I haven’t seen my section notes for any time except the first despite many requests for access. Apparently they don’t like to show them to people in case it triggers a reaction. I say that no one is triggered by the truth and part of your job as a psychiatric doctor is to be able to have these tough conversations. It was the second time that I received my bipolar diagnosis, though to me, it felt like an autistic overload. There was no discussion of the diagnosis. I didn’t even know I had it until a letter arrived in the post.  I continually tried to convince the mental health services that autism, which I had self-diagnosed several years prior, was a better fit, but they refused to even consider it.

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When all your help is nothing thus

When your help is only punishment

And nothing, based on trust

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When you can’t do the simplest thing

If you will not get me my laptop

Maybe some nice long string?

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When you’re just watching your own back

While mine is all red, raw and bleeding

And my heart set to crack

Don’t tell me you don’t see them

The hopeless, disenchanted mass

The ones that now no longer struggle

Just lie upon the grass

Don’t tell me you can’t see it

The constant pain behind their eyes

Which sparkles with a gleam like raindrops

When someone stops, says “Hi”.

So do not make me say it

For you will not accept my words

Just let me lick my wounds in peace

And somehow make it through at least

So………..

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When all your help is nothing thus

When your help is only punishment

No place to lay my trust.