Don’t really have a picture to share from yesterday, I was a little pre-occupied.
Yesterday seems like a lifetime ago now. Fairly normal morning from what I remember. Got dressed proper, and went and sat writing with some tea. I was going great guns
At about 11, this guy (I think he was bank staff – like, a supply teacher but for healthcare workers, not like he actually works at a bank) came and asked me if I was on the list for a transfer back to a bed in the city. I was like ‘fuck no’, and explained my reasons why…
- I’m settled here
- I like the patients
- I like the staff
- It’s far away from the stresses of the city
- I know the routines
- I know they’re not going to discharge me too soon
He said that a bed was available, and I was first on the list because of where I live. He said that it means I’ll have a better transition back to the community team when I’m discharged (even though I told him that when I am discharged, I will not be going straight back to the city – I will most likely stay with my parents in Lincolnshire for a bit, or perhaps my brother and sister in law in Derbyshire). He also said that the hospital I was being moved to is just generally better – single rooms, ensuites, only 16 people on the ward, single sex (which tbh, for me is actually not a plus!), better access to therapies. Basically, the way he sold it is that the ward I have been on is pretty outdated, and just a holding cell for people’s meds to kick in so they can go back out in to the community. That is not the case for me. I need to basically re-wire my brain. Meds are only going to help me so much (which tbh, is not a lot). This new hospital has access to loads of therapies apparently, which is why I was top pick off the ward, because this is what I need to get well. I spoke to a couple of patients about their experience of this new hospital, and they said it was fucking fantastic. One of them actually got pretty pissy and was like I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET TRANSFERRED THERE FOR 8 MONTHS! HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?! So I was like, OK, I’ve hit the holy grail.
I spoke to my Dad on the phone, and I agreed to the move.
They said they could arrange for a taxi within the hour, but that I might have to make the hour-long journey on my own, which made me super duper anxious. The reason that I am in hospital is that I am so impulsive atm that I cannot keep myself safe in the community. Who’s to say I wouldn’t try and chuck myself out the car on the M1? (I know that’s fucking awful, but it’s genuinely how impulsive and suicidal I feel sometimes right now) Eventually, they agreed to get someone to come in early to take me (which I felt really guilty about, because I get what an absolute shitter staffing can be, but they kept telling me not to).
I packed up my shit (although not all of it apparently, so well done me), wrote a note to Lesley saying thank you, and a note to P with my number on it because they were sleeping, and fucked the fuck off!
Made the journey in the taxi with a HCA called Sally, and she was super chatty, which was just what I needed. Started to get super anxious coming back in to the city, especially around the hospital I’m in right now, where a lot of shit kicked off last week (including the 136 suite/jail cell from hell).
The hospital is purely mental health. It is made up of a number of wards, is the base for the community teams, and the crisis team (who I’ve had quite a lot of contact with in the past few weeks – they’re basically the out of hours number that you call when shit is going down, and the people who come and see you at A&E when shit really goes down).
When I arrived, I was greeted by a super nice nurse, who clocked my hair, my clothing, my piercings & tats, my Bloody Mary Metal rings and said she thinks I’m guna fit in fine with a load of the girls here. While they were checking over my stuff (even though I forgot all my contraband – no makeup, cans of pop, HOT SAUCE, or razors for me – at least til next week – so checking my stuff was pretty pointless) she showed me round the ward, and fuck me, it was like I’d entered the future.
There are two communal sitting areas – one with a TV, a dining room, a kitchen where you can get hot water any time you want (from the staff anyway) – last place it was just once an hour, oh you can get sandwiches from the kitchen too(!), a sensory room, a quiet room, a meeting room for visitors, several quiet areas on the corridors with comfy chairs, and a garden. I am in such a better place. If there’s any hope of getting well, this is the place for it.
Pretty much straight away, I was whizzed in to the clinical room and seen by two doctors. At my last ward I saw one Dr for the entire time I was there, and that was the consultant during ward round. I got weighed, got my blood pressure and pulse done by a HCA, like 4 days after I was admitted (I lost 1stone 5lbs since the start of my crisis btw – fucking win). Here, the Drs did all that, took my bloods, and did an ECG (heart trace). But joy oh joy, it was around this point that I started my period AGAIN after having one for THREE weeks, and then a 5 day break. Thanks body, for being so fucked (it’s purely because of stress – I am ordinarily as regular as clockwork).
By the time that was done, my stuff was pretty much good to go, so I unpacked in MY ROOM. While I was doing so, a lady in the communal area kept shouting over and over again… I AM SICK. I NEED AN AMBULANCE. THERE IS ANTHRAX IN THE FOOD. Like, she was proper going for it. The nurse came and knocked on my door and told me to stay in my room, asked if I was ok. I was like, don’t worry it’s not my first time at the rodeo, it’s fine. It did feel fine too, because I can lock my door. Obviously the staff can come in, but the patients can’t. No bloody S wandering in to my bed space, calling me a stupid fucking bitch, and opening the window right next to my bed.
I have actual privacy.
Dinner was pork chops (of which I asked for a second one, because Lucy loves motherfuckin’ MEAT) and wedges. Out of 16 people, there were only 4 of us there. I asked the nurse why no one was eating. She said that a lot of the patients either don’t eat, or just get takeaways. I said ‘oh it’s not because of the Anthrax then?’. I don’t think she really knew whether I have the blackest of black senses of humour (which I do), or whether I was actually believing this woman. Definitely will have gone in my notes either way.
After dinner, my parents came with some more clothes that had been in my washing machine when they went to sort my flat a bit. The sock monster has obviously been, because I sat there pairing them up, and there were like 7 odd ones. It was good to chat to my parents while doing something to take my mind off talking. Face to face can be a bit full on. As soon as I sat back down with them, my mind went to the bad place. All of my paranoias came to the forefront of my mind. It was at this point that they had to leave, because they could see me getting worse.
I’ve heard lots from distant friends/acquaintances, but not that much from the people I see every day – why is that?
What if my love has decided this? Or this? OR THIS? OR THIS?
What if something awful has happened, like that someone has died, but people are just too afraid to tell me?
What if I’ve lost my job?
What if all this is a dream?
What if I’ve deluded myself that everything can be fine, but it can’t really? And everyone else knows it! They’re just humouring me.
What if I have to stay here FOREVER???
There was genuinely, really sound logic to all of these things. I came to so many conclusions, but then kept rapidly changing my mind, and thinking ‘nah that can’t be right’.
I knew that changing my environment, and especially coming back to the city, would fuck me up a bit, but it really really did, beyond what I ever thought it would. I really don’t like being back in the city.
About 19:20 I asked for some PRN medication (‘pro re nata’ – as necessary) – mine is diazepam, which is a light sedative, because my mind was just doing fucking backflips and I was getting super anxious. If I was at home, my mind would go straight to the knife draw.
Immediately after that, I went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. I tried some breathing exercises, but they just reminded me of the way my love used to try and help me get to sleep. It was always so reassuring, and so relaxing. I felt calm for a bit because of the meds, but a couple of hours later, my mind was straight back to the dark place, and I convinced myself that this one particular thing was true (I won’t say what it is, because in hindsight it’s pretty insulting to the people in question. Unless it’s true. Which it probably almost definitely isn’t). As soon as I realised that I’d literally convinced myself that this one thing was definitely absolutely 100% true, I knew I needed to make it stop – true or not, it was just too painful to think about, and I was thinking of all the gory details regarding this situation, like every single little detail.
I asked at about 10 for a sleeping pill, and they said if I was having difficulty sleeping still, I could get some more PRN at 23:15.
As it happens, I was out like a light.