My brain took a few baby steps forward, and I started to take back the control of my brain. I needed to change the way that I react and to help myself move forward. Not always an easy feat.
A wise nurse sat in my room one day and told me that if I didn’t get out and do my overnight “leave”, I was heading towards co-dependancy. She had seen many patients become co-dependant on the hospital and continually return as an inpatient as they couldn’t cope with the outside world. That wasn’t me. She knew it and was telling me it wasnt me. I knew it wasn’t me either, but was struggling to deal with outside life by myself. I was scared. I was scared of falling down the black hole again. Despite this fear, I knew I had to do it. I had to find my big girl pants, straighten them out and put them on.
Staying overnight in a house where you have bad memories is tough. Staying overnight in a house, with a fragile brain, in a house that has bad memories is even tougher. This house is where I was when I was melting down, prior to admission. This is where I was rude and angry. This is where I ran away from those who were trying to help.
I sat on the couch and recalled the events. It seemed like it was yesterday and not much had changed, but lots had changed. I was on the road to recovering, not on a downward spiral.
I was home with my baby boy. It was great to be home with him. We were together again and it felt familiar and normal. We ordered Uber Eats and watched a movie together. The simple pleasures I appreciated.
Waking up in my own bed was blissful. I slept the night without any staff opening my door to check on me, without the early morning singing from patients in another ward, without the safety of the hospital. Gulp. My mind was racing – was I ready to be at home. Was I safe to be at home. Could I be trusted.
I went in to have an appointment with the psychiatrist. We talked. I asked her to discharge me. She laughed. Not so fast… baby steps. I brought up her thoughts on diagnosis again. She had changed her mind. I was relieved. She didn’t want to give me any flash label and I couldn’t have been happier. I knew this was not all about one person, one incident, or one period of time. This was a build up of life that had exploded. I liked it when the psychiatrist saw it my way.
Whilst she didn’t discharge me, she did give me weekend leave. Yep three whole nights out in the big wide world standing on my own two feet. To a normal person this would probably be seen as the best thing ever. To a person with a broken brain, it was almost overwhelming. I needed to just work hour by hour. I made plans. I wanted to keep busy. I spent lots of time with those who love me, those who supported me and those who cared. It was awesome. I got to be with my baby boy and my friends. Each hour was a good hour, and led to another good hour, and then a good day, and a good weekend. I felt like my broken brain was healing.
I walked into Hillmorton on Monday ready to hear the words “discharge”