Self Mental Health Progression

I was in hospital for 8 days in December and got out just before Christmas.

I was admitted to the pscyh ward after being with the crisis mental health liaison team yet again on May 31st following flashbacks. I’d recently got into a relationship with a man, and my brain was trying to process it all. The voices were telling me I had to go to another world to be free from pain. I love my boyfriend with my whole heart and I feel so bad I put him through all of this.

I was in hospital from the 26th October- 26th November 2020 following a suicide attempt. I had tried to get hold of as many of my meds as I could and took them. Hannah split up with me back in July (2020) and things went down hill from then. My best friend ‘R’ wasn’t allowed to speak to me anymore because of his girlfriend. My other friend ‘N’ disowned me because of my mental health. In early October I was a victim of fraud to the sum of £25,000 which is still an ongoing court case to get him prosecuted. This was someone I knew and looked at as a friend, however what friend could have done this? I was so anxious and overwhelmed that I now owed these loan companies thousands of pounds and my supposed ‘friend’ had all of the money. All of these things contributed to me having flashbacks and yet again trying to take my life.

pre admission

I was sent to the psych ward after being with the crisis mental health liaison team in the hospital for 21 hours. In the liaison room there are no beds, just chairs to sit and sleep on and you’d have people coming in during the night to speak with the mental health team with their own crises. Some would be fine whilst others weren’t. I remember feeling scared as one guy threw a chair. There was one lady who was with me in the liaison area and then went into the psych ward 6 hours before I did and we reunited there. I can’t remember her name now.

Admission to the psych ward

On admission I was shown to my room like twice before, but this time I was told I couldn’t leave my room for 3 days due to the covid isolation period. This was too much for me and a few hours later I had set the alarm off by trying to hang myself from the door. This sent members of staff rushing to my room. I was fine- as soon as the alarm went off I dropped what I was doing. They moved me rooms to one right by the nursing station so they could keep an eye on me…and that’s where I stayed for the rest of my time on the ward. They kept an eye on me for a little longer and I tried to put something round my neck- I was then placed on level 3 observations which meant that someone had to be with me all of the time, no matter where I was. Even in the shower and the toilet. It was on level 3 observations that I got to know my favourite HCA, Sharize. She’s South African and she’s brilliant. Except one time I was having a flashback and hearing voices at the same time and she said ‘stop this nonsense’ and touched my back…as soon as she touched me, I let out a scream. I was angry with her for about 2 hours or so and then she made me smile so I couldn’t be angry with her anymore. She also gave me vape juice when I had none! In total I was on level 3 for 3 weeks so got to know the staff pretty well.

Doctor/ consultant psychiatrist

There was a different doctor to the consultant I’d had twice before. She seemed more understanding and caring and genuinely the nicest Doctor I have ever met to this day. Due to COVID there was no visitors allowed in the building, so I had to see my family through a grated window in my bedroom. I would tire easily so they’d stay an hour maximum. The Doctor spoke to my mum a few times through the grated window which was helpful as all my mum wanted to do was talk about why I was in a crisis.

Friends

I made two good friends on the ward ‘K’ and ‘R’ who are lovely. K and I did yoga one day and the lady who was on my obs I now work with sometimes in the general ward of the hospital. I visit K most weeks, and she’s recently had her appendix removed. R I don’t see as much anymore unfortunately this is because she went into hospital and a few weeks later when she was out I was back in hospital again.

Things got worse and I was drifting from Hannah, we barely spent any time together. My previous post about paranoia this month explains how things got bad. I didn’t have the one person in the world who made me feel safe because we work opposite ends of the day- there was no time to see each other. I felt better off without her.

My paranoia is bad at the moment, I’m getting signs that the person who abused me is trying to get my attention and is closing in on me. It’s causing me a huge amount of anxiety, to the point I can’t breathe and I can’t even let out a single tear…I’m just in shock.

1) I was frightened to move GP’s because it is also his local GP but it’s literally just down the road from me so makes more logical sense to go there rather than trekking a couple of towns away for meds.

2) A package with his first name on (and possibly middlename) arrives at my address- No one with that name has lived at that address for decades…I know because it was my late Grandfather’s house and he’s lived there since my father was little.

3) A dead bird. So at the end of our garden but to the right there is an old people’s home but members of the public of course can walk down right to our fence if they please. I’m certain he’s responsible for the dead bird.

