Admitted part 5

So, lots to tell.

So far, I’ve met some fellow voice hearers, some other women who have had experiences like mine, seen what happens when someone has a flip out, and done gardening. Odd list of stuff I know.

I’ll explain.

So I was nervous and ran to my room the night I got there. I felt like there were eyes on me, staring at the new “inmate”, and the voices agreed. I locked myself in and slept fitfully.

The next day was strange. Some of the people in here don’t follow a logical chain of thought, but it is strangely refreshing and interesting to get used to. My friend Rocker (not his real name, I want my new friends to be safe) was one of the first on the scene to talk to me. He sometimes finishes a conversation with you that he has obviously started in his head, but I like that. I do it myself occasionally. He is kind and generous, bringing little treats into the ward like chilli breadsticks and Coke. He also brought in a bubble gun last night. He filled it with hand gel and it broke- we were all amused by that!

Next there’s Sunbeam. She is struggling with addiction and voices, but still managed to talk to me, sharing her dinner with me one day when she couldn’t finish it. From then on she and I have been friends. She is the salt of the earth, a good person throughout. She speaks slowly and moves slower, but she has been so kind to me and calls me babe. I find that endearing.

There’s Rita the coach driver. She has shared experiences with me so we both know where we stand. She has told me if ever I am feeling blue to go and find her. I had a nice afternoon watching ‘On the Buses’ with her, and an evening watching ‘Lewis’.

There’s also Foxglove. She and Sunbeam both picked up on me two evenings ago, pacing the ward at night because the voices wouldn’t let me go to sleep. She has asked me about my voices, and always seems to have time for me. We are relatively new friends but I’m hopeful we will keep adding to our friendship. She likes gardening and is usually able to give me a smile.

There’s Vincent Van Gogh. He is a truly lovely guy, until his voices make him threatening by making him yell, or lash out. Just this morning he was sitting next to me, talking about my voices with me, and telling me the bad dreams I had all night will pass. I feel awful because when I was triggered once, I couldn’t have him pat me on the shoulder to cheer me up- the good news is that when I apologised he was fine with it. He taught me about deep breathing and talked me down from my fright.
There’s a guy who I think I’m going to call Uncle. He reminds me a lot of someone’s trusted uncle, of course, and he always has time to sit with someone and tell them to believe in themself. I often feel a little better for chatting to him- he makes me feel less crazy because he is so calm. I have never seen him lose his temper.

All in all, these are the people I talk to the most. The nurses are all really fantastic. Pixie is in charge of activities, and Auntie let me in the first night I was admitted and fed me  cups of cordial to stop me dehydrating. There’s also Ma Ramotswe, who is young and sweet and she has two children she was telling me about. The head night shift nurse is Matron, (even though she isn’t, she just has a great no-nonsense manner about her that somehow reassures) and she helped me last night to sleep. I was pacing and pacing, the voices telling me I brought them on myself and I was making it all up for attention, and she saw my distress and brought me the wonder syrup that helps me sleep and dull the voices.

So far, I have seen most of my family. My sister brought me her favourite minion t-shirt, and painted a picture alongside me. My mum drew me a weird blobby awesome zentangle-type-thing, and I painted it in. My nana has been and so has my southern uncle and gran. The auntie who has been inpatient before is coming today.

This morning, Uncle and I saw a bluetit- he has hung out bird feeders to attract the local birds. The one we saw had a clump of grass in its little beak, and it flew to the basketball net and fluttered down the pole.

“See,” Uncle said, “aren’t they resilient? They make something out of nothing.”

“Yes,” I replied, “they are. It’s a lesson for us all.”

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Admitted part 4

So, more on what actually happened yesterday to me…

I went to my psychologist appointment, even though the voices were telling me I should cancel, or tell her I’m fine. They wanted me to lie so they could get me to kill myself that day, or keep trying til I had succeeded. I resisted them with everything I had, and broke down completely in front of my psychologist.

Dr K was very concerned about the state I was in. Needless to say, you guys have seen on my blog how bad it is. The voices have been intolerable, and I told Dr K as much. She told me she thought it might be a very good idea if I went into hospital, just to keep me safe.
She rang ahead to Accident and Emergency, and asked for the RAID team. They are the rapid response mental health assessors, and they were as good as their word when I got there. I did have a long wait, but eventually I got to speak to someone and I broke down again. As a rule, I hate crying in front of strangers, but I couldn’t help it yesterday. I was so so upset and shocked. The voices, of course, were non stop, even when the lovely Triage nurse who did my initial assessment was talking to me.

The guy from the RAID team didn’t want to let me leave, because I kept crying that I felt like eventually someone at home would fall asleep and I would be able to take a steak knife to myself. I felt powerless, out of control, but better once the decision to admit me had been made.

Once that was done, I had a long, long wait to see the consultant at the mental health ward, and eventually she came. J called me before she did, and he was his usual calm reassuring self. I love how gentle he is with me. The voices may make me paranoid, but god, if he had wanted to run from me, he would have by now. Instead, he was reassuring me, telling me he believes I will be fine.
The consultant was very nice. She was efficient, calm, and great at taking blood- not a bruise this morning, hooray! Usually needles make me bruise massively, but nothing else does, so I was please to wake without a bruise.

I’m settling in as best I can. It helps I have my own room with a lockable door and its own ensuite toilet. I’m still nervous and tired, and jumpy, but I feel safe. At last.

Today the voices started on me from the moment I was woken up for breakfast this morning. I haven’t really had much of a break. I think that later on I meet my personal consultant, and I can always talk to any of the nurses if I have a problem.

I thought my mum would be more upset with my admittance than she is, but actually she isn’t. She thinks I shouldn’t be in here, but that’s ok. She is at least happy I am safe.

All my friends have rallied round me. I have your support here which is invaluable, and I also have J, my sister and family. Thank you all.

These hours are dragging.

So I got a call from my Psychologist, after having a breakdown today in front of my mum. She suggested I ring her, but when I did she was in a meeting. Dr K rang me back, but I was in the car with both my mum and my Gran. Gran doesn’t know much apart from that I am depressed, and she sure as hell doesn’t know about the voices of the dark passenger. So I was limited in what I could convey to Dr K, and I must have sounded cagy and desperate. She somehow thought I wasn’t coming to my appointment tomorrow, but I told her I certainly was coming. She said I should write down everything the voices are saying and bring it tomorrow to our appointment.

I wanted to cry after the short conversation. I felt like it had gone totally wrong. What about the fact that the voices are STILL telling me to go and find the steak knives/bleach/ibuprofen and kill myself? What about that I am self-harming again, that my mum saw all my cuts today, that I still hear the voices telling me to go get the steak knife and do much worse damage?

I’m so fucking tired of it all. I want to sleep and dream, not of some awful man forcing himself on me again, but of nothing. Maybe a couple of mad dreams about talking dogs or flying would be great, but I don’t want any more nightmares where I am pressed against a wall and choking on aftershave, a hard bulge pressing threateningly into my hip? I don’t want this any more!

At least there is tomorrow. Mum is staying with me tonight so that I have someone to wake if the voices get bad again.

I’m so tired, everyone. I’m just so tired.