Helldal.... Yeah.

 The Haldol is a miracle drug. Since I started taking it, I haven't had the images show up in my thoughts very often at all. But it quiets all the noise in my brain so I'm not being bombarded 24/7.

No good thing comes without a heavy price. And I'm learning what that is for Haldol. It makes my muscles cramp and my joints feel like they're all on fire. It's agony. But there is a magical med called Cogentin, and it pretty much eliminates the aching. I might still be shaking like I have Parkinsons but at least that makes it not painful.

I'm pretty sure I have to give up the Haldol. It's getting so painful... And the Cogentin doesn't seem to work as well as it did before. Oh well..

Cursed Sleep

 I fell asleep earlier than usual tonight. But that also means waking up at 1:00am and having no chance to get back to sleep.

There are some nurses here who are angels. As they do their checks on everyone each night, she noticed I was awake and not making any headway in the sleep direction. So she offers to see what I can have.  My choices are Ativan, Zopiclone, and Haldol. Ummmm, haldol is the only real choice here.

So now I'm waiting for it to kick in, and I should sleep the rest of the night. 

Thank God for angels like this nurse who know when they see someone in trouble and ask if they can help.

It's all Haldol!

 It's been a long couple of weeks since I last wrote. I hadn't forgot, it was just physically a tough thing to do. It still is, I'm cringing pain with each word.

Yesterday was a particularly bad day for me.  I woke up feeling anxious and my mind was already racing. It hadn't been like that for a few days, ever since I started the haldol twice a day. No more blood everywhere, and waking up feeling like I slept was wonderful.

Well, not every day is a winner. But yesterday... repeatedly the only thing I could think about was carving up my left arm like a Christmas turkey. My mind picks something to fixate on, and until I complete what it's asking or am able to steer it away for a bit. I'm safe here though - no tools or makeshift items to achieve that goal. It becomes exhausting though - when everything in your being is pushing you to do the one thing that you know shouldn't be done.

One nurse noticed my struggle. I guess I must be an open book to them, and I'm okay with that. She noticed me hanging onto the plastic knife at lunch. Every 15 minutes after that, someone was coming to check on me. 

The cravings got the best of me and I tried to use that plastic knife to draw some blood... Well that didn't work at all. I tried to put an edge on the plastic, but it's so soft it just crumbles.

By this time, I must be putting out flashing lights that say "self harm guy" because my new nurse corners me in an office and we talk about what's happening. She checks and I'm still good for a PRN dose of 10mg of Haldol. Bring it on. 

For the next few hours my mind is clear. It's bloody glorious, the way my brain settles and I am not simply stuck in a revolving door. I can think, I can relax, and I don't want to self harm. Did I mention it's glorious?

Haldol isn't a long term thing though. It's got some pretty nasty side effects. One of them being the reason I don't write much - it makes my muscles hurt. I get another med  to help with that. 

So for now, I wait until Monday to see what other plan the doc can come up with. 

The Curse of the Kettle

It's the middle of the night and I'm sitting here in a strong jacket with a strong blanket. How did I get here is what you might be asking.

That fucker of a kettle started it all. I was fine and then whamo, I can hear it calling me. Not literally, more like a magnet pulling in an iron bar. It's begging  me to pour water over my arm again. So I tell someone and off goes the kettle. Fine.

So I go to bed and take all my meds. Sleep, ahhhhh. For an hour. FUCK ME SIDEWAYS WITH YOUR SISTERS CUNT. Now I know nothing good is going to come off this night. Me plus zero sleep equals trouble.

i’m finding it really hard to type my hands really sore.

I'm post more later 

The Dog on Drugs

 I'm laying on a mattress on an empty room. I kinda feel like a dog with his sleeping mat. I'm a c$&t hair away from losing what little I have right now and that scares  me. Okay everything scares me but that's one thing I can't handle.

If you've ever been in restraints, you'll know what I mean. They tie your arms down so tight you can barely move. Like literally you can maybe mive them each a couple of centimetres. It's NOT pleasant. I kinda wish they had drugged me at the same time so I didn't have to remember it. 

So imagine a 12x14 room, completely bare. One side is windows about 10'x4'. These are unbreakable (as I found out the hard way). On the other side is a literal jail cell door. I'm talking 6" thick steel with what I'm guessing is 4" thick glass. It opens and closes on a slider, with a magnetic lock you'll never bust open.  That's where I'm living, on a mattress, on the floor, like a dog.

I can't remember what drugs I get. The nurses are nice and tell me but I don't remember very well. I know haldol, zopiclone, and ativan. I don't think the ativan works worth shit but maybe that's just my brain telling me that. 

I have a new neighbour. I call him Crazy McLooneybin. He talks to himself and seems violent. I really hope they lock his door for the night.

Seems like bed time now. Meds are coming so I'm out for now. 

Fractured Glass

 Fractured Glass

My mind is like a sheet of perfect glass. It's clear, shiny, lets in the sunshine. Hung smartly in a beautiful frame, it's almost picturescque. Calmness and gentleness, the man I used to be.

