My Condition…

I have a condition,
I am super skinny,
Fit,
And beautiful.
When I look in the mirror,
My reflection is wrong!
When people comment on my weight,
Their opinions are wrong!
When I get on the scales,
The numbers are wrong!
I am not big boned,
I am strong!
I am not fat,
I am simply perfect!
Every man’s wet dream!
All women are green eyed with envy,
When they look at me!
This is self diagnosed,
And perhaps delusional,
But if I believe in it enough,
It may actually,
Truely become my condition!

Health is health and often shall mental and physical cross paths, if you go into nursing as a career, perhaps remember that!

When did I become such a danger to society?
Four people they sent for me!
It was extremely intimidating,
Slightly humiliating,
Most certainly overwhelming.
As people carted me off,
From a general hospital to a mental health hospital,
I could hear their thoughts,
“Hip Hip Hooray”,
“The mad lady is on her way!”
The stigma alongside mental health,
Rings loud and clear in The Q.E,
Queen Elizabeth Hospital,
Birmingham.
I encounted some terrible behaviour this stay,
Stuck on The CDU Ward.
Not easily offended,
Yet I received some,
Offence that is,
Off fellow patients,
Family and friends,
Staff!
Subjected to racism,
Sharing a bay with supporters of none other than,
Donald Trump.
Words exchanged were outspoken and brash,
They spoke absolute trash,
Not even quietly,
But loud and proud,
As if to offend me!
“I only want a white doctor!”
“Well I don’t like the black nurses!”
If they are so high and mighty,
Open your purse,
Leave quietly,
And seriously do one!
Get care privately!
Perhaps then they wouldn’t have to deal with,
“People like me”.
The NHS is supposed to represent,
GREAT BRITAIN.
As citizens we must appreciate it’s assets,
And embrace the unity of every nationality,
Because that is supposed to be what puts the,
GREAT,
In Britain.
Not only racism,
But prejudice too.
Patients making remarks about funny farms,
Categorising others as mental,
Like mental is a dirty word!
Staff complaining about being pushed out of their job description,
“FUCKING MENTAL HEALTH PATIENTS,
THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE GENERAL!”
Well welcome to the real world,
Idiots!
Mental Health and Physical Health are few and far between.
What happened to compassion?
Empathy?
People can really be so mean.
Some staff were Angels,
Don’t get me wrong.
I thank them for saving me,
Helping me,
And looking after me.
Sincerely.
The likes of Cat,
Chelsea and more,
But the good ones,
Like I said,
Were few and far between,
And the majority,
Unnnecessarily mean.

The Big, “H”

The corridors are long and thin,
The bright white of the walls,
Make them seem never ending.
People in blue wherever you go,
Always rushing around,
And around,
Everything so fast,
Never slow.
There’s a beep-beep here,
And a bleep-bleep there,
Anywhere,
Everywhere,
Everywhere a beep, bleep.
Not a happy place,
But apparently a safe place,
The best place,
If you have a case,
Of the sicks.
For people who drink backwards,
Liquid flows out of their mouth,
The opposite to what you are meant to do.
For people who are broken,
And need some special glue.
For people who are lost upstairs,
And don’t know what to do.
For people with lazy lungs,
And need machines to get the air through.
A place for the wanderers,
The upside downers,
The drowners that need help to stay afloat,
Secure,
In the magic place of potions and lotions.
They’ll fix you up a gooden,
With a one, two, three,
And so you can get on with living,
And being where you need to be!

We Can No Longer Deny it, December 1st Is Here…

As Christmas is nigh,
I look up at Santa’s map,
The starlit sky,
Where he shall sleigh his mighty sack.
December is here,
I feel nothing but cold,
The young ones full of cheer,
Ba Humbug I am getting old,
But as Christmas is near,
Children write their lists,
In hope of getting many gifts,
To be bestowed upon them December 25th!

Happy Christmas 🎅 one and all. December can be a lonely time for anyone and everyone, be Kind and make it known that you care for the good people in your life. From a mental health point of view, I have struggled, relapsed and been in Crisis over many Christmas periods. I was in a mental health hospital through the Christmas period a few years back, I remember being permitted hospital leave on December 25th and relaxing with my Mum, Step Dad, Sister and late Grandfather, it was magical. While the lucky ones enjoy lavish gifts, the even luckier ones enjoy friends, family and festive cheer. Enjoy your Christmas but be mindful of those on the streets, the elderly who are lonely and feel forgotten, the sick children in hospital and their parents and families, the lonely, the suicidal and unwell. Please share this link, it is easy to forget the unfortunate during the hustle, bustle, preparation and celebration of Christmas. A little acknowledgement and a smile may be small and effortless to you but mean the world to another.
Merry Christmas From No One xxx

Darkie!

