Involuntary ed treatment feels like

It feels like my life has been put on hold, intercepted by a greater power. As if I am frozen in time and space, existing within this small bubble that I cannot escape. The only way out is via a door that I do not have keys to. I catch glimpses of the world outside; newspaper headlines, family gossip, the sound of rain against the hospital roof, but it’s like trying to put together a puzzle despite missing the pieces that fit in the corners. Everything just feels so far away.

My attention is focused directly on my current situation; what I’m going to have for breakfast tomorrow, what time to ask for medication. Whether I can manage to sneak out and go to the toilet in the middle of the night without supervision, or if the relief isn’t worth the embarrassment. I spend my days crying over plates of food and attempting to comfort other patients but mostly being comforted. I’m trying to work out what the right moves are. What actions I need to take to be deemed well enough to make my own decisions. Well enough to choose to go home.

It feels like all of my decisions have been taken away and I am just a machine going through the motions. My interests, dreams, ambitions- all the things I should be holding onto tightly, I can sense slipping out of reach. None of these things matter here. Not now. Not really.

What matters is the contents of the silver spoon being brought up to my mouth, the empty supplement boxes and white chipped plates being put in front of me. I’ve had so much practice now that you’d think it would be easy but every swallow is a challenge. Sometimes I can do it without thinking, but other times I can spend what feels like hours staring anywhere but at the food until it is taken away. And then it all happens again.  Some people go to work, I eat.

It feels like everyone is telling me that my thoughts are all made on false pretence. That the monsters I face daily, are not real. It’s as if my world is being taken apart bit by bit and I am challenged to start again from the ruins.

I am constantly terrified. It’s difficult not having any say over my treatment and to be questioning everything. It’s exhausting. Painful. Endless. But it’s worth it, I know it is.

Or it will be.

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