At some point I let my guard down. I stopped protecting that pristine sheet of glass from the constant rocks and stones.

And I sit here, a fractured mind. The pieces fall and slice everything on their way to the inevitable dusty floor. Slicing my soul, chopping my thoughts, and killing what little I thought of myself. Each shard digging into a different part of my being, cutting and slicing like a trained butcher.

So now I sit on the dusty floor, surrounded by the jagged edges of what was once me. The doctors treat my wounds, but nobody attempts to put that pane back together. Someone who tries will only cut their fingers or worse, so I sit alone. Bleeding out from every cut. Nothing left to live for, I await certainty in the quiet, as the dark envelops me with its cold fingers.

A sheet of glass, waiting to be swept up and put in the trash. That's me.

Open Studio

 So I’m laying in my bed trying to think of what to write. I wish I knew what else to say about today. I did have a good sleep last night I guess that’s one good thing. I was supposed to have open studio such is where you can choose what art or craft you want to do. But someone on the unit has covid so they shut that down.

The idea of open studio freaks me out. I know I'm going to just sit there and draw some kind of massacre. There’s supposed to be another session this afternoon but I can’t remember what it is. My memory is worse than usual. I’m tired of fighting my brain. Psycho losing war.

The images that I have in my brain are so disturbing. I see my arm completely sliced open my muscles and veins and arteries. And then when I look around at other people I see them with hands cut off for your neck or some kind of slice to their body from a sword or something. All of it revolves around blood. They give me meds to try and help but I don’t know if they help or just make me sleepy.

The doctor said I might get to go home next week. He said if things are stable and everything looks OK and maybe I can go home. That kind of scares me too. When I think of all the objects I have at home like razor blades and knives power tools stuff like that I don’t exactly feel comfortable. I wish I lived with someone that could keep an eye on me.

I guess today I just feel sad. Not for any particular reason just sad. I think maybe it’s because I’m locked up I can’t go outside. I don’t know. But I guess I’ll just stop writing for now I don’t really have anything else to say.

Don't be an Asshat

 Two nights in a strong jacket. They call it a jacket but it's more like a canvass dress, totally unrippable and heavy as fuck. But that's just the small part of what happened.

I knew the screen protector on my phone was glass. It was cracked and the edges of it were like candy, just waiting for me to peel the wrapper and I could cut to my heart's content. Spoiler alert: it's fucking safety glass.

So I peel it off carefully, to make sure I have nice big pieces to hold onto. But it's safety glass so it just crumbles into dust. I try and get and it just won't give up a shard. As I swear openly at it, magic happens. I get a small but sharp piece. I throw the rest in the tag to hide the evidence and get to the goal of scraping to see blood. Spoiler alert: it's about as sharp as my brain.

Discovering one corner is a bit sharper, I press fairly hard and drag it somewhat difficultly across the fresh white skin. What the fuck, it barely left a mark. So the next pass I press hard enough I'm sure it's going to cause a spray of blood. Yeah, that didn't happen. It just jaggedly tore small lines. Okay good enough, there's blood and that's all I'm looking for. After six cuts, there's enough blood I can feel my body relaxing.

And then it happened. Every 15 minutes they send someone around to check on you, 24/7. So the second I'm licking the blood off my now very bloody arm, a nursing assistant walks in the room and asks why I'm biting my arm. I say "no I'm not" which wasn't a lie. She bolts from the room like an F1 racer leaving the pits. And 30 seconds later my evening nurse is there with her asking what the hell I'm doing. Without a good response, I stupidly say "nothing" as I lick the blood. "DEVIN! STOP THAT NOW!" She says sternly. I put my arm down, the taste of blood no longer calming me but throwing me into panic.

"Why are you doing this? Are you upset, angry, scared, anxious, or looking for attention?" She asks calmly but is visibly disturbed. So in living up to my promise, I tell the truth and said it was the anxiety and I wanted to just slow it down. This nurse is such a great nurse, she just calmly says "We can't have you doing that here. If you feel that way you need to come talk to us." I nod in agreement. "I have to take your phone, you understand why right?" Again, I nod and just hand over my phone. I'm not going to fight it, I know I'm not going to win.

They take me to a "safe room" with nothing in it but a bed, a chair, and one of those tables that goes over the bed so you can eat in bed. I lay there for a few minutes and realize there's a window from the third floor all the way to to the main floor... And I think ask I have to do is break that and I can jump.

Fast forward about 45 seconds and I'm using the cart to slam the window to break it. Well off course they hear it and come running. Next thing I know they're taking me to a room built like a jail cell. There's a bed and that's it. They strip me of my pants and shirt and put me in the strong jacket. This is not pleasant, I'm pretty sure they are made from lead lined 3rd grade cotton. It's heavy, fits pretty tightly, and makes it impossible to move my legs very well. They tell me to get info the bed so I do, and on go the arm restraints. They're right enough that I feel like my fingers are only getting 1//2 the blood as normal. I do NOT like this and fight the restraints.