Isn’t it strange when memories suddenly flow back, memories that you completely forget have happened to you!? I am sure you have all experienced this. May it be a coping mechanism or just down to a flakey memory.
The topic of mental health and the percentages of people with Afro Caribbean descent being treated more aggressively then those from other heritages seems to be quite hot at the moment. As a black female who has been in the mental health system most of my life but more heavily since 2013, I thought that I had only experienced what I considered to be racist encounters, via staff of fellow Afro-Caribbean descent. I have blogged about those experiences before.
Yesterday I was asked to share those documented encounters with a black mental health worker for a case study, and upon reflection in conversation today, I remembered something else.
In December 2013 I was accosted by another patient of dual heritage, she questioned my gender (on an all female ward) and consistently called me a, “Black Bitch”, a “Fat Bitch” and a “Nigger”! Everyday for almost a month. I was scared, offended and uncomfortable around her but inevitably saw her most days as there isn’t to much room when stuck in an acute ward. The staff seemed to fear her also and so she was never reprimanded. Looking back at the situation more rationally, I now realise that the described patient was transgender, physically obese and had identity issues with being from a dual heritage descent. Her bullying was a projection of her own self loathing, unfortunately, unintentionally and unluckily for me, I ignited some discomfort within her. I did not understand at the time and it clearly distressed me and interfered with my recovery but now three years later and the ability to reflect upon the situation rationally, her verbal abuse and issues with me, weren’t actually about me at all!
During another relapse and an admission to another hospital only last year, I experienced something similar. There was an elderly black lady. She disliked me from the moment that she saw me and made it known each and every time she looked at me. “You Black Bitch!” “You are as dark as chocolate, look at you!” “I don’t look like you, you darkie”. She threw things at me, glared at me, waved her Christian cross necklace at me, even tried to physically attack me. Once again, I felt sabotaged and the staff didn’t really intervene. I think on one occasion when she threw her corn beef (which I hate by the way) sandwich at my head, she was sent to her room! It is kind of funny thinking back. At the time it was frustrating, hospital is about recovery, monitoring and restoration, not more aggregation and agitation, but once again, I understand now that her manner and behaviour were more about her own issues and not really about me at all!
So two more real life accounts on my experiences of being black, mentally ill and hospitalised.
I think that I have been penalised and judged more, for having a history of achievement’s. I had the get up and go despite many odd’s stacked against me, the awol father, teenage mother, alopecia, the bullying, depression etc. I auditioned and placed with The National Youth Theater at sixteen and seventeen. Getting into Drama School at seventeen. Moving to London alone at eighteen. Acquiring a 2.1 Bachelor Of Arts Degree by twenty-one. Being self sufficient. Being an Actor. Working in education. Having all of that as my history plus my artistic expression and vocabulary to date, it seems to get some mental health worker’s backs up. This disgusts me because to me it is very black and white, basic, and I always try to see the grey. All human beings have mental health and anyone and everyone’s mental health can get knocked, bruised, fractured or broken, just like any other part of the body. No matter who you are or where you come from, no one is immune and absolutely everyone is susceptible! It is not just the mighty who can fall, and there is no shame in needing help to get back up!

