I've been in IP for 8 days for suicidal ideation and depression.
I got out on Tuesday and still feeling pretty rough, my parents aren't too happy about it, actually they're a bit more than that, we have had some massive rows about it, they reckon I needed to stay in longer and maybe they're right, but I had to leave, it was driving me insane and starting to really get to me I was so bored. I don't cope very well with being bored. It makes me restless and anxious.
There was no therapy at all, no groups, no activities, and the nurses didn't even bother to talk things through with you, they didn't even give you the right meds half the time. Yes, I was physically safe, but I didn't feel in the least bit supported.
The consultant there took me off half of my meds which I am still pissed off about, despite me asking more than once to go back on them because I was feeling so anxious without them, and the bugs have come back, and the fact that I won't see him again, apparantly I am 'too young' to be 'dependent' on such strong medication. I'm going to see my actual psych in Leicester on Friday and I'm going to ask him to put me back on everything. Hopefully, he'll do it. I don't feel so good without them. It feels like I've just gone backwards in that sense... I went straight to the GP yesterday and asked for my full pescription back so fuck them, I know I'm doing the opposite of what they wanted but I'm taking them and I feel better for it, I can't cope with the bugs, I'm sure my actual consultant can see my point of view instead of a psych I saw once and will never see again.
I have this nagging feeling that it was talking in counselling the day before that kind of kicked me whilst I was already down, I need to somehow work out a way to do it that isn't going to leave me feeling so vulnerable.
I guess the summer is virtually over now, so maybe I can really get things back together. It's not really that simple though, is it? Even without the summer and the memories and flashbacks, even when things are on a level, there are some days it's okay, and I'm okay about it, and them some days my skin is fucking crawling, I don't want anyone to look at me, anyone to touch me. I really don't think talking about it is going to work, because I am trying my hardest and the words aren't coming out. All I said last time was that I got myself into situations where I was drunk in strangers houses, that was it, that's hardly anything, and it still tipped me over the edge.
The more I think about it, the more I go over it, scramble around for the details that aren't there, the more I hate myself and blame myself, or hate and blame everybody else, that can't be healthy, right? There are nights where I beg for the past to change itself, you would think that I would beg for it never to have happened, right? But you're wrong. I don't wish for that. I wish that it had been more 'real'. More like the rapes you see in films. Weird men who look like rapists and a dark, deserted park, or walking home from the bus. They never show anything else, do they? It doesn't happen indoors. In a house. With people you know. People you may start kissing, or kissed the week before, because you're too drunk and too weak and feel too fucking awful about yourself to stop them.
I have rape counselling tomorrow... How will I cope? Will I be able to go at all?