So I learned a new trick. If I pull my left hand hard enough, my thumb dislocated and I can slide my hand out (not really easy, but I do it). I kinda hide my arm under the blanket for a bit, and then decide I'm going for the other side. Well it didn't take long for the person watching me to call for help to get me back in the restraints. There is a peace officer and a nurse tightening it up, way tighter than the first time. I beg and plead for release, and they will have none of it.

It takes me what seems like an hour to break fees on that left side again. This time I'm able to stand with my right hand still attached to the bed. They offer me to get in bed or call security. But I see the arm strap as a bear trap (and told them so). They tell me security is coming and I'm getting back in bed restrained no matter what I think. I think I muttered something like "bring it on Bitch" or something along those lines. I think that was my fatal mistake in the interchange.

Soon there are a few nurses, two peace officers and I think two of the hospital security. You can imagine what happens next... They tell me to get into bed and I two them I will but only if they don't put the restraint on. I think they argued with me for a bit and then next thing I know one of them had both of my arms locked tight in his hands and they're taking everything out of the room but the mattress and the the pillow. They not so gently get me down on the mattress and leave me alone with just my strangely short blanket, made from that same material as the strong jacket. And there I slept, after they gave me haldol and something else.

So I slept for the whole next day, doing what they asked. Being the good, compliant patient. I even apologized for being an asshole to the one nurse.

I'm still in the locked room, but they've left it open for me now so I can at least go out on the unit. Not that I want to, there's so many people and all I can see is the blood spraying from them all. It's disturbing and I don't like it. So I wear my hat and keep my eyes low so I don't have to see it.

I hate my brain. I want to stab it with an ice pick. Or a pen. Whatever I can get my hands on. Which in this place amounts to a crayon or a piece of a puzzle. Oh well. I guess when they have a normal for me all will be better. But at least this room is quiet.

The Lovely Nurse

 So tonight the lovely nurse came and brought  my night timr meds... And no sleep meds. Okay 2/3 of my problem is caused by lack of sleep, so who the fuck thought it was a good idea to take me off then?

Thankfully she checked my chart, and I had zopiclone PRN.  But it so sucks I had to ask for it.

If I don't sleep tonight, I already know what will happen. I'll wait for them to do their 30 minute rounds to check if v everyone is still in their rooms. Then I'll peel the glass screen protector off my phone, and make nice longitudinal cuts in my forearm so I can see the anatomy. 

Let's just hope sleep wins out, or  tomorrow I'll be wearing hospital pajamas and be barred from my phone. And stuck in a room with zero privacy, and nurses watching me 24/7. Not fun. Oh and if I resist or get violent, then shit really hits the fan. Tied down, drugged, the whole nine yards...

I better sleep...

Shattered Screens and Dreams

 I can't help but want to cry all the time. I feel so incredibly dumb  - seriously who the fuck wants to pour boiling water over their arm. I don't get these horrible impulses.

I'm writing this on my phone, and there's two cracks in my glass screen protector. They don't bother me / you can't see them unless you hold my phone just right. But I know they're there. And I know if I pull the screen protector off, I'll have razor sharp shards of glass in my possession. 

Most people would see that as dangerous and throw them away. Not me. I see them as perfect instruments to slice through the milky white skin of my forearm and see what's below. I see them as a way to fulfil my love for the sight of my blood flowing. To me, they are slices of relief and excitement. 

The problem is the consequences. Psych nurses really don't like the self harm part of the equation. And at that scale, I'm sure it would gain way too much attention. 

I've already been threatened with being put in the little glass room with nothing but a mattress. Not exactly where I want to be. Everyone tells me that room is hell. But I feel like this is where I'm headed. I feel like I can't stop this train. I feel like I'm going to do something that they consider self harm, of worse yet hurt someone else. 

I've been hiding in my room as much as possible. I've been avoiding people do I don't have the images of them with their throats sliced open and blood spraying across the room. I wear my hat when I know I have to be in a group, so that way I can keep my eyes off of the others. 

That's it for now. Hopefully I can make it through the night. 

The Screaming Kettle

 The kettle is screaming at me from the other room. Not literally, but it's like a giant magnet and I'm made of iron. I can't resist it. It's sorta like when the last donut  in the box is calling out, begging you to finish it off.

But the kettle, it wants me to come and play. It wants me to fill it up, press that button that clicks so loud, and listen as the water slowly boils. All the while my heart beats out of my chest in anticipation of the end goal. The whisp of steam curls from the spout, the moment is nearly here.

The rolling boil shakes the kettle slightly, and my heart beats with it faster and faster. The switch snaps off, the water is boiling hot enough the orange light goes out. Show time.

I turn my forearm upwards to the sky as I grab the still bubbling kettle. There is no hesitation, I just start pouring the full contents over my arm, from wrist to elbow and back again. The shearing pain is excruciating, as I watch the fllesh turn color and blisters appear.

Its all so stupid. I feel dumb, ashamed. I know it's wrong, but I can't fig the urge. I'm writing this to capture my thoughts. To capture the allure. Maybe this will help, I don't know. All I know is it scares me and I for know what else to do.