Losing faith

I’m losing faith in the inpatient unit I’m stuck in. I’m losing faith in the whole mental health system. 

My thoughts are clouded by the dots. They dance around the front and edges of my vision. They swirl, dive, and connect to each other. Where do they come from? I have no idea. Maybe I’m mad, maybe I’m not. The only thing the staff have done about my anxiety is offer me lorazepam. I hate tablets, we’ll get to why later.

You can hear the cackling, that turns to screaming, of the other patients a mile away. It is a high pitched, unforgettable sound, relentless on the ears. I’ve heard staff here shout back. I’ve heard them swear in frustration. Not many have that calm and friendly persona you need to work somewhere like this.

They often ask me if I am ok. They say it’s ok not to be ok, don’t they? But in everyday life people expect you to respond I’m fine thank you. No, I am definitely not ok. I am trapped on an adult psych ward. I think they would prefer to hear me say I’m ok just so they don’t have to deal with me. That’s how it feels with some of the staff.

Home isn’t the safest place for me. I am not safe from my own mind. But the hospital makes me feel unsafe in a completely different way. I don’t know where I fit. Maybe I fit nowhere. It certainly feels like I don’t.  

I’m not going to tell you the reason I am here, so don’t expect me to… I know what you’re thinking. That I’m crazy and dangerous. I must be, I am on a psych ward, right? The stigma surrounding mental health is appalling.

I have never seen so much medication in my life. There is a massive trolley full of the stuff. Pills have never seemed that useful to me. All they do is make me feel sleepy and fatigued all the time. Being completely exhausted all day is really hard. My mother asked my psych on numerous occasions if she can change it but to no avail.  

I went to the psych ward thinking that I’d get lots of treatment and be in a therapeutic environment at least some of the time. Instead I spend hours sitting in my room, watching the clock on my computer tick away so slowly it was agonizing. All I can do is sit in my room and listen to the frightening noises outside.

When I first got onto the ward, I saw a familiar face. A friend of my mothers. However, she got moved because of the fact that we knew each other. But its ok, people are always coming and going on the ward. I mean, I guess I was upset yes.

While I was on the ward, I got comments such as “why is there a kid on the ward?”, “gosh you look awfully young!” and “how old are you dear?” I even had one man complain to the staff that I shouldn’t be there, and that it wasn’t safe for one so young. I m barely an adult, just turned 18. The staff all said nothing back, maybe they agreed, maybe they didn’t.

A lady on one of the wards I was on came up to me and gave me a hug when she first saw me. She then started looking after me and telling the other patients, “This is my son.” She also got moved away very quickly too. That’s how they deal with it.  

The dreaded dinner que. Everyone pushing in front of me because I seemed little and unlikely to fight back. The staff saw but did nothing. However, there were some other people on the ward who saw this as an injustice and stood up for me. No one pushed in front of me again after that.

I was, what you could consider, an escapee at one point. As I was there voluntarily, I was allowed to go for a walk if I wanted to around the grounds of the hospital. One day when I felt really tired and confused, I decided I was going to walk home. Although I started walking in the completely wrong direction, the intent was there. Eventually I got really bewildered and scared so I turned back. When I arrived at the hospital, they were blissfully unaware of my escape even though I had been gone for quite a while.

While I was at the hospital my parents came to visit me every day. I even got sweets every other day. We would sit in the café in the concourse and have a nice chat. It was a pleasant getaway from the ward environment. 

Next thing you know I was being moved again, onto my third ward. Except that this wasn’t a psych ward, it was an addictions ward. Mum says it’s because I was the one who showed the least resistance. I was the least gobby, so I got moved. The managers decided the move, it was not approved by the nurses on the psych ward. But I was ok. It is just how it is.

You know what brings me joy? The little things. Like rice pudding in a pot, a single bluebell growing around stingy nettles, or jumpers with small animal ears on the hood. Life can be so beautiful but also so dreadful, terrifying and make you feel alone.

I don’t do what I do for attention you know? Mental illness is just as real as physical illness. It’s just that my illness can’t be seen through an X-ray machine or CT scan. It’s ironic really, the invisible illness that also tells you and makes you feel that you are invisible too.

Right now where am I? Well, I am back on the ward again. This time on an entirely different ward to any I’ve been on before. My parents can’t cope with me, they say I’m not safe at home. They don’t have the little cakes on this ward, for some reason which is disappointing.

 On a more positive note I have decided, while I was in hospital, that I want to aim to become a nurse. A nurse because I want to help lots of people. I also want to help make the system more inclusive for people like me.