Day Fourteen

Two weeks of incarceration admission.
That’s mad.

After I posted Day Thirteen, the night (Friday) got well bad. Everyone was shouting and banging things and alarms kept going off – it was so so anxiety provoking.
I queued up for some sedation, and while I was doing so, someone banged their head against the wall so hard that there was blood everywhere. Deep down, I know that this is the best place for me right now, but sometimes it really doesn’t feel like it.

I watched some Drag Race, went on a mad Adidas shopping spree (my hoodie has a hole in it, and I wanted some oversized t-shirts to sleep in that aren’t ones I wear to work) took a sleeping pill, and tried to go to sleep, but my brain just WOULD NOT STOP.

At first, I kept thinking about when I’m next going to see my love…
Where’s it going to be?
When’s it going to be?
How am I going to set that meeting up – am I going to text him, or call him?
What time of day should I contact him?
What if I’m ready, but he’s not?
What if I text or call and he never gets back to me?
When should I see him?
How will I handle the days leading up to it?
What should I wear?
What am I going to say?
What is he going to have to say?
Is he going to be happy to see me?
Will he have actually missed me?
What if he doesn’t want to see me ever again?
How can I reassure him that everything can be OK?
How will he be feeling?
Should we sit next to each other, or across from each other?
Should I kiss him hello?

It was literally like I was rehearsing it in my head.

Then I started thinking about cats, and what kind of cat I should get in my new flat. Or wondering if I should get a dog instead.
Weighing up all the pros and cons, thinking about different breeds of cats and dogs, and what would fit my lifestyle best.

Then I started thinking about my flat, and how I can decorate it, what kind of furniture I’m going to get, and how I’m going to afford it.
Where am I going to buy the furniture from?
How am I going to get there?
Should I get my mum to take me to Ikea for the day?
A sofa won’t fit in the car, so I’ll have to get it delivered – but what if it doesn’t fit up the stairs?…


As soon as I knew I could possibly have it again (4 hours on – so by this point 1:30AM) I went to the nurse, asked for sedation, and explained my racing thoughts. She asked if I’d tried reading… Pffff, as if I can concentrate on reading right now… I told her I’d been watching stuff on my tablet, because that relaxes me, but as soon as my eyes close the thoughts start whirring.

Eventually got to sleep, probably just gone 2.

I had such bizarre dreams AGAIN.
I was the GM of one of the overseas bars (I think maybe the Columbus taproom?), yet even though I did everyone’s rotas and oversaw the finances, I had never been there, and I had to introduce myself because they didn’t even know what I looked like. Although it actually wasn’t Columbus, it was in the east of my hometown – the pub that my sister in law’s auntie and uncle(?) used to run (which I have never been to btw). We were there for a funeral, which turned out to be for my ex husband’s nan (although neither he, or any of his family, were there), and I was really pissed off cuz the staff were using it as a social media opportunity – like COME ON DOWN, WE’VE GOT A GREAT BUFFET SPREAD ON!
So, yeh, pretty weird.

I know exactly why I dreamt about my husband’s nan’s funeral, because it was one of the worst experiences of my whole life.

It was two days after my induced miscarriage. I was still bleeding pretty heavily and feeling really rough, but I wanted to be there for my husband, so we went.
We didn’t go in the limo, we drove ourselves there, and were waiting outside the crematorium with my husband’s cousins.
It was then that his nan’s carer arrived. We were standing around chatting, everyone was having one big conversation, and she said ‘Oh, Ivy was so pleased to hear about the baby’.

I just froze.

It turns out that pretty much on her deathbed, my mother in law had told her that we were having a baby, and that she was going to be a great grandma again.
I said to her, ‘I don’t know what you mean’, just tried to play it dead casual, because my husband’s cousins had no idea, but they were all watching and listening very intently…
She kept persisting and persisting, and I was like ‘I don’t know what you mean’ (like in Friends – SENSE THE TONE). My husband just fucking stood there, of course. The carer was like, ‘Oh come on, don’t worry, we’re family, I know that you’re pregnant’.

