by Alcomum

Created on: June 13, 2009

I have struggled with depression, self-harm and alcoholism for some time. I was recently admitted to a psychiatric hospital. Now that was an experience! It was like living in the Shawshank Redemption - only 1 person in the whole prison claimed to be guilty. Well I was clearly the only nutter in the nut house, because everyone else swore they had no idea what they were in for.

I was told to employ "distraction" techniques rather than self-harm. This often had me wondering around the small (prison-like) courtyard with my iPod in very animalistic mood. Really feel like a big cat prowling up and down in a very small cage, just waiting and longing for an opportunity to pounce on one of the wee so-and-so's staring in at me.

Creepy Old Guy (COG) fellow inmate had taken quite a shine to me. Liked to stare at me and shuffle over every so often to tell me I'm lovely, I really am. One evening, I was prowling round courtyard with my iPod trying to "distract", and I swear to God above I could hear the sound of shuffling slippers behind me OVER the sound of Blondie in my ears. And every time, there was COG, with a fag in his mouth staring at me and attempting to leer. How that man has eyes and limbs left I will never know, because I had a few very vivid Ally McBeal/Scrubs moments where I dismembered him completely. Dirty oul' pig.

I also had an overwhelming desire to smash some windows. And kick the living daylights out of some wooden benches. I didn't. Well, only in my head. And I know it says somewhere in the Bible that commiting some sin in your head is just the same as doing it in reality, but it isn't really. Reality involves criminal charges and prison. And potentially a straight-jacket...

Don't even know why I was trying to distract that particular night, because damage was already done. To self I mean. Did a brilliant job all morning - distracted and journalled like a maniac. Had lunch and settled down for a kip. All good. But when I was woken up (due to best friend visiting i.e. nice reason), picked everything on my legs til blood was running. Why, I have no idea.

Then saw my kids. Other best friend brought them. They were both a bit fretful. And I considered smuggling them into my room, but too many cameras in corridors. And am not even allowed to go over to the main hospital wing without a companion, so am hardly in fit state to be mummy. But miss it. So bad.

But instead there I was, caged up, and plotting COG's not untimely death - I mean he's 75 if he's a day. Give it up already.

Also reopened the cuts on my arm that night. Got some relief. I think. But then guilt and confusion - why? After doing so well all day? Then the prowling and the plotting. Then many tears. Then more Blondie and a bit of Amy Winehouse, and I was ready to head back indoors and risk the possibility of contact with other humans.

One of them had buns. Not traditional big cat fayre, but went down well. COG is diabetic. Tempted to share one with him...

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