badly our parents screwed us up, over, backwards, sideways and twice on Sundays.

Things are actually going a bit better here.  I’m engaging more with some of the other crazies.  I’ve dragged myself to “group” a couple of times.  Once to “Music Therapy” where a guy just brought in a bunch of CDs and if we liked a song, we were to pick it, he’d play it and we could all talk about it.  There was at least one CD that had a particular favourite of mine that makes me think of Bipolar so that was appropriate.  Some of the CDs were pathetically generic though so, not to sound like a music snob but I got bored.  I did kind of get a chance to geek out and talk about music though.  That was yesterday.

Today was a CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) Group.  That was a little rough and extremely anxiety provoking.  I still worked hard at opening my mouth–much more difficult than talking about music though! They even gave homework! I am to pick a “mood” and then chart all the actions I do in three hour blocks and then rate my chosen mood on a scale.  Dear me.  Then it is to be reviewed next week.  Ha…if I show up? No, I should probably go…

…guilt, guilt, guilt…

I’ve never done CBT and because I’m such a screw up and spend so much time in my head and being so reactionary maybe it might help?

So do you want to know the songs? *smiles deviously*


Oh this is funny.  So far there are four of us (gays, lesbians, queers–whatever…) on the ward.  Well, three confirmed and one, well if I’m not totally out of my mind and in a psych facility right now, then he is surely gay too.  I don’t know how many people are on the ward but not that many.  So the ratio is pretty good, I think.  Straight to gay, perhaps 4:1? At least 5:1, definitely.  That’s pretty good!

Oh, one guy is too much.  My gaydar was kind of buzzing even though I’m a total space cadet right now.  And as soon as he mentioned that his nickname was “disco” when someone asked him what kind of music he liked and said the only thing he was good at was decorating that absolutely clinched it.  Sorry, sterotypes I know but his mannerisms, voice–it was the whole package. 

Another woman is older and she said she was married for many, many years (sorry, can’t remember exact number but it was a long time) so I gathered that she had just recently “come out.”  I told her that’s okay–I was a bit of a “late bloomer” too and it really doesn’t matter at all.  It really doesn’t.  She spoke a bit about her “girlfriend.” So that was nice. 

She said she could tell about me by my boots.  I sort of laughed as I have my Blundstones with me.  She said a lot of her friends wear them.  I didn’t think Blundstones were big dyke accessories–I just switched to them as someone told me they were more comfortable then my traditional Dr. Martens (of which I have a few pairs in many different styles.)  Well, they’re wrong! I still prefer Docs! And really, I don’t exactly *look* gay…so I guess you’d have to tell from something?! At least I don’t think I look gay…  No, by the amount of men I seem to draw in…nope.  Whatever…I mean I don’t draw in *that* many men.  That just sounds terribly wrong and egotistical.  I guess I’m just trying to say I must look “straight.”  Ugh, labels again.

And if you’re really curious about lesbian footwear, well in the summer here, watch out for the Birkenstocks! And no I don’t own a pair.  I have hyposensitive feet and it’s taken me years to actually wear sandals without socks.  I know, everyone says it’s a major fashion faux pas but sometimes I like to look like a hippie, tree hugger.  And I really don’t give a toss about “fashion” anyway.  I used to (to a small degree?) but I would always break the rules of it anyway.

So yes, I’ve been tempted to ask ex-partner to bring in one of my rainbow flags in celebration! We’ve (well funny guy and I) have already started talking about “redecorating” this place.  It has that “institutional charm”–if there is such a thing–as it’s a real relic and has been around for a long time.  It has a huge history and some of it not so nice.  They did *bad* things here back it they day, I believe, if my memory serves me correctly.  I should look into it when I get out. 

Anyway, it’s all just talk…I doubt we’ll pink it up or start painting any rainbows anywhere.  We’d just get in trouble,  but what fun is it if you can’t do crazy things in a psych ward? (See again my 5th psych hospitalization under “Hospitalizations” category if you haven’t already.)  But I’m a bit older now.  More mature? Hopefully a bit wiser but I don’t really know about that one.

So this has all been a light hearted post so far but I’m a bit confused and kind of hurt and angered about this one.  I’ve called my sister, emailed–well late last night so she may not have read it–and nothing.  Hi, your sister is in the loony bin so…um…pick up the phone, call back and/or leave a mesage? I do have my cell phone with me.

Now she and I are close.  Not geographically but well…there are some lapses in communication at times (well, most times…welcome to my support network) but still.  She knows how the defeaning silence of our parents (and more than that) affected us, so has she no clue how I might be feeling by her lack of response?

