Saturday in the nuthouse


Saturdays in the nuthouse are pretty quiet. Especially today. The clouds are heavy outside and it feels much the same inside, but figuratively.

I busted out of this joint earlier with a lovely lady I first met when I was in here last year. We “did” coffee. All the cool kids “do coffee”. All the cool kids just aren’t on a bunch of pills and in intensive therapy. Their loss I guess.

I’m in a weird space. Some place in between one sad state and another. A leg in each. A little bit suicidal, a little bit numb and a lot of bits of sad. My nurse came in before and asked how I was so she could write something on my chart. I couldn’t begin to explain the above, so I said I was okay. When that wasn’t enough, I said “A little bit flat I guess,”. Understatement. But how do you even explain? I know it doesn’t make sense. I know I am “intelligent and high-functioning” (their words) but I can’t help feeling this.

I want to be alone but being alone is difficult.  Being with people is difficult too. Being is difficult.

My scars are sore. A constant reminder. Love-hate.

I’m tired and frustrated and cooped up and smothered and angry and numb and lost and sad and far away and hurting and hateful and selfish and scared and fragile and stuck.


I’m feeling pretty low. It’s siting heavy on my chest and I keep thinking about dying. It would be easier than this.
I think I’m defective… or rather feel that way. It seems like this is too big – these feelings, this situation – and I can’t see a way through it.
At the same time I still berate myself for “making it all up”.

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I’m entering my third week in the hospital. Time is going so quickly. The weeks are a blur. I know the days are passing me by but I can’t bring myself to care at the moment. I am not feeling very connected to this world right now. I don’t think I am ready to come out of this safe bubble yet. While it is safe, it is also scary. Things are coming up that make me feel fragile and afraid.

The doctor is taking me off my antidepressant so that’s fun… My brain is working overtime and is showing me things I don’t want to see.

Today I got leave and went home for a bit before going out to lunch. It was somewhat overwhelming, especially as my aunt and uncle, and three family friends from home were there. I find it tiring to just ‘be’ around others. It’s tiring keeping up and being okay.
I even find that in here – I pretend so much for others and I try and always be polite and upbeat and such with the other patients. I would like to just crawl into bed and stay there for the day, but I don’t. I force myself to the groups and to go to the kitchen to talk to the others. In fact it’s almost like I’m trying to keep myself busy – which is what I do at home. It’s my default mode and I can’t stop and just ‘be’. I’m scared of having time to think and feel because it is all consuming. And while it is there when I’m with others, then it at least doesn’t have my full attention, as part of me is interacting with those around me. I don’t think that even makes sense… nothing makes much sense lately.

I find the group sessions particularly distressing. My anxiety gets out of control and my thoughts are terrible. It’s like I’m locked in my head for that hour with no distraction. Because the theme of the group is on behaviours and emotions etc, and it talks about both helpful and unhelpful ways of coping, I just obsess about what I do and don’t do.

I should go. This is not achieving anything. I need to sleep so I can forget about things for a while.

How do I even?

I’ve been MIA for a few days – I am still in the hospital and until now have not been bothered to drag my laptop out of its bag. In fact I still don’t quite know how it is I find myself sitting here, with a warm, humming computer resting on my legs as I sit propped up on my bed.

I’m not feeling any better than when I came in, really. I am stuck. Tight.

Something that’s not proving helpful is I have no idea how to talk to the psychiatrist. How is it meant to work? She has been away for a week so another guy saw me once and I found it a complete waste of time. He was just babysitting. But tomorrow, hopefully, I will see the psychiatrist I’m admitted under (who I’ve only seen once in the outside world and that didn’t go very well). But I’ve no idea what to say. I am not good at this. I feel like no one understands. And I know that’s because they’re not mind readers and I need to explain. But I can’t. There is no explaining this. I am scared I will say nothing and waste the time and not get anywhere. I don’t even know what my problem is.

I can’t go into this any further. It makes for boring reading anyway. I’ve had this window open for ages and I can’t add anything. I am so confused by life right now, and to be honest, I crave death. I guess it’s a good thing I’m here for now.

I have a headache taking over my brain so I’m going to go. I know there’s not much point to this. Sorry.



My head is hurting. It might have something to do with spending most of the morning sobbing my damaged little heart out after my appointment. The tears started in the doctor’s office, then continued for about an hour in the waiting room, then in the car, then outside for ages as I alternated between walking up and down the street and collapsing on the grass beside the road.

Yeah, it could have something to do with all the above.

I’m not going to detail the meltdown. It was messy and traumatic and I’m now exhausted.

I go to hospital tomorrow. My family does not know. How do you tell those you love, and those who love you, that living is too painful?