It's been 1 week, 3 days and approximately 7 hours since my departure from The Hospital. Since then I, unfortunately, have not "started my journey to a happier, more better life" (my therapist tries to sound philosophical during therapy). Instead, I have spent my first week-and-a-bit out of physiatrist care, comfortably slummed up in my bed, enjoying the compulsive melodies, of various indie-rock bands, that swim and slide through earphones into my ears, or enriched and engaged in pages upon pages of fiction. In a nutshell, my first week home away from nurses and therapists and psychologists, has been spent unproductively. My mother calls this my "recovering period".
"You've been in a hospital for 3 months Daisy. Shelly kept me informed everyday of all the exercises and tests and whatnot that you were doing," she says, emphasising the last sentence. It's then that I started to not feel as bad about my procrastination. Recovering from a suicide attempt was hard, and certainly, physically and mentally, energy consuming.
"It all sounded bloody exhausting to me! Look, love, it's okay to be in bed for the first few weeks after you've been in hospital. The doctors say it's a normal thing" She paused suddenly and gently cocked her head to the side. "I'm always here for you love."
In life, you often take things for granted. One of those things being your mothers unconditional love. Gratefully, I smile at her, hold back fighting tears and welcome her warm hug. She leaves my room shortly after. Impassioned, I lay still on my bed. A sudden bout of emotion has awoke inside of me and for months I had practised to control it, but this sudden bout was bitter and bothersome.
"You cannot get rid of your bipolar. You can only learn to deal with it day by day."
YOU ARE READING
My New, Crazy Life
RomanceDaisy, 17, has just come out of hospital and is in desperate need to loose her virginity and find a boyfriend. This is her experience of life post-self harm and depression.
