Interlude: wishes and dreams.

I was helping a friend out with her three year old daughter’s birthday party today. My friend has just had a little one- he is nine weeks old, adorable and perfect.

I had a lot of time yesterday minding him whilst his mother and my sister baked cakes. Today, I minded him whilst family helped bring in presents and sort out the house. He did cry a little, as all babies do, but mostly he was content to walk around the house in my arms and suck my finger if he felt restless.

Looking down at him, as I have done before with his brother and sister, I felt that same overwhelming sense of love for him, the urge to protect, and a chord of bitter sadness that split me in half.

I have vowed not to have children.

I can’t risk passing on my bipolar, my anxiety or depression to someone that innocent and lovely. I don’t want to do that, and watch the child grow up, suffering as I have. I have no desire to burden someone else with inherited crap- life has thrown enough crap at me already.

Thing is, though, I was recently told I’m a natural with children. I love them. I love taking my friend’s children out to have fun at the zoo or playing silly games with them to entertain them. They ask me questions, they have good imaginations, they insist they are big… when really, they are small and sweet, and they are growing fast. I could see myself being a parent, helping them grow, and teaching them everything I’ve learned. I have always wanted children, to experience having them, and I know that I cannot have them.

Depression runs in my family- I’m slowly piecing a family tree of mental health problems. I have it. My sister has OCD (never diagnosed but definitely OCD), there are several family members with depression. I would pass it on for sure. There is a heartache inside me for the child I lost still, too.

So, you can imagine, that today as I gazed down at the little baby there were tears in my eyes. I told him that I didn’t want him to end up like me, and that I hoped he would never feel the pain I’ve felt. I told him he was special, and I said I was sad to never have one of him again. I listed a future that my marble would have had, and he gurgled and smiled unwittingly at me.

It’s like a thorn in my heart. I want to write it here, in this disjointed fashion, so that I will forget it for a while.

Admitted Part Ten- more journal.

I felt like my journal was a lifeline in hospital. TRIGGER WARNING- I had a flashback and I write about certain things that might upset fellow PTSD-ers.

 

25th/26th April, 00:34

Updates on life! I haven’t written in a little while.

So last night at 10:00 pm, (meds time), I got restless and upset. The dark passenger was on at me to bash my head against a brick wall until I lost consciousness, and they were angry that I had no blade to hurt myself with. They told me I wasn’t allowed to sleep, and they made me pace up and down until Matron spotted me. Rocker stopped to help first, then Matron came to sort me out along with Sunbeam and Foxglove, two of the other patients. I had to wait for what felt like ages with my brain on fire whilst Matron finished off what she was doing, then took me into the ladies’ lounge.

I felt like I was going crazy again. My head was burning with the weight of the three voices. I was strung-out and exhausted, ready to flip. I did cry, I did shake, but Matron explained she was going to give me some promazine. I freaked a bit, seeing as that stupid psych tried to stick me on it before. Thing is, when you get explained what the drug does, what the rare side effects might be, and you need help, you swallow that shit down and chase it with water, then wait and hope.

Oh god. Best night’s sleep EVER. Like since America sort of good. As if my J was lying beside me. In fact, J called and we had a great chat, and he laughed when I said I felt tipsy! It was great to hear him feeling better. Also, Mr Robot called whilst drunk to tell me I was awesome, and to please survive. I promised him I would. I told R all about my day when she rang, too. R called first, then Mr Robot, then J, then I crashed.

This morning, I felt brave and calm when I woke up and I talked to Rita the Coach Driver about what my ex did to me, but I think I pushed myself a bit too much. I had this terrible, terrible panic attack/flashback in the shower. I felt hands all over me again, was waiting to hear his voice, and the voices told me I would never be clean again after this. I scratched my skin so hard I left marks, and I had to run from the shower room back to mine. I was terrified and sobbing. I didn’t want the men on the ward to come anywhere near me, when usually I’m kind of ok with it.

