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Mental Health Mondays: Danny Goes To Hospital Ep.1 INTAKE

Danny Goes To Hospital
The Partial Hospitalisation Experience 
Commence Date: 14 June 2017
8:45

Blog 1: 
"What's The Story Morning Glory" 

I decided to enter a partial hospitalisation programme.
Both my therapist and psychopharmacologist think that I might be able to benefit from the programme and maybe learn a few things about my fellow human creatures in the process. Boy howdy were they wrong on all fronts. But, before I start ranting, let's go back to the day before I started and was filling out intake forms. 

I've taken the bus two cities away so no one will know what I'm up to. I can't risk running into people I know. That simply won't do. I'm not ready to share with them certain aspects of my bipolar disorder and decaying mental health. Yet, I realise the irony of all this, as I will be forced to share things with strangers in group therapy and I run this blog here. Hypocrisy. It's what I seem to do best. 
Some of the questions they've asked, I don't want to answer. They really have nothing to do with the reason that I'm sitting here and I don't want their judgy eyes on me as words stumble out of my mouth later on during sessions. I know some things will never change. I'll always have that same level of disgust, but the goal here is to manage it so it doesn't completely bleed into other things like it has been lately. 

The place is creepy. I'm in a basement level somewhere and it's giving me the same feelings I had the last time I was in a mental hospital...the time where I got sectioned and locked up against my will because a semi-educated whore got facts twisted. They stripped me of the little bit of will to live I had and left me to stew in my own juices.

They ask me about my sexual orientation. They only give three choices. The standards. Straight.Gay. Bisexual. I suppose in a way pansexual is sort of bisexual, but really? Then they actually asked, "Is there anything about your sexual functioning that would be helpful for us to know in providing support to you?"  My sexual functioning? I answered, "Do I really have to pick just one?" I was kind of being an asshole but it's like, why even ask about sexuality? If that's an issue for someone have them write it down under current stressors or something. Bloody hell. They didn't give me an area to ask me my gender. Not trying to argue or be a dick but it felt like they really didn't make an effort toward anyone dealing with gender issues. My gender isn't an issue it's having them see me as my gender is an issue. That of course came into play later.

 'Why are you looking to enter the partial hospitalisation programme?' They've only given me four lines. A little cartoon version of myself in my head screams out 'Garcon, can I get an extra three or four sheets so I can at least start to make a dent in this question??' All I know is that I keep praying for a morning when I fail wake. If I put that down, they might just want to keep me here. Revise it, Daniel. This isn't your first time. This is just the foreplay.
My pen scratches against the surface of the paper, unlike all that therapy, has done for me in the past 7 years I've been working at it. Depression. That's got to be the first thing that I list. I'm fucking drowning here. I have been since April and it only seems to be worsening. I really don't know what's going on with me. The lows are getting even lower and I didn't even think it to be possible. They don't need to know just how low. 'Do you have thoughts of hurting yourself?' Does smashing my head into a brick wall until I'm unconscious or dead count? Does stuffing myself and making myself ill count? Does starving my body count? Of course, they all do, but to what degree are they asking? The usual shit I imagine. Pill taking, wrist cutting, hanging. I've always been a more creative kinda creature. Inventive. Never one thing is enough for me. 

 I'm not ready to share the level of my self-harm with new people. I know they're not going to inspect me or strip me so I'm not going to write down the full extent. I've got it under control..kind of. I can sometimes handle it, other times I can't. I always try to reach out to someone though, during or after it. I've tried to reach out before and sometimes it stops me, other times it does nothing and I steamroll over their efforts. I don't like to reach out before because when I do steamroll over them they feel guilty. I don't know why they do. I understand vague concepts of why they could feel that way, but I mean don't they know by now that once I've got something in my head it's almost impossible to let go of the idea. It's not that I feel bad about how they feel, it's more that I have to listen to whining afterwards and it becomes another annoyance to me. 
It's not just the cutting. It's the binging on alcohol, abusing my medications or not taking them at all..binging on food and that only fuels my other problems and leads to even lower self-esteem and purging either actual vomiting or obsessive restricting and exercise. I have insight, so why can't I stop myself? Why are the destructions they only thing that manages to bring any level of calm to my life? It has to be more than just feeling like I'm getting the punishments that I deserve. It's more than just feeding a destructive addiction. I'm not sure what it is, but I know that there is something there in the muddled and murky waters of my mind. I doubt these people will be able to help me uncover this, but I need to try. 
They move on to ask about goals, ha, if I had any I wouldn't be in a place like this. And if I had any energy to list goals I might have the energy to get out of bed, play a game I used to love, something. Do I really have any goals? Any that I could write down? The few I do have would probably get me locked up in the slammer until my beard turns grey. (Not that I have a beard or anything.) I think of Chubbs, my secret weight goal, my wanting to just float in the ocean. Maybe the ocean. That's something totally doable. Feel good enough to go to the ocean. Maybe also get the money together to go to the ocean. Maybe scrape something together and go for the day or something. Oh, I know, do my book tour. Again, if I can get the cash together for that. I've been working my ass off and still, I'm falling short. 

'We will focus on sharing and building self-esteem through group therapy.'
I really don't care what they have to say. I'm not looking for peer support or acceptance. I don't need it either. The whole idea that these people are my peers is ludicrous and insulting. What kind of James Blunt for they take me for? This is completely mindless and boring. Not to mention the fact that I have to pretend to care and offer positive feedback. How the fuck is that really helpful? I understand it can boost self-esteem but it's not right if you're artificially inflating it. Call my cynical or jaded or whatever you want but facts are facts. Self-esteem should be boosted naturally or not at all. ((I'm not referring to medications that help with depression, anxiety or other such disorders that impair one's ability to boost self-esteem and or to properly gauge it.)) 

 By the time I'm finished with the questionnaire and reading through the overview of the programme I'm drained and already having doubts. I'm worried how I'll be seen or be taken. they know about my transgender identity but I'm going to have to announce it in front of a room of strangers.  The whole idea is making me feel weaker than I ever have and shy. I want to pull up inside my shell, but I can't do this. I'm supposed to be embracing me, being more open..but isn't that why I have this blog? This is a way for me to be fully open and honest..but it's also sort of a cop out. I can hide from the real world behind this screen. I can confess my sins but no one really puts the name to the face. I don't understand what I'm doing anymore. 

And I lay under the stars and think about everyone who died today. Think about everyone who was born today. Think about all the people who got married today. Think about all the people who got divorced today. And what did I do today? What did Danny do? Was I productive? No. Was I creative? No. Is this going to be another farce? Another cosmic joke? We'll see.


I don't know why I even post these links. Not like anyone even cares, follows them or subscribes or something. It's as if my life is some kind of mindless entertainment they zoom in on when they have nothing going on in their own meaningless existences, but they don't really care what happens to me.I might continue this, I might not. It's sort of an outline journal in a way, my scrapbook, my magnum opus.  


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Location: London Borough of Islington, Vereinigtes Königreich

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