Eventually I completely lost it, and was like YES I WAS PREGNANT BUT I LOST THE BABY TWO DAYS AGO, stormed round the side of the crematorium, and punched the brick wall over and over again.
It was then that the hearse arrived, I had to get my shit together, and sit through the funeral with bloody knuckles, watching my mother in law cry, but absolutely fucking raging with her.
It was truly one of the most awful days I’ve ever had.

Anyway, back to Day Fourteen. When I woke up it was 8:30, and I thought ‘fuck this, I’m going back to sleep’, but then remembered it was Sausage Saturday, so leapt out of bed to go to the dining room.
By the time I got there though, breakfast had finished. I was pretty bummed out.

When I woke up, and as soon as I had taken my earplugs out, all I could hear was shouting and banging – just exactly like the night before. Also, most of the anxious patients from the previous night were in the exact same place, so obviously hadn’t been to bed.
One of them was my friend S. I asked if she wanted a hug, gave her a cuddle (she’s only 20 bless her, and so tiny), and said to her that I was there for her.
I know how much a difference something so small like that can make in this place.

I asked the nurses if I could go out for a walk. I just wanted to get off the ward, because the energy was so horrible.
Luckily the human walker was in, and because I’d got in there so early, I hadn’t even finished my makeup by the time she came for me.

The weather was overcast, but at least it was no longer raining. It was bracing, and my ears were freezing, but I didn’t care.
I don’t think I’ll ever care about being rained on or cold ever again, just as long as I can be outside.

When I was an inpatient 7 years ago, by this time I’d not just got unescorted ground leave, but also escorted leave in to the community – so my husband could take me out to the Maccy’s drive through (obvs) and my mum could take me for a walk by the canal and stuff.
Two weeks on this time, and I’m still penned in.

There was another patient with us on this walk (so 1:2 – that’s progress!), and she’s very quiet, so none of us really talked.
It was really nice.

Even though this might look shit to you,
it’s amazing to me

The ward quietened down a lot when I got back too, so I actually spent most of the morning in silence – no music – which was incredible.

If you want to read my full list of ‘Things I will never take for granted ever again’, you can find it here…

I decided to phone my old hospital again to check on the status of my forgotten stuff, and lovely lovely Lesley answered the phone! I was so glad to speak to her. She said she was coming to drop it off between 8:30 and 9:30 that evening. I made her promise to not leave without seeing me and giving me a hug!
She must have then mentioned to people on the ward that I’d called, because I got a text from my friend P, which really lifted my spirits – I honestly thought she’d never get in contact me. So that put me in a really really good mood.

I spent the rest of the morning writing in complete silence – couldn’t even hear any sounds coming from down the corridor, and I didn’t put any music on – absolute bliss.

Lunch was good because I chatted to loads of the patients. Feeling much better, and less paranoid than the day before.
The table I sat at consisted of me with my bright greeny blue hair, someone with neon green hair, someone with purple hair, and someone with red hair. We must all look ridiculous – like the female WWE superstars.
Lunch itself was NHS steak bakes (pretty decent actually, but definitely no Greggs) with mashed potato, and then a big biscuit for dessert.

After all that carby beige, that I was pooped, so went back to my room to watch DRAG RACE SEASON 12!

‘Leprosy print’ lolololol

Halfway through the episode, I got a call from someone saying that my HSBC account had a new direct debit set up on it, and they wanted to check the suspicious activity.
Now, for starters, I thought that account had actually been closed, and also in January I was really really badly scammed (ironically because I was on my anti-anxiety sedation meds and so I made a poor decision – I felt so so stupid for it), so the first thing I did was to phone the legit HSBC number.
They told me that my telephone and internet banking access has been suspended. This happened a few weeks ago too when I was trying to get the statements needed for my mortgage application, and I ended up going mental. They told me I had to go to the branch, and I was mid-crisis so I was like, I’m ill, I can’t. Apparently sending my boyfriend in with a completed Third Party Mandate form (so he could do banking on my behalf) wasn’t good enough – I had to go in myself, and it was fucking awful.
So I just had the exact same conversation with them again. ‘Mrs Green, if you can just pop in to your local branch’, NO I FUCKING CAAAAAN’T!!!! I explained I was in hospital, and they said the best they could do was to assure me that they were 90% sure the call I’d just received was a scam (because it came from their ‘Customer Service’ number rather than the ‘Fraud Detection’ one), but they couldn’t check because my account is blocked (SAAAAAAKE). They offered to send a form for me to fill in to regain access to internet and telephone banking. BUT, they can only send that to my current address, where I am obviously not atm.