Last night I relapsed-bad. I read messages between my partner, my father and their mutual friend whilst sat in the extension of my in-laws house. Last time I did this was on my birthday and blocked out Han for an entire week. That’s why I thought we had got past all the private chats because it didn’t end well last time I looked at her phone. Apparently not, they are continuing to talk in secret, and even wrote a letter and sent it to my perpetrator. So imagine my shock when reading the chat and then the letter. Imagine the sinking feeling I experienced sat there alone whilst my girlfriend was upstairs mucking about with her sister and friends. I put Han’s phone down grabbed mine from the kitchen and walked out of the house without saying a word to anyone. I walked across the dual carriage way and down a side street without a coat- my face lathered by tears and the cold fog concealing me as I walked away from the house. I tried to call my friend Meghan but she didn’t answer so I was going to walk to the hospital- to A&E to chat with the mental health team there.

Before I had read the messages, I was still feeling extremely detached from a flashback. So when I saw the citrus knife on the kitchen side, I took it into the bathroom and cut my legs and my left arm. When I had read the messages it made sense as to why some of my family were icy towards me…did he tell them? do they not know what to say to me? do they not believe me?  I was just sick of it all…..it would be better if I wasn’t born at all. My parents are two toxic individuals who are not natural parents, one buries their head in the sand and cries about it afterward and the other suffocates you to encourage you to forget and move on.

 

 

 

I’ve always wanted to be the type of girl who goes on adventures with a couple of friends and make some wild memories. But I’ve never sustained a stable and solid friendship for long enough to. Sure I have friends, but they probably have stronger friendships with other mates.  

Being in and out of relationships since the age of 16, in addition to the hours spent on education and paid work has been quite time consuming. Sure, if I saved the money from the jobs I’d of had enough to go away with but instead my pockets were empty and my stomach was full- I wouldn’t rely on my mum’s packed lunches anymore and you sure as hell wouldn’t catch me up early making my own sandwiches!    

Naturally, as with any individual, there are friends where you can pick up where you left off and others that just fade out.    

In case anyone needs some positive vibes, here are a collection of quotes I’ve stumble upon.   

‘Even the sun falls every day and rises again to shine the next.’ ♥  

‘Courage doesn’t mean you don’t get afraid. Courage means you don’t let fear stop you’.   ♥

‘When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on’   ♥

This Friday (July 12 2019) my sister was diagnosed with cancer. CANCER. She’s 18. 

I’d so take it from her so she can be a regular 18 year old going clubbing and living life to the full. She shouldn’t have to worry about chemo or whether or not she can have kids .  

She should be capturing crazy memories to stick up on her wall when she goes to university in September. Liverpool seems so far away, but that’s her choice of uni & whatever she decides to do I’ll support her.

19th July 2019- Sophie had a 45 minute MRI scan and was really brave! They sent her home & began to liase with our home hospital whether or not the cyst burst inside while taking it out or if it remained in tact. If the former, then there will be remaining cancer cells that require chemotherapy to annihilate. Regardless, she will be under Charing Cross Hospital for the next 10 years, and will have scans twice a year for 5 years to monitor the cancer.    

9th August 2019- Today Sophie has been given the all clear! She no longer has cancer and can go to university in September (depending on her grades lol). So so relieved!!  

I remember talking to my friend Meg in her bedroom asking to move in with her when the baby arrived. It felt impossible to be at home. It was a surreal experience. Most mornings from a week or so after the attack, morning sickness became routine. The concept of visiting  the pharmacy was far too daunting after being turned away by the pharmacist who said legally they couldn’t give me a pill as I had just turned 15 two days ago.

Perhaps if I held my nerve, gone to a hospital or called the police then they would have got evidence. Trauma doesn’t have time for straight thinking. It felt like everything was happening at once, being pregnant whilst preparing to do my final year of GCSE’s.         

Making lacerations to my stomach out of fear of what was inside of me, intentional starvation and busying myself seemed to become my strongest ‘coping’  methods and an attempt at killing whatever may be inside of me. Inside my stomach was the devils incarnate rather than a baby. Its innocence already tainted by the way it was bought to be conceived.        

I wasn’t ready to become a mother nor have a termination.  

September came and I had the courage to take a pregnancy test after doing my English homework. My body was going through the motions of a normal pregnancy yet it wasn’t one. My body didn’t feel my own, it felt violated over and over again. Every day I’d get changed in limited light away from the mirror because I couldn’t face seeing the body that was raped in front of me. My body. I couldn’t bare to see the neck he strangled, the hair he pulled and spat on. The breasts he squeezed so tightly that they pulsated in pain. The body that was paralyzed with fear but forcefully moved with every movement made by his thrusting of hips.        

Avoidance and disinterest became key attributes of my teenage years- quitting choir to cut the chances of seeing him whatsoever. I avoided the local area in which the attack took place; guilt racked my brain for not visiting my Grandad with dementia, but he lived too close by for comfort. It’s only recently I’ve managed to go up the Leigh steps again, it’s taken over 5 years.