I overslept. No one woke me up for my medication. Why would they?
I came out of my room. Mother’s Day cards and flowers everywhere.
Of course it’s Mother’s Day. Another slap in the face. Why not kick me when I’m down and remind me of the fact that I am not a mother because my babies literally died and fell out of me?
I went to sit outside with a coffee, but people kept coming and bothering me.
Of course they would. Just when I want to be left alone, why wouldn’t people hound me?
When I got back, I spoke to the Deputy Ward Manager about everything I was thinking.
Had my heart smashed in to pieces.
Got admitted to hospital.
The bar is closed.
And now it’s Mother’s Day.
Everything is working against me.
She told me what everyone else keeps saying – everyone’s really anxious and uncertain.
I get that. But if you add in all the shit that’s happened to me recently, something bad is far more likely to happen to me, or the people close to me. That’s a fact.
She suggested I take some medication, and keep myself topped up throughout the day.
It was lunch time, and I knew I couldn’t eat in the dining room. If someone mentioned Mother’s Day I was likely to shout or throw my dinner against the wall or something, so I ate in my room.
I watched some Drag Race, and then decided to go for a walk while listening to a podcast. When I got back, I carried on the podcast, but did some colouring.
I’d decided not to do any writing, but posted what I had managed to write the day before.
Every time I left my room to get meds the radio in the communal area was just bangin’ on about Mother’s Day.
MOTHERS DAY MOTHERS DAY MOTHERS DAY I GET THAT IT’S MOTHERS DAY, I yelled at the radio. It didn’t listen though. Why would it? It just kept on.
I watched some more Drag Race, and ate dinner in my room.
One of the members of staff asked me why I ate in my room now. I told her that it wasn’t safe for me to be in the dining room.
A drag queen that I know actually messaged me to ask for a PA system. I don’t know where on earth she’s going to use it. I directed her to the bar e-mail address, because there’s nowt I can do.
The Deputy Ward Manager who I’d spoken to in the morning came to give me a hand massage. She said that she used to work for the Body Shop, and she was really good at it. We talked a bit, and she told me that if anyone gets sick they’re going to isolate them in the 136 suite – the jail cells where they take people who get sectioned by the police.
So if I get ill, they’re going to send me to jail.
I’ll be on CCTV.
The bathroom has no door.
There are no plugs, so I couldn’t even charge my laptop, my tablet, or my phone.
So for everyone else reading this, if you get ill, you have to isolate yourself at home.
I will literally be sent to jail.
That’s the next bad thing that is going to happen to me.
I am certain of it.
I watched some more Drag Race, did some more colouring, and listened to some more of my podcast.
As I was getting ready for bed, I went and asked what time my weekly review with the Doctors was the next day. They told me that the consultant is off, so there might not be one.
Of course there isn’t going to be one.
They’re just going to leave me here to rot.
Just one more slap in the face.
This is NOT a coincidence.