Ex-partner is pissed about it and threatening to call and leave a rather pointed message about how I need to hear from her.  Me being typically conflict avoidant just wants to sit away and rot here and “just wait” for my sister to get back to me in due course. 

Fuck it.  Let’s just oraganize a little Gay Pride Parade in the mean time.

*sigh*

EDIT: Just met with the psych team and because my anxiety is out of control, I’m agoraphobic, becoming “institutionalized” and can’t sleep I’m going on a small dose of Seroquel erm…25mg and I think b.i.d (twice daily…once at beddy bye time.) Woo hoo…I’m on a fine cocktail now.  And I thought I’d be lucky if they’d give me a bloody benzo.

I also spoke to the OT as I walked in on an entire group meeting about things here and asked about deep touch pressure and if they offer that.  No, I’m not trying to get myself into another straightjacket because I doubt they have any of those here but a weighted vest or something like that might be helpful? I need to calm the hell down.  She did know some of what I was talking about and I did reference Temple Grandin and all of that so I didn’t sound completely out of my mind.  Like I said, what’s the point if you can’t have fun in a psych ward.

She told me to speak to the psychiatrist about it.  Round, round we go.


I’m tired.  I’m not sleeping well.  Despite my hypnotic.  My anxiety levels have increased and I seem to have developed some slight feelings of agoraphobia and being “institutionalized.”  This has never happened before when I have been in the hospital. 

I went out yesterday afternoon and walked to the end of the property and just sort of looked at “the real world” hurtling by and it kind of freaked me out.  I couldn’t venture into it and just finished my cigarette and came straight back into the building.  God, even today when outside this morning I heard a gull laughing maniacally.  Even the birds are crazy here.

My floor isn’t bad, actually.  I am on the Mood and Anxiety Floor.  Everyone here is pretty calm and no one is screaming or freaking out so that is good.  It is quiet except when someone is blasting the TV too loud.  Then I just leave and go hide in my room.  My roomate is nice.  She is smart and doing a PhD. in Biochemistry and working on Alzheimers.  *sigh*…oh, why haven’t I even finished my BA.

She’s leaving tomorrow so who knows who will be sharing my room next.

I have found a couple of books to try and read.  One is entitled Anthropology and Art: Readings in Cross-Cultural Aesthetics and is a collection of essays by again, various smart people from the Hallowed Halls of Academia.  No doubt someone’s old university reading material.  That one may have to wait.  A little heavy.

I have also found a copy of Joshua Then and Now by Mordechai Richler. You can link to the book also in Wiki further down the page if you wish to read what it’s basically about. I’ve just started it but found one kind of interesting quote that was told to Joshua as a young boy from his uncle when he was getting into trouble.

“Life is a river we poor mortails sail on.  Now you can drift with the current, ending up in the weeds of malcontent with the rest of the flotsam.  Or dear Joshua, you can paddle your own canoe right through the storms of temptation into the ocean of plenty.”

They upped my Lamictal to 50mg.  Yay.


So while I’m waiting for the false fire alarm to stop ringing (yes, that’s relaxing for psych patients and great for sleeping) and for my laundry to dry, I thought I’d share with you some of the “ticked boxes” from my 72-hour hold.

Now in Canada (or at least my province–and this will probably give away some of my anonymity–or not) we call it “getting Formed” for short.  There used to be one number but now it’s another but I won’t reveal that because then people would know for sure at least my province of residence.  Or maybe that will still give it away but well, so what? Maybe by even writing this, by indicating the language, it still will but again, perhaps it doesn’t matter.

In the UK, it’s “Sectioned,” in California, it’s “5150’d” but that’s my limited knowledge thus far in terms of language and geography.  Anyone else, please enlighten me as I like trivia.

So this is great for your self-esteem when you’re going inpatient:

  • …physician has certified that he/she has reasonable cause to believe that you have: threatened or attempted or are threatening or attempting to cause bodily harm to yourself
  • and that you are suffering from a mental disorder of a nature or quality that likely will result in: serious bodily harm to yourself and serious physical impairment to you
  • have previously received treatment for a mental disorder of an ongoing or recurring nature that, when not treated is of a nature or quality that likely will result in: serious bodily harm to yourself, substantial mental or physical deterioration of you or serious physical impairment to you
  • given your history of mental disorder or physical condition, you are likely to: cause serious bodily harm to yourself, suffer substantial mental or physical deterioration or suffer physical impairment

The only thing that didn’t apply to me was that I wasn’t going to be violent toward another person and that I was still competent.  But basically, all boxes were checked so I scored well! 

Now what I find kind of interesting is that for all of my hospitalizations, I have never been given a copy! It’s like, neato! I have my own “certifcation” that I’m “certifiable!”

*grin*