I just really hate everything and everyone right now. Suddenly I understand why people choose retreat to a life of solitude in mountain caves.
I spent my first week in hospital being depressed. I spent the second week being manic. I will have the rehab diaries detailing both up soon, I promise. But now things have come full circle and I seem to be the way I was when I came in. Really. Fucking. Shitty.
I just hate humans. Can’t stand them. Don’t want to be around them. Don’t want to see them. Don’t want to hear or talk to or see any evidence of us sharing oxygen.
Oh I’m sorry, does that sound unreasonable? Well I regret to inform you that this is a vent and if you have a problem with me sharing my pent up emotions on the internet I can’t help but wonder what the fuck you think people do on the internet between porn vids?
I have no tolerance. None. Can’t seem to open my mouth without effs and cees pouring out. (Or type apparently…) The ward is closed over Christmas, they haven’t been admitting any new patients so you would think an easily socially exhausted person like me would be loving it. A maximum 65 patient facility only housing 19 patients. Actually I’m the only one on this side of the ward. But am I grateful?
Ha. Ha. Is Pepsi a superior form of cola?
I’m hiding in my room all day because every time I see or hear people I get so annoyed I have an anxiety attack.
Think very, very hard about the implications of what I just said.
Not because I’m scared of them. Because I’m scared of myself. They annoy me SO. FUCKING. MUCH. I just want to scream at them detailing all the ways they’ve failed at life that I’ve inferred from overheard conversations and them sharing at group therapy (which I stopped going to because every time I try sharing these fuckers talk over me) and why it is totally their fault so stop blaming everyone else. I’d do it too. I’m smart, educated and much better at using these privileges for evil rather than good.
And yes, I do get the odd violent intrusive thought that I’m not detailing here just because my therapist may or may not be stalking this blog.
(If you are reading this, no I’m not going to act on them. I am perfectly clear on what happens if I do. But I am getting the thoughts.)
People with personality disorders are intrusive. They have no boundaries. They think they can just come up to
their next victim you and start telling you about their lives. I also have a personality disorder, plus I am on the spectrum which means that I have ALL THE BOUNDARIES. I don’t give a flying fuck about your life and prefer to do as much interaction on the internet as possible, thankyouverymuch.
But apparently my Resting Bitch Face, which I got so much grief from the staff about on previous admissions has resolved itself and something about me says “I am a pleasant, non judgemental human being! Please tell me all about your problems and why it’s everyone else’s fault but yours!”
I can’t deal, ok? I can’t pretend to be annoyed because it’s nine and the nurses usually give you your meds at eight and don’t they know you’ve got places to be. Well you’re still in your fucking nightie so those places can clearly wait. My meds are late too, but I’m trying busy myself until they arrive by showing some compassion to the understaffed nurses who are fighting an uphill battle to satisfy both management and 19 dickhead patients who all think their needs are above the other 18.
I can’t pretend to appreciate being looked to as the diagnostic authority on autistic spectrum disorders, which as an adult with Aspergers comes up way more often than you’d think it does. Even when you haven’t told anyone that you have it, apparently them opening that conversation is still ok Oh you think your four year old has Aspersgers, why is that…? Because he’s, like, super into aliens.
…WUT. That it? Really? He’s making friends at preschool ok? His co-ordination and eye contact is good? It’s just the alien thing? Yes I suppose if all the other mums at play group are being asked for Ben 10 action figures for Christmas and you’re being asked for alien crystals that is embarrassing but hardly grounds for a behavioural diagnosis.
I can’t take any more stupid right now
No I don’t want to hear you bitch about your dopey husband, who is the saddest looking person I’ve ever seen by the way. The whole hospital has had to listen to you bitch about your husband this morning, every morning actually. Every part of every day you’re shouting, sorry talking about something because that’s just the way you talk.
Yeah, the way you talk? Is shouting. And jarring. And the reason you clear the room faster than a fart in a crowded elevator.
The latter delightful human singled me out as her
prey buddy this morning when I decided that I wanted to do a puzzle but was told I had to do it in the dining hall because SOCIAL INTERRACTION. It didn’t matter that I was clearly absorbed in this task, that I had headphones in, unfortunately I was sitting on my own when she decided to come in and shout about her life for the next hour.
She does this every day at precisely 10.30 am until lunch time, shouting into the air, looking for someone to hook into and talk directly to while everyone pointedly avoids her eye line. I pointedly ignored her when she sat at my table and let the shouting commence, answered her phone, shouted into it then shouted about the call afterwards.
After about ten minutes of this I could take no more and left my puzzle, asking a nearby nurse if it was time for my blood pressure to be taken. Luckily she was so on the same page and whisked me away to safety. My puzzle lies abandoned on the table hours later because I am not putting myself in that position again.
Now, more on noise. I don’t know what it is with people in private clinics finding so fucking difficult to use headphones but it needs to change or some people are getting smothered in their sleep (Dear therapist, I’m exaggerating, obvi!) Currently I find myself exerting some serious self-control about some selfish fucking bitch who thinks it’s acceptable to wander the halls playing her terrible Jessie J music on her phone full blast and sing full blast, off key of course. At first I thought she was having an episode but it’s become clear that she just doesn’t give a fuck.
Fuck her. I intend to keep putting in noise complaints until that stops
I wanted out of the circus to clear my head, before I did or said something regrettable – like, say, any of the above – and so I went on leave for a bit. My parents came to pick me up and on the ride home the conversation turned to my recovery over the last few years. Well, at least I think that’s how my mother would remember it.
What I remember is being blithely reminded how the whole family’s lives sucked five years ago and it was 100% all my fault. When I tried to point out that yes, while behavioural therapy has done a lot for me, the family has also made headway in being understanding of me and my boundaries, I was told NUP. Definitely you. All you. You were the problem, you’ve been mostly fixed. As usual, my dad was notably silent.
These talks happen regularly and I do believe she thinks she is doing me a favour. She keeps asking “remember when you used to tell me there’s something wrong with me?” one day I’m going to snap and go “well there is, it’s called a victim complex. YOU NEED THERAPY”
But there’s no fucking point. I’m the one with the personality disorder, I’m the one that likes to blame everyone else for my problems. I don’t deny that I was a miserable piece of shit as a young adult but them admitting that there was at least a 95/5 percent contribution ratio to household drama between me and the rest of the family would be supremely validating.
Oh who am I kidding, I’m still a miserable piece of shit.
Are the drugs not working? Do I need more therapy? Is this just my personality? My current tactic is still avoid, avoid, avoid. I’m wearing noise control headphones to shut everyone out. I stopped wearing bright colours because people were using my clothes as an excuse to talk to me.
I can just avoid people forever right?
Are those crickets? Am I hearing crickets?
Damn, that’s what I thought.