By the end of the phone call, and a great deal of yelling later (mostly about discrimination – I did that the last time too… apparently when I get really angry I like to shout a lot about discrimination, Brexit, and Tory austerity…), I was crying and my nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, so I asked for some PRN sedation (I have been written up for something stronger too apparently, which is good to know for the dead bad times) and a chat (vent) about what had gone on.

Felt a bit better after that.
The staff were dead appreciative that I came to them and spoke about what’s going on. They say that they’re guilty of often assuming I’m fine. Because I’m so quiet, and when I’m out and about they often see me smiling (cuz I don’t leave my room unless I have to if I’m feeling shite), that they are just like ‘Oh Lucy’s doing OK’.
I said to them that I will always go to them.
At the end of the day, I’m in for a psychiatric assessment. If I don’t tell them what’s going on in my head, what’s the point? Then at the end of it, they might just discharge me and be like ‘oh Lucy’s fine’ (I mean, they probs won’t say fine), but still, I’m 100% committed to doing this properly.

After that, I finished the new episode of Drag Race, and then spent a bit of time on Pinterest to re-organise my boards a bit.
I won’t go in to all the details now, but long story short… I was buying a flat and getting really excited about it, then the sale fell through in the middle of my crisis. I was distraught, but then like 2 days later I found a new flat which I am now in the process of buying. It’s a bit difficult to get excited about it atm, but looking at the pictures today was a good start. It just reminds me so much of my love. This was supposed to be our home, and currently we aren’t even in contact.
I mean, I said it’s a bit difficult, it’s actually really fucking difficult.
So to look at photos of the place, and start thinking about it, is definite progress.

Dinner was jerk chicken with rice and some kind of peri peri squash stew, so that was half decent. Filled up on cake too.

Straight after dinner I played Ludo with my friend K, and that was really nice. We had a bit of a chat, but it was mostly nice to just sit quietly with someone (the ward was eerily silent for the whole day after the drama of the night before). We’ve vowed to do it more often, because I think it meant a lot to the both of us.
It’s good to be reminded that you’re not alone, and that other people here are going through a really similar thing.

I was green, obvs.
And I won, btw.

After that, I was super tired, and super anxious worrying about the outside world. I started to feel really sick and got butterflies again.
I was very aware that it was Saturday night, and my mind couldn’t help wandering, wondering what everyone else was up to…
Who’s working?
Who’s off?
Is it busy in the bar?
Who’s making pizzas?
Who’s the manager on duty?
Is whoever finished at 6 sitting there having some beers?
Is there anyone else is at the end of the bar?
For those who aren’t working, I wonder if my friends, and my love, have any plans.
(I have forced myself to NOT LOOK AT THE ROTA since I got admitted btw, cuz I know otherwise I’ll do this every fucking day!)

Just couldn’t shut my mind off.
Even though I was so so tired.

I started getting ready for bed at 7:30, because I just wanted to turn my brain off.

I was watching Drag Race in bed, when lovely lovely Lesley came with my stuff.
She sat in my room and we had a bit of a chat about things have been. It was so good to see her, but so sad, because I know it’s probably (at least, hopefully!) the last time. She empathised with how difficult things must be at the moment, but said to me, ‘I think this is going to be a real turning point for you, Lucy’. She said I was much better placed here too. What a wonderful woman, who has such an impact on my life. She is so genuine.

After that, I cried for a little bit, with my teddy bear. Just felt really sad.

Had a sleeping pill (because my thoughts were still whirring, and not in a good way), watched a bit more Drag Race, and then went to ACTUAL SLEEP.