One of the nurses came doing a check (they do them every hour) and she asked if I was ok. I told her what had happened and she said to get dressed adn come out of my room to try and calm down.

I threw my clothes on super fast and got out, and ended up talking to one of the nurses. She’s so sweet. I think she is either from Botswana or Nigeria, cause her voice reminds me of Ma Ramotswe. I let her know how freaked out and upset I was, and she talked to me until I felt calmer.

The rest of the day was spent with Pixie doing art, my amazing family (still doing art and they joined in) and I saw my friend Sunbeam again. Vincent Van Gogh had a flip-out at midday and it frightened me- we were all in the garden and he got loud and argumentative over Sunbeam’s phone, and I dropped my trowel and ran. PTSD is sometimes useful, it stopped me from being in a bad situation, but I was still frightened. I got better though by doing more art- Pixie came and let me know I could just keep going.

Tonight, I heard the dark passenger again. They’re pissed beyond reason that I asked for help like this. They still want me dead, adn I am still frightened about the future. Thing is, I have a lot of people rooting for me. J called tonight and said he was PROUD of me for being in hospital, because it’s the right place for me to be whilst I’m still struggling with all of this.

I also handed a pin back to its owner- a badge Van Gogh gave me. I gave it to the guy who owned it and he was pleased and surprised to have it back.

I am still worried. The dark passenger is still awake and I am too. I just want to cling to what J said tonight and the way he makes me feel. He filled me with happiness and made all my skin buzz with excitement. He makes me feel human, not like a frightened rabbit.

Ugh. Still not tired. Thanks, dark passenger.

I have a new journal after this dies out- there are so few pages! I can’t get over how much I have written.

OK, I’m going to try to sleep. I need it, but not sure I can. Gonna try and wind down with my other journal.

Admitted Part Nine- more journal.

I did carry on. Here is what I wrote.

 

25th April, 11:13.

Just did the psychology group- I feel fucking vindicated. People who have been cruelly abused are being given the diagnosis of BPD/EUPD.

Why is this archaic, victim-blaming, wooly-criteria-ed diagnosis STILL being given out to vulnerable people?! For Christ’s sake, do the psychs not see they are taking the place of the abuser and making everything OUR fault again?

“Because your personality is disordered, you were abused. Nothing will change you. You will always be in the ‘crazy pile’, you will always have unsuitable relationships. Really, you’re a fuck-up, but we don’t have enough actual solid criteria to fully diagnose this supposedly rare condition, but that doesn’t mean we won’t slap it on you and shove you full of drugs. Now take your fucking pill and shut up.”

That, right there, is abuse. This diagnosis should be put an end to, and realised for what it REALLY is- PTSD. If you were abused, dear Lord, it was NOT YOUR FAULT!

Why is that so hard to understand?!

The voices are a bit quieter right now. Fingers crossed they stay that way.

Admitted- the beginning- Part Seven.

I said when I got out I would write up my journal entries. Here goes the first one.

April 24th, 17:31.

Voices are on at me still non-stop. Being admitted. The mental health nurse said that I was a concern. Dr K got me to come here because she was worried for me.

The RAID team got called (Rapid Response mental health team) and now I’m waiting for a bed.

The voices are so angry with me! They want me to die so much. I don’t want to kill myself but they keep wanting me to.

I really hope this fixes some of this or I might die.

April 25th, 00:59.

I have been admitted.

I’m absolutely exhausted. I want to sleep but my brain is on fire, so I’ll be writing until I feel a bit more tired.

I’ve been taken to A&E before, like I’ve written, but I’m not sure it’s ever been as stressful as this. I was in such a state with Dr K at my appointment, she taught me some breathing techniques with a relaxation technique, then she rang the RAID team to let them know I was heading across. She talked to mum, too, and we got to A&E (ER for my American readers). The lovely Triage nurse saw me and told me that they would keep me safe. That was nice. Right then, I felt anything but.

