Archive for April 30th, 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.


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.