My name is Heather and I'm currently an inpatient at an open ward psychiatric clinic.
Yes, your plucky young heroine is currently being treated for PTSD.
My first few days here were terrifing, I lived in a perpetuel cycle of fear, shame and well mostly shame.
How could I have let things get this far? wasn't hospital the last resort for sociopaths like Lisa in Girl Interuppted?
I saw myself as someone who had let anxiety turn me into a sick, frightened animal cowering in the darkness. How could I have become something so dark? so terrified?
I was unable to sleep or eat properly and I found myself fighting the constant urge to flee.
My relationship with my husband had come to an end, he was with another woman and I was alone.
I was also suffering the aftermath of something rather bleak and personal that some of my readers already know about.
However, out of respect for my husband I will not mention it.
This had all come to a head after spending years with an abusive brother while pushing aside all my feelings.
Seven days have passed and I believe I'm finally lucid enough to write about the hospital.
It's not entirely terrible but it is a hospital, theres no wifi and we all have to share two computers. I share a room with a russian woman who speaks no english and we share our shower with three other flats.
We have a schedule that we're expected to stick to that involves occupational therapy, regular therapy amoungst others.
Is the therapy working? perhaps.
I feel very raw, fragile and scrubbed clean.
The thing is I don't think I could feel any worse.