the same old fears

First of all- thank you for the nice reactions in the last (and deleted) post. I am extremely paranoid about photos and it was kind of personal and just temporary (like this one), but it doesn't change anything on the fact that I am so so so thankful for every email and comment and they are saved.

Things are not so good. It's May (really?) and it was snowing yesterday. And M's going to hospital and I am not studying enough. Some weird rezignation rules in our house and...and it is weird to write about someone who is reading it; hence I am writing a hybrid-post for anyone-letter for M (and my younger self I suppose).

When mum told me that next Monday you're going to the (infamous) children's psych clinic (I've written about it in September it seems so surreal now) I was mad at her. But then I've laid in bed and thought about that horrible weeks between my diagnosis and being admitted to the hospital and how things could be easier if I started the treatment earlier and...it is not that you're not trying enough, but:

1) the waiting lists of this clinic are really crazy and they have a place in teenage anorexia program right now and they told mum that if she haven't agreed now, there is a chance that another place would be available in September or later and

2) the insurance covers complete inpatient therapy for up to 6 months as opposed to outpatient- and intensive outpatient is very expensive (I am not trying to search a logic in our system anymore) and

3) There is no one of us who could stay at home with you and control your eating consistently and

4) The clinic is really close to where we live and it basically belongs to the hospital where I study (although I will hopefully study just 6 more weeks -well in case I wake up from this weird dream and start to read my books and ECGs). But hey- I will be there, promise!

I've been there more than 10 years ago and the only thing I remember is blurry row of meals and snacks and more snacks and plastic table cloths and constant "how are you-s" between those snacks and how I tried to be all brave during ultralong days despite I wanted nothing but lights off and sleeping pill and how I cried during visits in the garden with high walls and how humilitating were monday and wednesday morning weighting days and lot of letters I've written and never posted (I haven't had an email adress at that time, it was really ages ago!). Oh well. The last month of my stay, I've actually made a great friend in the clinic and I think our friendship and sharing things was one of the most therapeutic processes I've ever been through. So be open, talk to people (even if you think their questions are really dumb and that the doctors are going through their fourth burnout or so), don't be this hollow crybaby in the shell of recovery hero like I was. Post your letters or emails. If I had the chance to be 14 and go through the IP again, I think I would do it and I would be much worse and real patient. I would say what I felt rather than what the doctors and mum and dad wanted me to hear. I would cry more during the meals instead of pretending that I am ok with everything they put infront of me. I would ask "why?" instead of "how long yet?". I would demand answers and explanations instead of permissions. I am not mad at my 14 years old self for not recovering. I wasn't able to think like that at that time and in fact part of me thought I was recovered. But you are more than 2 years older and wiser and braver than me at that time. Use your debating skills and show them that you are you and it is great being you even with this illnes, although sometimes it doesn't feel great at all... wow now you and your analytical brain are helping me to realize so many things I didn't (want to) realize before.

It also seems that the program has massively improved in the last 10 years and that the remains of the communistic institutional psychiatry with no space for some creativity and rigid rules are slowly but effectively being substituted by more evidence-based and at the same time creative medicine. At least they write about it in the treatment contract.

So. Another and probably not the last role-model-fail-post I've written during baby-sitting our neighbor kids. I hope it was not too scary. I love you all.