I’d gone to my parent’s rural house after the arrest on the express promise they drive me home by 1pm the next day in time for a dear friend to come visit, take me to IKEA and hopefully finally release some of that sexual tension, for while my mind was clear I was still hella horny. Though my family doesn’t talk about stuff like that, which did make explaining the adventures of the last few days tricky. 

I had a disrupted night’s rest and they reneged on the promise by allowing me to oversleep.  When I woke up at the time we were meant to leave I was frazzled, my friend was driving 200 miles to come and see me and I wasn’t going to be there.  They were fussing about breakfast and tea and I was begging them to get going, “we can have breakfast the other end, please, you promised”. They called a doctor on me, I freaked out, running from the house and them.  I called the police for a lift.  Should have called a taxi in hindsight.  The police came, the doctor came, I spoke to both of them and felt it was all resolved.  They asked if I would go to A&E for a quick checkup. My day was already ruined so I agreed.  A quick checkup that took 24 hours and ended with my incarceration.

I trusted you, You brought me up  

But troubles dogged your life  

So I would never bother you  

With my own grief and strife  

I hid my fire and passions  

Putting your needs first  

But life and pain and suffering  

Made my heart about to burst  

So then one day I needed you  

To help rebuild my life 

But rather than encourage me 

You raised the chopping knife  

I’d always been the good girl 

You loved that I was kind  

But seeing my ambition  

Drove you out your fucking mind 
 

I didn’t mean to scare you  

You’d never seen the flame  

No wonder you were worried  

Just history to blame  

But honestly, how could you?  

I didn’t ask for much  

Just a little understanding  

And a parent’s tender touch  

I do not blame you parents  

I truly know you care  

But nothing’s ever hurt as much  

As that that you did there  

It wasn’t all your fault though

You never could have known

The sexism of mental health

That chills me to the bone

I say sexism, because I believe that if I had been male, that ambition and actively seeking sex would not have given them cause for concern.  In my assessment, my work proposal was noted as an idea of grandeur, my promiscuity and belief that I was widely liked as vulnerabilities and the words “did not admit to drug use” for the drugs I did not take really irked me.  The doctors spent more time talking to my parents than to me. To this day I wish I had given them permission to only talk to us together. I was left with a woman who looked at me with tears in her eyes as I begged her to get them back so I could explain further.

She just stood there crying 

While I was begging and dying 

She just stood there crying  

while my inner soul was torn 

She just stood there crying 

While I was begging and dying 

She just stood there crying 

A voyeur of pain   

From the moment I was sectioned I became convinced that the way mental health is handled in A&E drives homelessness.  I myself felt like running and risking it all on the streets. I almost did,  I had everything to lose and I feel and know that people with less than me would do it.

I was taken to Radlett ward.  It is one of the newest and most modern in the country, but what it had in terms of courtyards and individual on-suite rooms, it lacked in facilities, staffing and most distressingly anything to do.  The bookshelves were almost empty, notably except for a copy of The Alchemist by Paulo Cohelo, a book and author that should never be allowed in a mental ward. There were a series of fairly bad puzzles and limited games resources and that was it.  The staff were frankly terrifying and no one would explain to me why I was there.    A question that none of the patients seemed to have an answer to.  Scared, I wondered if that guy had intended to push me this far so I could see the horror. Feeling like an expose was needed I kept notes of what I saw and felt on paper towels.

An old lady in the corner screams out “I know what I did, I know what I did, I’m in the worst place in the world.”  She spots a nurse passing and instantly shuts down and stops.  

So apparently my behaviour is manic, I call it driven.  When you want something a lot, it becomes important.  When something is important, you become emotionally attached, you cry or scream when stuff gets in the way of your goals.

A lady is sat on the floor at the end of the corridor screaming that “I don’t want to be in these places any more”, “just knock me out”, “I’m tired of being treated like a fucking Guinea Pig”, “I just want to go home”, “I don’t care anymore”. 

And the woman who all she wants is a fucking cigarette, who is hurting herself by slamming herself against walls.  Who at the same time as screaming is apologising for screaming: “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to shout at you. I don’t want to hurt myself, I don’t want any more bruises, all I want is a cigarette so I can sit in the garden and calm down.  Is that too much to ask?”

Well is it?  There was a courtyard right there, but no permission to have that one cigarette, a legal human right.  The smoking restrictions in mental health wards being the main reason the wards kick off and something that is despised by staff and patients alike.