I am just beginning to realise how institutionalised I had become. I am finding the ‘normal’ world a scary place. It speaks a language that I don’t really understand. I am comfortable in terms of CPAs and meal plans; supervision, bloods and BMIs. I know where I am with meds, and ward rounds, and care co-ordinators, and agency staff at the weekend –
It’s the stuff that everyone else talks about that I find harder to get the hang of.
It has been several years since my last inpatient admission. I have moved on, a million miles, and life is far far better – and yet, sometimes, when I’m wrestling with the uncertainty or watching the world from behind a glass screen, I can hear, in the background, the hospital hum and the once familiar voices – and I long to turn around.
I miss the predictability – and the security – and a way of being that I had come to comprehend.
It is a little unexpected – this perverse yearning – given how unpleasant most of the experiences were. It is somewhat ironic that the containment appeals, after I fought so hard to be free. Only, it is the outline that remains, rather than the painful details; and the impression of belonging that I am hankering for, because the silence feels so alone.
So, there’s a subtle side-stepping, at the moment, towards a more ‘normal’ way of being, with responsibilities, and expectations, and a routine that is not structured around three meals, two snacks, something that passes for therapy – and then bed. And, I am having to learn – in reverse – where the line needs to be drawn; because after breaking everything down to get to the root of things, I’m building it all up again to operate in this unfamiliar space -
The rules of engagement are different in the real world, and the stuff that it took me so long to make sense of is no longer appropriate to be said.
So, I am doing a bit of re-orientation, (because I didn’t realise that one foot was still stuck in a hospital ward); and, I am appreciating that there’s a certain disjoint between a head that’s been through a decade of therapy, and one that just takes the world as read –
Which is not a reason to go backwards.
It’s just that I hadn’t realised just how institutionalised I had become; nor how the backdrop of wake up calls – and hospital sheets – and the cloying smell of antiseptic had lingered into today.
And, I hadn’t paused, until this painful awakening, to acknowledge how un-nerving I am finding life without rules, and structures, and systems that I might have fought violently against -
But were, at least, far easier to understand.
Tags: inpatient, Isolation, re-connecting
If something is familiar, however painful, it can have tremendous appeal. Our inner mind does not operate like our conscious mind, and trying to work things out, often doesn’t make any difference. It’s only when we can work with the parts of ourself that we fear, despise or feel ashamed of, that we can start to create a new reality. Our inner mind is programmed to do the same thing over and over again, we need to make friends with it, to reclaim our power.
Julie Mann Habitfixer
Yes I hear what you are saying about the scariness of real life. While I have been hospitalized three or four times (once for 5 weeks at this place in AZ that was supposed to “specialize” in PTSD but where nobody had a clue), and none of it was valuable really, that doesn’t mean I haven’t created a real life with real responsibilities on the Outside either. Because of the dissociation primarily I think, my Universe has been about the size of A walnut. I get these tiny glimpses of how big the world really is and it scares me back into my tiny little shell.
There’s alot of responsibility out there. I suppose that when I am
able to better recognize the supposed rewards of living an expanded life things will come to a greater balance. But for now, it’s really just too much. Namaste dear.
There is nothing I can add here that won’t pale in comparison to the eloquent post above, as I have the same exact thoughts on a regular basis. “Real” life doesn’t care if I want to skip a snack or eat lunch at the same exact time every day. While I may have rebelled against IP, in a way it was a relief. I didn’t have to decide what to do, and presented with too many options and temptations in real life, I often feel overwhelmed and compelled to revert back to “safe.”
I miss the structure, I miss the fact that everyone around me could relate in some way and understood the struggle and challenges I was faced with, I miss the feeling of “permission” to just eat, rest and recover. It almost feels selfish to focus on that now, what with “real” things going on.
At any rate, even though things are always better looking back and I know that actually being on the outside is a much more pleasant option, I can’t help but sometimes wish I was back there, back to that safe haven of sorts.
I think that reminiscent appeal says something about progress and place … it’s a tug that could only come with the freedom you have. We often fight what we need, so it actually seems just right you would have resisted containment. The freedom you had was destructive; through containment you were able to grow. Containment now would be counter-productive, even destructive, while freedom is what will facilitate growth.
And maybe it isn’t so much you’ve been institutionalized so much as the institutions were/are the in-between place of your eating disorder and full recovery in a fully functioning physical, social and emotional life. That would make sense … your body is healing; the steps have begun but the wholeness of you is still catching up … in a middling place.
Thanks for these comments – they really help me make sense of this.
I suppose the transition is quite inevitable and I’m still adjusting to life without the framework that both in and out patient treatment provided. I had also forgotten that most of my recovery took place in life so longing for structure is about something different.
Maybe it’s like the nut analogy and a realisation of how daunting I find life (and indeed the universe)…which may get easier with each little connection.
A work in progress – or the process!