Day 37

I don’t really remember all of Day 37. Everything’s a bit of a jumble. I’m just going off the notes I made at the time.

I was due to have Ward Round at 2PM, and my Dad was due to be coming. But it turns out none of the consultants are here for the whole week, so no one knew what was happening.

I got ready, as I always do. A man came to replace my shower curtain. I had, and still have no idea why.
I thought that’s maybe what they’re using to watch me in the bathroom.

They were doing work in the communal area too – replacing the windows, even though they’re fine.
That must be how they’re watching me in the communal area.

They replaced my sanitary bin too.
Maybe they’re watching me that way.

I told the nurses that the next thing was surely that they were going to ‘fix’ something in my room. They’ve already got the bathroom and the communal area covered.

Why are they watching me, you ask? I refer to what I wrote in my previous post…

Had my heart smashed in to pieces.
Got admitted to hospital.
The bar is closed.
It was Mother’s Day.
My first flat fell through.
Even just the little things – like that song ‘I want to break up’ on Drag Race, the radio constantly mentioning that it was Mother’s Day, the patients in here who keep shouting, McDonald’s & Nandos closing (the two places I used to eat the most with my ex)… little things sent to twist the knife.
Add in all the trauma I have suffered – miscarriages, rape, the difficult divorce…
This is how I felt 7 years ago – that there was some kind of conspiracy against me – and they told me I was crazy. That’s how I ended up in hospital then.
But this many bad things cannot be a coincidence. I don’t know who’s making it happen, but whoever it is, they are surely watching me somehow.
That’s the logic behind my thoughts.

I wrote up Day 36.

A nurse came to tell me what I would be seen at 11:15 by the Doctors. At this point, it was 10:50, so there was no way my Dad could be there, and I really wanted him there.
I called home and there was no answer.
I called my Dad and there was no answer.
I called my Mum and there was no answer.
Where was everyone?
Another thing sent to try me.

I went to ask for some medication, but my drug card was with the doctors, so they couldn’t get me anything.
Another thing sent to try me.

I was clearly upset, so the nurse asked me to sit in the communal area rather than in my room on my own.
Another thing sent to try me.
I straight up refused.

The doctors asked to see me for my ‘review’.

It was horrific.
It wasn’t a ‘review’. It wasn’t a ‘Ward Round’. It was purely a discharge meeting.
It turns out that they had bought in all of the ‘informal’ (non-sectioned) patients to try and discharge them, as the ward was set to go on lockdown, and then they won’t be able to discharge anyone until the ward is re-opened.
I told them that this was the final straw. The last hurrah. Whoever it is who has been making my life hell is determined now for me to take my life.
Because if I am allowed out, that is my plan.
Surely the next bad thing to happen to me is that I’m going to lose someone I love. The only way I can save them is to end my life.
They asked where I could go. I explained my current living situation.
The nurse in the meeting (who I’d spoken to the day before, and had given me a hand massage) got quite angry with me. I didn’t understand why. She kept shouting that the ward was going on lockdown, and I needed to understand the reality of the situation. But I do.
It’s either stay in here and continue to get fucked with, or go out there and end it all.
They didn’t change my meds or discuss my care in any way, they just sent me back to my room.

After the meeting, I finally got some medication.
I sat on the bed for 3 hours. I have no idea what I did in that time. I just sat there.

But I was right about them fixing something in my room.
A man came to ‘test’ the doors.

After that, I pulled down my shower curtain and wrapped it up, and I blu takked a piece of paper over the lock of my door.

I used the call button, and a nurse came to my room.
I told her everything that was on my mind, and warned her that the workmen were doing things to bug the place. It was then that I had a lightbulb moment. It occurred to me that the doctors were both men…
I would never have had a miscarriage if it wasn’t for men, nor would I have had a messy divorce, nor would my first flat sale have fallen through, nor would I have been broken up with, nor would I have been raped…
Men are out to get me.
I told her that.

I felt better after having told someone everything on my mind, so I watched a bit of Drag Race.

While this was going on, one of the doctors had been to see me to ask if I minded having my care discussed with my Dad, because he’d called the ward.
He came back to me once he had called him back, told me that I wasn’t going to be discharged, and that there is no date set for that. He said that my meds hadn’t been adjusted as the consultant wasn’t there to make that decision, and I should be relying on more than just medication to help my recovery. I pointed to all of the diagrams and lists I have on my wall from my APIP sessions, and told him that I am trying to get myself well, but how can I do that if my meds aren’t increased as they are supposed to be (the doses I am on atm are tiny).

My womb started to really hurt. I had started my period the day before.
I can’t even take my regular meds for it, because they won’t prescribe them here. They say it’s too high risk because of my very very mild asthma.
Another thing sent to try me.

At this point, I became overwhelmingly tired. I actually had a bit of a nap for like 10 minutes before I was called for dinner.

I ate in my room, but as I was getting my food I learned that the ward was on lockdown.
It has happened.
No discharges.
No admissions.
No visitors.
No patients are allowed out at all – not even for a cigarette or a walk.
So basically, the ward is going to descend in to chaos, because that’s a whole bunch of women going in to nicotine withdrawal. Apparently, people are allowed to vape in the ward courtyard, but not smoke cigarettes. How does that make sense?! At a time like this, should trust rules not be able to be bent a bit?
The main person who this is going to affect is shouty lady. She is going to go fucking MENTAL not being able to smoke – that’s what she spends all her time shouting for.
There is no way I can be locked on the ward, not even able to go out for a walk, with her yelling her head off for a fag constantly.

I was right. She wouldn’t stop yelling all evening.

I was in bed with my light out by 7PM.
But as I was falling asleep, every time I nearly dropped off, I heard my mum shouting LUCY from behind my head. It reminded me of when I was a child and she would shout when I was in danger. I also heard someone knock on the door, but there was no one there.
I called the staff and told them.
I was aware that this was my brain playing tricks on me. My mum clearly wasn’t there, but I could hear her shouting for me.

She said she would tell a nurse, and get me some medication, but if they did return, I was fast asleep.

I am writing this now the following day, and in hindsight everything still makes logical sense to me, but I don’t feel so panicked by it. There’s just this underlying sense of paranoia.
Like I wrote on Day 35, I’ve managed to lock some of these thoughts away in a little box. I hope it doesn’t open and spill over again, because it feels horrible.

Sorry that this wasn’t a more positive blog post, about how I’m recovering and getting so much better. According to Daylio (my mood tracking app), yesterday was actually my worst day since I’ve been admitted – even worse than the day my boyfriend broke up with me.
Hopefully you guys will be reassured by the fact that I feel a bit better today – well enough to write. Stay safe everyone x

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