#institutionalization tw

Initially, her father came for frequent visits, but as his career began an upward climb, he severed any non-professional associations. As his presence in the asylum tapered off to an occasional and distant donation, the doctors became less and less concerned about keeping up appearances.

Though her susceptibility to praise won some of them her fondness, Wilma never fully trusted the doctors or the nurses. She was not offended by their careless neglect - instead, she considered it a loosened restraint that allowed her to accumulate a better trove of shiny stolen things and stories from her fellow wards and secrets from down staircases she wasn’t supposed to descend. Nevertheless, she spoke in a lulling tone that suggested her head was more often up in the clouds than down in the winding, labyrinthine facility, so it was easier to chide her for waltzing into labs or offices at random than to risk aggressively correcting a girl from such an influential family.

This tactic foundered when Wilma opened the wrong door, one with hinges freshly bleeding oil, one that opened so cleanly and so quietly that she saw and understood everything she was not supposed to long before the sawbones saw her coming.

They would command her, belittle her, pry gaps in her psyche in an attempt to convince her, and tell her a thousand times that what she saw was a trick of the dark, a misunderstanding, a convincing production performed by her misaligned relationship with reality. The reports said they were securing a patient for transport home, but she knew the truth. It could not be broken out of her, the view of her friend and fellow inmate, begging for protection, as his body unlocked, swung open and let the air rush in, in a way that no living flesh should.

Nor could she ever forget the view of the doctor’s wide, pained eyes as she sank her teeth into his flesh, deep enough to wrench a chunk free and swallow it. Wilma’s frequent habit of chewing on ribbons and fingernails turned into a much bloodier biting habit after that. 

The treatments never took well enough to scrub the truth from her brain, but they did have other effects. The lies they fed her were so frequent it became difficult to tell when they were lies at all, and slowly she began to see things solely because they promised there was nothing to see. Every door became a mouth, a ribcage, a fist, and every speck of light became an eye. Her hair tangled in her face became matted fur, and it was an easy mistake to make when they had muzzled her jaw so tight and commanded her to stay. 

i might be going to the psych ward for a bit soon, im not sure yet but it is a very real possibility. jic anyone is worried about my rights being taken: don't worry, things work pretty differently here and as much as it isn't a fun place the whole process is more voluntary than it is in the us, and at the end of day unfortunately i am an active suicide risk and should probably not be alone in my house for extended periods of time + i am still doing really bad financially and barely eating anything so at least i would be getting food and not be a danger to myself.

idk how to end this post. look at my cat

This is my blood era. Pretty soon I will be bleeding from every part of my body. But I will get back in the ring and I will punch that bear directly in his nose. Nothing will hold me down Nothing will take me out Nothing will do me in. But that doesn't change the fact that the bear got a good shot in. That's one for the old bear. I take my hand and swish it on the blood on my head and matted hair and write on the wall. I stepped back and look at my work it says I am not a number I am a free man.

Over the next like 8 years I kept going on and off anti psychotics, mostly the same one but mixing it up towards the end as well. What I found the worst (sort of, with some hyperbole. if you dont consider lasting neurological issues and some other wild dogshit it caused in my life over those years) is how uneducated every single psych I had was about the anti psychotics that they were Actively Prescribing People.

They didnt know common side effects including tardive dyskenesia, which I have to this day. I had to argue with them so theyd look up literature on it so they'd even believe my experience. They always were suspicious of me wanting to change my dose. They would make me switch meds without tapering the old one (?!), most of them never ordered the tests necessary to monitor your physical health while on anti psychotics (I forgot the names of the tests right now, oops)... often refusing to monitor me as i taper off of them because they didnt "agree" with it, finally one time my GP said he would monitor it. etcetc.

I dont really like... have a point to this. I just wanted to get this out for now.

I'm not even saying they dont help during phases of acute delusion (tho they never actually touch my 'long term' ones lol).. it's just that. At least here no psych seems to know what the fuck they're prescribing people anyways, so how the fuck am I supposed to trust them or work with them at all? I just gave up and have been unmedicated for a year now after tapering them myself as usual. I honestly dont miss it much at all.