Spies in my midst...and he's on my list

After tonight, it may be a short while before I can post again. Right or wrong, good decision or bad, I have agreed to be checked in to the psycho ward on Friday. I am only going to check myself in for D. He is all up in arms that I'm killing myself, whether it's through starvation or downright suicidal gestures. I love D., and that is the only reason I will humiliate myself and be hospitalized again.

I hate this hospital with a unbridled passion. They antagonize me as my I my defiance frustrates them. I have a mutual love/hate relationship among many of the staff there. This is the same hospital that I tried several weeks ago to do their partial hospitalization program and lasted one day. They just bring out the worst in me. I know it will be a knock-down-drag-out-fight with staff members. They do not inspire me to get better, only to say f*ck off to them. So when the plate of food gets put before me and I'm expected to eat their sh*t ala king, I envision it hurled against the wall.

I'm vegetarian, which complicates matters further with these jerks. My last incarceration there I was to put cheese on my veggie burger to "complete" the protein. I asked if they had soy cheese and I was answered with "What? Are you a vegan or something?" I hold back the anger, reply, "no", and five minutes later I am accosted by the dietitian with the "hate to be the bearer of bad news speech, but we don't do vegans." WTF? You don't DO vegans? This amuses me on so many base, depraved levels from which I'll spare you, except to say that looking at her she probably doesn't "DO" anybody. Whatever. I just didn't care at this point except they were frustrating me because I had just told Ms. Clinical Assistant that I wasn't vegan. But, hey, lucky me. Maybe now, I can be "done!!"

What I also find bothersome is that they don't treat, much less recognize, dissociative identity disorder, and I don't know how you can treat the whole of my being without treating the D.I.D. I don't have the eating disorder. I know two members that do, and unless you are willing to deal knowledgeably and patiently with my alters, the eating disorder will go nowhere and we will bump heads again.

I am petrified to go in. I am already crying because I feel trapped. Part of me knows I need the help. The only reason I"m not exercising 2 hours a day is because I can't get out of bed. It was wonderful taking care of O., my god-daughter, because I could turn my attention to her and helping her recover from her sickness. Now she's better, back home with her family, and I have a gaping hole inside of me because I know if I didn't check myself into the hospital then I would still be pulling the horn on the depression chain I'm riding.

But the hospital feels like a wast of time. I have been checked into this hospital I would guesstimate six to eight times. Their format doesn't work for me. But I'll grin and bear it. Naw, I won't grin. I'll snarl and bear it. I can feel my angry alter raising her hackles already at the thought of going back there. She is very protective of those who are damaged, which includes the two with the eating disorder. You don't want to cross T. She will eat you alive, spit you out, chew you up again, and spit you out twice.

There are spies in my midst. I realize with this blog being public, any Joe Blow can read it and I'm fine with that. I want people to read the blog to see how slow and exponentially painful it is to recover from a dissociative disorder and an eating disorder; however, I feel there was a conspiracy by my therapist to share my blog with other members on my treatment team. I would not have approved others on my treatment team read the postings because they don't know me as well as my therapist and can't judge objectively the rantings, ravings, confessions, and downright incriminations I blather on about. So, with that said, I have spies in my midst and my T. is on my sh*t list.

So this might be it. I'll try to get one more post off before I'm handcuffed, strip searched, and pee into a cup for a drug screen. But I make no promises. I'm getting a full body wax in the morning. That'll give the strip search ladies somthing to talk about.

To all the readers, a quick update. Rebeca is no longer around, but the remainder of us are still around and haven't fallen off the far of the earth.

Bad news has reached us and we find ourselves a personified dillemma. The fork in the road offers no good options and we've become silent as the grave. A member is so depressed she has been tethered to the bed for days and can't even garner the energy to shower or brush teeth.

The world has gone black and we fear the darkness. It's not as hard to say goodbye as I thought.

We'll keep you readers updated.
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