The good part about being assessed was that I didn’t have to keep saying all the bad stuff in front of my mum. I felt believed, respected and valued.

I’m in Ward 3- have my own room with a little ensuite toilet. Not sure how I managed that but it helps with the paranoia. It’s a mixed ward but the men can’t come down here, so that’s a bit relief.

I saw the consultant- she was very kind. She has taken my blood and done a full mental health assessment on me.

I rang R and J. Both were awesome. Told Mr Robot about all of this too, and Harley Quinn and Y.

Oh, I think I actually feel tired now. I will end up writing more tomorrow.

Sociopath and faking religion to abuse victim

Well doesn’t this just explain everything.
My ex told me and my best girl friend at the time we were all angels sent to prevent the antichrist, and save the people of God. The cult-like atmosphere of our secret destroyed my friend B’s sanity and her faith, as it destroyed my faith. He let me continue to believe in my delusion for another year after creating it, at which point I confronted him about it.
He told me he had been waiting for me to come out of it, that he was letting me down gently. Right. Sure. Leaving me delusional and cracking down the middle- between faith and reason- was letting me down gently?
I am to this day frightened and suspicious of religion. I will never go back to its smothering grasp. The feelings of guilt and betrayal I permanently had whilst worshipping are not worth the sense of complete freedom I have now.
What I do have now is a huge understanding as to why he did this to me: why he eviscerated my belief system and left me to bleed out. I understand that I am not to blame for his machinations- but, in turn, the church wasn’t either. He foisted the blame upon them and pretended hardcore atheism- I followed, bitter, resentful and hurt.
Imagine the anger when, as we broke up for the last time, he told me to ‘trust in Jesus, despite us having a weird relationship with him,’ ? I was livid later when I realised what he was saying. He was telling me that I was to blame for the way I’d taken all his lies, and I was to blame for believing his spiel about atheism. I believe now is a pantheon, but that is beside the point. The point here is that he DID manipulate me through religion too, causing massive internal scarring.
I feel vindicated and excited that I know this- another tool in my recovery war against him.

Dating a Sociopath

When someone ‘fakes’ sharing your faith, it can shake your own beliefs, it can tarnish something that you perceive as ‘holy’ and special. It can attack the inner core of you. It can feel the equivalent of ’emotional rape’

Mirroring your religious beliefs to abuse, is a common manipulation tool for the sociopath Mirroring your religious beliefs to abuse, is a common manipulation tool for the sociopath

Why do sociopath’s attach themselves to religion?

There are many different ways that a sociopath can attach themselves to religion. The first is through dating. If you recall, I wrote earlier how the first thing that the sociopath does is to:

Assess you

If you meet a sociopath and you are either a) strong in your religious faith or b) grieving, the sociopath will quickly learn this about you.  The sociopath will then use all that they have learned about you in assessment stage, to target you, and ….

seduce you. 

The sociopath might have no connection…

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admitted part six.

Hi everyone- I’m sorry if I’ve frightened anyone with my silence, but sod’s law, my phone broke and I am making do with my mum’s very irritating and unreliable phone. It barely connects to the internet but, you know, it’s better than nothing.

Currently I’m at home for overnight leave. I love how quiet it is here. I forget how noisy the ward is and how hard it is to sleep sometimes. I am lucky that the promazine has helped me sleep, and that it’s taking effect now as I write.

I tried to post this earlier today but the phone didn’t save it, grr… At least now everyone isn’t panicking!

I had a flashback this afternoon at the ward whilst eating lunch. I couldn’t finish what I was eating, but getting in the shower for a healthy scrub (not one of those that peels your skin off) really sorted my mood out.

I have been chronicling what has happened to me in my journal, so when I come home I will write it up so everyone can see what’s been going on. Right now, I’m chasing my American… Come on J, pick up!

It feels nice to have some more normal worries for a change.

Thank you to everyone who has commented. I miss you all and I promise I will respond when I have the time.