A day in life at a private psychiatric hospital.
Here, among people that understand and nurses that see this every day, I don't have to pretend. I don't have to smile and put on a show to keep others happy. I don't have to ever say the words 'I'm fine' to prevent the looks of worry and pity that do nothing to help and everything to make me feel like a horrible human being for not being able to deal with life. I am able to make friends with the people here, laughing as we smoke and try to form circles with the smoke as we breathe out, then minutes later crying in the corner on my own without anyone batting an eyelid. That's normal here. Good even, it shows that somewhere inside me I'm feeling something. My friend sits beside me in silence then when I'm done whispers, 'I wish I could cry again'.
A day in the life of dissociative disorder.
Sometimes though, it isn't. I'm not sure what happens to trigger this one, but suddenly I feel the rush that starts somewhere deep inside and envelops me like a wave you had your back to. As the emotion crashes in, I feel myself slipping away. I grasp my soft toy Ray and cover myself in the blanket, trying anything to stay attached to the moment and within the room. The only thing I remember after this, is a moment of lucidity in which I find myself sprinting down my street towards the local shops, wondering why I am running and what I am running from.
A day in the life of eating disorder treatment.
A day in the life of Anorexia Nervosa.
The doctor sits me down and in her usual caring manner relays that I'm heading downhill fast, am now well into the weight criteria for Anorexia Nervosa, and should be in hospital. Even sitting here in the state I am in, I marvel and the stupidity of that. My internal world and behaviors have not changed for months, but all of a sudden my diagnosis changes because I lost another X amount to get below the hallowed threshold? Who even decided where that line that I have been chains gall this time is?