Opening Pandora's Box

You do not honour yourself by denying aspects of yourself.  To accept yourself fully, you have to accept all aspects of yourself.  

The next week in hospital I almost never left my room, I set up some art stuff, and the only time I left the room was to go to art on the following Wednesday morning.  I also didn't eat a thing the first 10 days or drink very much.  I was so overwhelmed with what was happening I was in shock.  I couldn't function let alone eat or drink.  I barely spoke to anyone.  

When I saw the Dr again she put me on more medication.  After opening up a bit about some of my past I seemed to have opened Pandora's box.  The memories now would not stop flooding in, memories that I really didn't want to be having.  

I remember one night lying on the bed in absolute terror, I had woken from a bad dream and had a very distinct feeling that someone was getting into the bed on top of me.  I was frozen in fear, the flight or freeze reaction left me paralyzed in my bed.  So she gave me something to help with the ruminating, and I had stayed on the sleeping pill.  It worked until about 2 am, then I was awake and restless until about 4 or 5 am when I would doze off again.  It was torture.  
Into my second week one of the nurses came and sat with me and got me talking, and I was put on xanax 4 times a day, as well as a different PRN to help with the feelings of anxiety.  

Day by day it got better.  I remember making those first few phone calls to extended family to let them know where I was and what had happened, I hated having to admit it but it was also good for me to not hide it anymore, any of it.  Everyone was really understanding and supportive, and I slowly started to trust a few people in hospital as well as trusting that I would get better.  I don't think I actually believed I would for about a month, every meeting I had with my team the first questions out my mouth were always how long will I be in here for, and when will I be better. 

I eventually stopped asking after 6 weeks, and I think that was when I realised that there was a very faint light at the end of the tunnel.  

The horrid thing about staying in hospital for 9 weeks is that you become dependent on the routine, so the day they told me I was being discharged from the acute unit and sent back up to the day hospital I had a panic attack.  I had spent a lot of time wishing I could go home, now that I was I was terrified all over again.  

The same thing happened when they discharged me from the day unit, it was panic stations all over again, and I was living in terror trying to adjust to my new life.  Once you have opened the box and faced everything that's in it, it can't be put away the same way as before, you have to find a new route and a new way of getting around all the obstacles that come flying at you.  

That doesn't mean I came out cured, and able to cope with everything, and not drink and smoke or over eat, quite the opposite happened.  A week after being released the freedom of it all hit me and I realised I could drink again.  I had started smoking while I was in the acute unit so I continued promising myself and my husband that I would give up soon.  I never gave an exact amount of time.  

The problem with the drinking this time was that I had a lot more stuff to run from, and so at the end of every day I found myself reaching for the bottle, most nights I was drinking two bottles.  I switched from red wine to prosecca telling myself it was a good move because the alcohol level is less, but the sugar content is higher.  That and I wouldn't have to share any with my husband because he doesn't drink it.  The weekends we started drinking whiskey or for me vodka and whiskey, sometimes gin and whiskey.  I tried not to drink the whiskey but when I ran out of vodka I would always have a bit of whiskey too.  I was wishing my days away, waiting till I could have my first drink, and every morning I would tell myself today will be different, I won't drink, or I will only have one and make it last.  

Nothing worked, in fact bargaining with myself made it worse, instead of pouring just a tot of vodka I would pour bigger tots, because if it was going to be my only one then I might as well make it a big one.  The problem was it was never one. 

On the really bad nights I would stay up drinking all night, and then sleep most of the next day.  I would make very poor judgement calls, and in a few instances I have landed up phoning the hospital in tears in a total panic and full of anxiety, or calling the Samaritans, just to have someone to talk to.  They were all always very supportive.  I am lucky enough to have gone to a hospital with the after care and support is second to none, and I am lucky to have the Samaritans to call too.  Without these two life lines I don't know where I would be.  

The problem with going home when I did was that my emotional pain was so high, it was hard to breathe sometimes.  It was causing me to have massive panic attacks, and I was always anxious.  I felt completely broken.  From doing a bit of research I realise now that the drinking was only making these feelings and attacks worse, at the time I put it down to being completely broken and weak. 

I will never understand why I self harm, maybe through this blog I will find meaning, find out why I do it, but when I came out of hospital there were lots of things around me that enabled me to self harm, and self harm I did.  I have two favourites, cutting and scratching.  I was cutting nearly everyday, and when I was drinking the cutting was really bad, but in a horrible way it helped, it helped to feel physical pain instead of emotional pain.  I had no one to stop me, and so long as I wore long sleeved tops most of the time they were hidden, or so I thought.  It's amazing how many lies you tell yourself, and amazing how you believe them.  My Dr knew what was going on as did my husband, and some of my friends could see what was happening.  My Dr tried not to highlight it too much which was probably the right thing to do.  

I know at the time I felt worse than when I had gone into hospital, but people kept telling me I looked better and sounded better.  I think at the time my emotional pain was so high every day that I felt broken inside.