From inside the cuckoos' nest

The blog below was written while I was in the hospital. I was admitted to a psychiatric ward following a severe relapse, where I had convinced myself  that the best thing for everyone was for me to take my own life. I entertained the fantasy of ending the pain and not surprisingly it ended in a hospital stay. Thankfully, I am now in a much better place and I hope that this is a distant memory.

Before hospital, I felt exactly as my little Ava did ... trapped! 

I never thought I would have to spend time in a psychiatric institution. That's actually a lie. I knew that the likelihood of me ending up in a psych ward was fairly high, given my diagnosis. So here I am and I have to say, that my time here has proven to me that we should never judge a book by its cover. 

When you think of psychiatric wards you think of women wailing, people running down the halls naked, and men who talk to themselves. So far, I can tick two out of three things off that list. Thankfully, I haven't witnessed any naked people. I have met some amazing people though. People who are willing to open up and tell me their stories without shame or denial, who freely compliment me on my dress sense and 'beautiful family', and who can have a laugh, even if it is at their own expense. 

The people here range from high-functioning to severe but regardless of this, there's a sense of comradery.  I can be my true self amongst these people, scars and all, and there is no judgement. They have all been to hell and back and continue to live through it, regardless of the voice (or voices) that tells them they're worthless and should give up. They are here fighting.

I realise now that we should always fight. Giving up is not an option, as much as we sometimes wish it was. After witnessing a patient die in the room next to me I'm reminded of how precious life is. It is worth fighting for, no matter how hard that fight proves to be. 

Throughout this experience I have learnt a lot, both through my own self-reflection and the advice of others. However, I have one issue and that is the fact medication is relied upon too heavily. Now don't get me wrong, I have no problem with medications. What I do have an issue with is when it is used as the sole treatment option. My time here has included medication and the occasional chat with the doctors, with the rest of the time dedicated to my private room where I write, read and watch movies. 

After a week of this, I have found myself getting cabin fever. Yes, I can go out for a walk in the garden area but it is a very small space and I don't fancy doing laps. There is a pool table and a communal lounge room with a TV, but if you're not really up for socialising or watching TV, you don't have many other options.  

Where are the therapy sessions? The mindfulness classes? Yoga even? There needs to be more to treating mental health than medication. Medicine needs to be used in conjunction with psychotherapy and other coping strategies such as mindfulness meditation. Medication treats the symptoms, but not always the causes and it certainly can't replace practical strategies that can be put in place when things go south.

Needless to say, I am ready to go home. I am ready to hug my children and my husband. I am ready to be the mum and wife that my family deserves. I am ready to be me again; to find the girl I lost. I think she is finally back.

I questioned publishing this post. It's the reason there is such a lapse in time from hospitalisation to publication. A large part of me is very ashamed of having to spend time in a psychiatric ward. I worry how people will view me after reading this and wonder whether they will treat me differently. 

However, I also realise that this is a part of my life and that life isn't all positive. The dark aspects of our lives our equally as important as the light. If I could push a button to rid myself of this horrible disease would I? Probably not. Without bipolar I wouldn't be the person I am. I would not have the experiences I have, both good and bad. I wouldn't have met some of the amazing people I have. I certainly wouldn't have the strength I have now or the insight. Mental illness has taught me more about myself than any person or experience could. For that at least, I am thankful.  

A note I found in my notebook from my beautiful mum. I need to remember her words.

My little family. They are what get me up in the morning (I'm not kidding. Rowan is in our room at 5am!)