Sunday, September 25, 2011

About being stuck in the past. Again.

It seems that the overall theme to my life right now seems to be "being stuck in the past". Or maybe being constantly caught up by my own past, or limited by it. And by my past I specifically mean the fact that I have been through many years which were dark and troublesome. I had my first depression at 10, I lost my mum at 12 and moved on my own at 15. My depressions and anxiety haunted me all through my teens, finally culminating in me being admitted to a psychiatric emergency ward at 22. After that I spent 3 months living at a psychiatric institution and was diagnosed with one and half personality disorder (Borderliner PD and Avoidant PD). I was in therapy for a long while, and was given medication that worked. I've come a long way since then, from a girl who could barely get out of bed every day to being in school studying to becoma nurse. But.

I'm in therapy these days, which might be why I feel so haunted by it right now. But it just keeps cropping up everywhere. As I've mentioned before we are writing essays in school, and all three of them has very much touched on very personal aspects of my past.

Most of my family are also evidently very stuck in my past. They have never been the best at giving me acknowledgement for the good things I do, or even to focus at the positive at all, or let me know if they were proud of me. They might notice the positive things I do, but they very rarely say it to me directly. But they are good at pointing out and focusing on the negative. If I don't answer the phone I must be dead - because of my past. If I postpone an internship to give myself some time to get through losing my soul brother, I must be depressed and headed for the institution again. It couldn't be a rational and wise decision based on the fact that I was emotionally worn out and grieving, and so I needed not to force myself through an internship that to me is very intense and demanding simply because I wanted to avoid hitting the wall and getting completely burned out. No, no. It had to be a sign of me giving up, of failing. Again.

Lastly, I've applied for some jobs lately. Partly because I know I won't get an internship spot this semester because they don't have one to offer me, so I will have fuck-all to do between October 15th and whenever school starts up again next semester in January. And partly because I want more work experience. A lot of students have a part-time job in addition to school, mainly because they have to to make it financially. Student funding and loan in this country isn't enough to get you through University if you live on your own. I'm lucky, I'm on rehabilitation money from the government and therefore am a lot better of financially than most students, so I haven't needed an extra job. But that hasn't been the main reason for not working - I haven't worked out of consideration for myself. School can periodically (like now) be a very rough thing, at times there's a lot going on with exams, lectures or essays, and at other times we have internships which I will claim are a lot more intense than having a full time job, and I know just about every student at my school will agree with me on this. And I know myself pretty well, after years of therapy and analysing my own personality. I need time on my own, to a greater extent than others. And I know that I spend a lot of my energy just maintaining an everyday routine, having to motivate and argue and coax myself into doing the things other people find easy or do automatically. "Emily, do your laundry. Do your dishes. Make a proper dinner. Get a workout done. Brush your teeth. Keep in touch with your friends. Pay your bills. Say yes and go to that party, you need to be social every now and then." Its just who I am, it's a result of my personality disorders, of years and years of isolating myself and not functioning properly. Basically I'm still working on learning how to do the things other people have known how to do since they were 18. And thats why I haven't gotten a job; between trying to get through school and managing my own everyday life (and mental state), I was worried a job would just be too much. Overload. Too many balls in the air. So I have been reluctant to take that risk. But this week I found a few classifieds about small weekend positions suitable for nurses or nurse students. The positions are at Sanderud, a large psychiatric institution about 30 minutes from me. They deal with all kinds of psychiatry; psychosis, drug-related, geriatric psychiatry, you name it. But here comes the past and kicks me in the teeth again; I was admitted to that hospital. Just for 6 days, in an emergency ward, until I was transferred to the long-term institution where I lived. And they might have policies against hiring former patients. And even if they don't, the people hiring might have some serious issues with hiring someone like me. Of course, having been a psychiatric patient yourself can be seen as an advantage in a job like that, at least I do; I've been in their shoes, in a similar situation, I have some insights and experiences that most people don't and therefore can show some genuine compassion and understanding. But they can also view me as a liability, an unstable person. Or they might just simply be prohibited from hiring me due to policies or guidelines.

The thing is, I value my past. Most of it was absolutely shite and parts of me wish I never had to go through all the crap I have. But I know that it has a huge part in making me who I am, for better or for worse. And I truly believe most of it is for the better. I have learned so much, about communication, about how people work, how life works, and how I work. It's made me wiser, better at giving advice, more compassionate and it's given me a lot of invaluable experiences. If I didn't have that past I probably would have been a much shallower person. So I can see the positive side of it. I just wish other people would too.
“We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts. Heroes or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are. Letting our past decide our future. Or we can decide for ourselves. And maybe it’s our job to invent something better.”
- Chuck Palahniuk.


“When you stand in front of me and look at me, what do you know of the griefs that are in me and what do I know of yours?”
- Franz Kafka

About writing a paper

The near week that has past since last time I blogged has been a rough one, at least emotionally.

In school we are currently writing these essays. We are supposed to write three in total, and on mid-october they will randomly pick out one of the three to be handed in as a major exam. Each paper is supposed to be around 3500 words, and we are given a specific patient situation/case and a "problem" we have to answer for each of them. I'm finished with two ; the first was on general psychology and the 2nd was on "overall rehabilitation". It's funny how I've drawn on just as much personal experience as nurse literature in writing these papers - I've been an admittet psychiatric patient and I've been in rehabilitation, a lot of the aspects we've been lectured on or read about, I have experienced. "I've been there, maaaaan". Some times it feels very paradoxical, before I was on the other side, I was the patient. Now I'm supposed to be the helper, the one with the answers, the knowledge, the provider of help and support.

This monday we were given the patient case and problem for this last paper, and this one hit particularly close to home. I've been dreading it ever since the semester started, because I knew the topic of this last essay was going to be "care for the dying patient". And to make it even worse the case had to be about a terminal cancer patient. It's already been 10 months since I sat by Mats deathbed, but its very much something I struggle with every day, and why I am in therapy again. In many ways I struggle more with it now than I did in the first few months after. And now I have to sit here and write an essay where I have to describe the illness they call cancer, its symptoms, why it kills, I have to write about pain and pain management, what the term "palliative care" entails and describe all its aspects. When I was with Mats I was a next-of-kin so to speak, I was as close and personal to the situation as humanly possible, but now I should try to look at palliative care with professional nurse-goggles. Of course I will meet dying patients, and cancer patients, in my work as a nurse in the future, I have to learn to deal with it. And I have the dubious advantage of having had personal experience with it, giving me invaluable insights into a very difficult subject. These are all things I could try to take comfort in, things that could make writing this essay easier. But it doesn't. Every time I sit down with this essay, Mats is constantly on my mind. Or, more specifically, my last weeks and days with him - I relive them over and over, the emotions I had, the sights, the sounds, the smells, the mood.

To top it all of they've made the "problem" for this essay as wide and general as they possibly could. I could probably have written a doctorate based on the case and that problem. So I have to narrow in the paper, leave things out, and I still haven't quite managed to figure out what. All aspects affect each other, and to me they all seem as important; the physical, the emotional, the social, the spiritual. And I have a lot to talk about on this subject, a lot of thoughts and opinions. Oh well. I'll get through it. It's just making my life very hard right now.