So here I am again, on a psychiatric ward listening to the usual alarms going off, people kicking off and general hum drum of life on a mental health ward.
I don’t want to be here, I don’t think I should be here but the choice was pretty much taken out of my hands; go informal or we’ll section you.
Just so people realise, there is no therapy in these places – the sole purpose is to keep you safe. Now the fact I took an overdose on Sunday (now Tuesday), it’s a bit reactive wouldn’t you say?
I want to go home I’m in the mixed part of the ward so the room next to me is male. I’ve locked my door but just feel hyper vigilant and unsafe.
I’ve been ‘clerked in’ where they take your bloods and you literally go over everything the consultant has just been over with you including the reason you’re there (erm because you made me).
I’ve just asked for some prn (which means as needed) promazine for my anxiety and to try and stop the thoughts ruminating but been told it’s not been written up yet – seriously, what is it with this place, I couldn’t even get paracetamol for a bad headache earlier.
This post has been long coming, I’ve gone further and deeper in to the black hole. Sorry if this is where it cut off last night, I pressed publish instead of send when I gave my phone in to be charged.
So it’s now 6.15am on Wednesday morning and I’ve been woken up every 15 mins by them switching my lights on to do observations. So now I’m tired as well as ratty!! Im just going to have to play ball until I can get out of here now!