Yesterday, after seeing a doctor, I could go home from the hospital. Hurrah!


I am far from well, but I am better. It feels as though I have been down at rock bottom, in the deepest dark, but managed to push upwards and start on the journey towards the surface. Climbing. I’ll try to keep climbing.


The experience was horrible, but also just what I needed. Somehow, in that strange place, there was a sense of calm and security. The men and women working there, caring for the patients around the clock, are amazing. Kind, caring, and rock steady. My stay there may have been brief (thankfully!), but I think it had a profound impact on me. I expect I’ll be mentally returning there in times of trouble, to steady myself in the memory. So thank you!



No fear

It’s amazing how much a good night’s sleep can do. For once I managed to sleep through the night, and this morning I woke up feeling far better. It might just be a temporary boost, but I don’t care – I’m savouring it.


So yes, I am still stuck in a psych ward. (Read THIS POST first btw, if you haven’t already!) Day three, and it is crazy how badly I long to go home. I miss my husband. I miss my cats. I miss my house. I miss being able to do whatever I want. I miss my garden. Aaaaaah, so much I miss. And you know what? Today I see more clearly that all that ‘missing things’ actually is a pretty good thing. Because everything I miss is a GOOD thing in my life. Things that are worth living for. And that’s a major revelation.


In other words, today is a bit better. After breakfast I even managed to locate a training cycle here in the ward, and I went to work up a proper sweat. Just having gotten out of the shower now, I feel like a brand new person. Plus, I’ve found some really nice people here at the ward, and we have come to talk for hours. Genuine, relaxed talk. That helps too. Because you know what? These people, who like me are in a psyche ward for whatever reason, aren’t the scary crazies one might imagine. They’re generally good people, just stuck in a bad situation.


No fear. No shame. We’ll get better.

So that happened

I visited the doctor yesterday morning. The conversation went something like this:


Me: “I am not going to kill myself. But I gotta admit, I do feel like I probably should, because it would be best for everyone.”

Doc: “Can you trust yourself?”

Me: “I… I don’t know.”



And just like that, it happened. The doctor decided I was at risk of hurting myself, and I was instantly lead over to another part of the hospital. They gave me a room with bars covering the window, and went through my things to remove anything I potentially could hurt myself with. So… yes. This actually is happening.

I really didn’t see it coming. Going into town yesterday I thought I was just heading for a regular doctor’s appointment, to follow up on how the dreadful meds have affected me. But instead I end up… here. Ouch.

I realize that I probably shouldn’t write this, tell you all so openly. Because you know, there is a massive stigma around mental illness, and just me being here (or having been here) probably is enough for a lot of people to judge me as crazy. I’m not, though. Just depressed. And I feel like I do need to speak, or rather write, of what it’s really like.

Hopefully it’ll just be for a few days, while they adjust the meds (and take away the one that made me so much worse). I have been here for less than 24 hours now, and already it is crazy how much I long to go home.

And one last thing. My husband is the best. THE best. He was as shocked as I was of course, when I called him to say I was here. Even so, he managed to make me smile. And when he came to visit he even had me laughing for a moment. Laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

How strange life is. Every day a new experience.

I’ll be back.



I lack words to explain how difficult the last month has been. Month, by the way? I am not sure of the time, weeks have just passed by in a blur.


I got a new doctor, again. Seeing that I rather than improving, my depression had gotten worse, he decided to put me on new meds. A lot of new meds.


Without exaggerating I can say that since taking these new meds, I have experienced darkness like never before. Hope has disappeared. I know now that all I am is failure and disappointment. I am good for no one. I wish to create but only wreck what is good. The world would be a better place without me.


I won’t do anything foolish to end it. Wouldn’t ever do that to my husband. He has suffered enough due to my dysfunctional self, I would never add to it by killing myself and leaving him alone with the pain. So don’t worry, I won’t do that. But if I am to be honest, I think it probably would be best for everyone if I did.


I am not sure why I am posting this. Part of me is hoping that no one reads it. I certainly don’t want attention, this isn’t a cry for help or whatnot. I just felt the need to express what I feel. So there you have it.