today i found out about a friend i have spoken to in a few year's death. this has shaken me up a bit, and honestly i won't claim it's because we were close or anything, we weren't. it's because i remember watching her in and out of hospital, frustratedly urging her to get better. urging her in my mind to stop self-harm and to see the cycles in her behaviour, my younger self lacked compassion for her situation i'll be honest.
recently what with being a psych ward yo-yo myself i had thought of her and suddenly understood a lot more than i thought i had previously. hearing the news of her death stole the breath from my lungs, it's tragic it really is. the only refuge for those left behind in the wake of suicide is that at least they are now in peace.
i remember sharing phone calls with her when i was younger, we'd planned to meet up. we spoke frequently before both going separate ways. i was always frightened that my behaviours might influence her and this is something i will carry with me even though we hadn't spoken for years.
her death not only upsets me, but confirms thoughts in my mind that i am doomed. every time someone kills themselves i compare myself to them, what is different between us? what lead this person to suicide? why am i not dead? it's not a healthy thought process i guess and it's somewhat obsessive with the amount of time i will dedicate trying differentiate between them and me.
selfish or not, in my head a death translates to 'what does this mean for me?' and i am genuinely confused.
anywho, being confused i rang my "treatment team", treatment team in inverted commas because i'm not sure how much they treat or what exactly they are treating. my care coordinator wasn't in today so instead i was passed to the duty worker (for those that don't know, each day there's an appointed clinical-ish person for dealing with enquiries, crises etcetera). usually the duty will have a chat with me and steer me to 'safety planning' *vomits* (safety planning is essentially making plans to not kill yourself).
today when they answered and i very briefly explained what i was confused about, duty put me on hold to read my notes and then said 'i don't want to engage in conversation about this over phone', something about him wanting to get the correct context. he invited me in for an appointment to discuss possibly being referred to the crisis resolution & home treatment team. he thanked me for agreeing to come in, it made it easier for them. CRHT (Can't Really Help Team) are essentially a bunch of nurses who wander round in pairs visiting people in their homes, medicating them, helping practically e.g. buying food, bringing meds. their purpose is to prevent hospital admission, but also to manage acutely high risk patients in a way more specialist than what regular mental health teams are able to do.
i'm convinced they enjoy the job because the notable time spent travelling between patients means they have an excuse to leave very soon after they get there.
"hi, how are you?"
"terrible."
"are you going out?"
"no, too depressed."
"oh excellent! that means you're less likely to kill yourself then! byeeeeee!"
some of the staff are very friendly and compassionate, others clearly feel their time could be better spent elsewhere.
any who, so i got to the MENTAL HEALTH CENTRE which is exactly what it sounds like. a drab, grey, foul smelling building that houses pretty much every team you can think of in the east side of the city. it always smells like the patients with extremely poor hygiene. i told the receptionist i was there to see duty and they told me to go sit down in the waiting room, which may i add has every kind of fucking boring magazine marketed. Pottery Weekly anyone, Middle-aged Housewives Monthly? no? how about Tractors on a Tuesday? (these aren't real, i just made them up - accurate though).
i hear the receptionist say 'the AMHP is here' (Approved Mental Health Practitioner - someone specially trained in the mental health act, with the power to be like 'yup you're sectionable kiddo'). HA, HA, HA. WHAT. what on earth have i just walked into?
two nurses invite me into a room with eccentric chairs that are meant to be accommodating, but they literally smell like mental health act assessments. i don't trust the chairs anymore than i trust the nurses.
nurse 1 starts: 'so what's brought you in today?'
me to me: well clearly you have, you fucking loons.
me to them: 'um, i don't know'
nurse 1: 'so we were reading your notes, so don't feel like you have to repeat anything because we know everything that has been going on.'
me to me: oh of course you fucking do. wait, what has been going on?
me to them: 'okay'.
nurse 1: 'we read an email you sent to your care coordinator, what are your beliefs on this now?'
me to me: beliefs? BELIEFS? do they think i'm delusional?
me to them: 'what beliefs?'
nurse 1: 'your beliefs about death, that you'd be better off dead.'
me to them: 'well i can't tell you about that because there is no good response'
nurse 1: are you scared you'll tell us you want to kill yourself and we won't react?
me to me: what the fuck hun, what are you talking about.
me to them: 'no i'm afraid that there's no good outcome. i don't know, none of this matters'.
nurse 1: 'why doesn't it matter? do you have any plans?'
me to me: it doesn't fucking matter because you're not listening, you have your own agenda.
me to them: 'no, i don't make plans. i don't like to make plans.'
nurse 1: 'that's because you only make suicide plans isn't it?'
me to me: can you fucking quit it, like are you ok hun. i don't make plans because i like to have free time to kill myself in.
nurse 1: 'can you just confirm that you are in fact thinking about ending your life?'
me to me: what the fucking fuck has my care coordinator written in my fucking notes for these two dimwits to have brought me in here to interrogate me?
me to them: 'I DON'T KNOW, PLEASE STOP THIS.'
nurse 1: 'what lead you to reaching out today?'
me to them: what
thankfully, someone knocked the door and invited interrogating lady out of the room.
nurse 2: 'so.... how was your bus journey?'
me to me: clutching at straws clearly
me to him: average.
interrogation nurse 1 reenters and informs me the Can't Really Help Team will indeed take me and asks whether i'd rather they go to my home address or whether i'd like to see them at the local psychiatric hospital. hahhahahaha. these idiots.
i think it was at that point i said i didn't want home treatment then got up and left.
i left feeling really riled up and honestly quite scared, the duty worker hadn't even spoken to me for five minutes on the phone and then i'd been cornered in a room with two nurses. one asking whether i was eating, taking my medication, drinking etcetera and then trying to force words into my mouth whilst forcing the CRHT on me.
i found out a few hours after i'd left the appointment that the referral had gone ahead and they're visiting tomorrow at 10am. excellent, what for?
on the way home i felt so angry and scared, i was meant to pick up meds but i couldn't sit still in the pharmacy. there were a lot of Normans™ out. Normans™ are a special brand of people that could easily be robots they look so generic and they're always doing generally peopley things and they just scare me because they always fucking look at me. they could easily be government programmed trained robots watching 'people of interest'. scary.
most importantly, thoughts to the deceased. rest in peace SP, in many peoples hearts and memories you will remain xxx
No comments:
Post a Comment