Coming home…

Coming home has been most strange. The flat was not like how I thought that I left it. Of cause having a visit from home treatment team today was indeed an eye opener! When I left my house twenty-three days ago I was out of sorts. Being hypnotized by psychosis, under pressure to conform to the wants, needs and most particular instructions off the two voices with no face (he and she) as I call them, I was obviously not at all in control of my mind, body, soul and actions. I remember certain particulars that I felt obligated to complete, to clean the flat, do all of my laundry, pack hospital bag, write goodbye letters, to prepare a deathly cocktail of alcohol and pharmaceutical drugs. I remember feeling tired and emotional, wanting to sleep but feeling forced to be up all hours completing my set tasks. I believe I did conk out for a short while, waking up in hope that the crisis had come and gone, but it had not. As if I hadn’t slept (and I hadn’t much at all), the orders continued and I completed but all on their ghastly list. Soon after, luckily home treatment arrived and for a brief period of time, just having a kind and familiar face in my home, I managed to articulate and confess as to what had happened. My fate may have turned out somewhat different if my nurse had not come exactly when she did. Once I confessed, it was game over. I don’t remember much else. I was all of a sudden in an ambulance, then in A&E. Today I got told that I could not walk, talk or keep my eyes open, apparently they had to put me in a wheel chair to evacuate my house, that explained why my new hall way rug was rolled up when I got home Saturday. How scary! I had completely forgotten, the paramedics,the ambulance journey, my time in A&E, apart from being pinched, poked and prodded a lot, yet I could not move nor talk, paralysed from the lethal concoctions that I had taken. I must have been there all day. I then got wheeled to a psychiatric decisions unit where I was instructed to lay bedding out on a reclining chair in a communal room. I did and I slept. The next day I was admitted to a female acute psychiatric ward. I have spoken about the trials and tribulations of my twenty-two day hospital stretch since then and there is nothing else or new to report.
I was discharged from hospital Saturday. My mother picked me up, we stopped off at Aldi and then she drove me home, helped me take in all of my hospital bags and shopping and then left me to it. I panicked straight away. I could not find where I had put me house keys, I ran out of my flat, pressed the code to exit my garden on the big, black, cast iron gate, shouting, “Mummy, Mummy, Mummy” as she speed off my driveway and up the road. She didn’t hear me, she didn’t see me! What was I to do? At that very moment, I felt so very vulnerable. After three weeks in an institution where you hate that everything that you do and say is watched and recorded, I panicked about being alone, about having to be independent instantaneously. I found my keys but sat down and had a huge panic attack, followed by a huge cry. I am more then aware that I am not a child, but that innocence, insecurity and reliance on being guided, lead the right way and reassured are all but the same guidelines that one needs when they are feeling vulnerable. I may be out of hospital but I am still feeling very vulnerable. The voices have dumbed down and so I am no longer in crisis but my own thoughts are louder then ever. I am trying to process what happened but I am physically and emotionally exhausted. I can’t focus on one simple task at a time and keep ending up with several half done chores. My emotions are tender, my head is sore. I miss the noise from the ward, even the fifteen minute checks, including torch lights shining through your door all through the night! It was all so tight sceduled , it made me feel safe. The chaos from other patients disallowed me to focus on what I had done, what had happened, what was going on, what was happening to me.
Now home alone, I have no choice but to acknowledge what things had lead to my latest relapse/crisis whatever you want to call it. One thing that I know for sure, is that there is an awful lot to process. I feel a burden asking for help, especially when I am not sure what it is that I need help with exactly. I do know that whether I am in hospital or not, I am going through some mega trials and tribulations and support, even just a text, is very welcome, such communication means so very much to me, it proves that people care, it gives me strength to start to believe that my existence on this earth is not worthless and that I am not undeserving of the gift of life, because that is how I mostly feel. When manic, it all seems so silly and I feel like nothing is really wrong at all. When depressed, it all seems terribly unfair and unbearable. Those moments terrify me. I fluctuate from both, over and over, all day, everyday. They say that you can only help yourself but occasional contact from people that may assume that I know that they care, would benefit me beyond belief. Radio silence from all and sundry leaves me feeling paranoid and worthless. Unfortunately I need to be told that I am cared for, important to someone, some people. With my low self confidence, I cannot take it as read. In all honesty, I never have. Perhaps if with your help and the strength that I hope to find and build, in time, I may be strong enough to ignore my psychosis, there is no guarantee that I can rid of it but perhaps one day, I can put a lid on it, feel worthy and work on the rest from there.
If people out there do not know or understand my mental heath issues and want to talk to me about it, it won’t be easy, I cannot promise to have all the answers but I would rather talk it out before you write me off and I loose you. My blog is rather informative but if you need more, reach out to because the sad reality of all this, is that it isn’t over and I have no idea when and if the hallucinations, impulse and self destructive behaviour will come again, and therefore I cannot promise that I will be as lucky, should there be a next time.
Please just take comfort in knowing that I am trying my very best to reach the top and stay on it, being low is not a good way for me to go, but it is happening more and more over the years and I feel like it is out of my control.
Be in my life, help me make positive decisions and stay on top, then and only then will I really help others, by speaking the truth about recovery, should I personally discover it.

Hospital Discharge

Today I got good news. News that I would indeed be let out of the psychiatric institution that has been my home for three weeks, aside from my short stay at the general hospital where they treated my blood infection (sepsis). I have transitioned from one of my worst crisis episodes over the past three and a half years since my breakdown to a place where I feel ready to go back home and get some normality. As much as the downside of being in hospital means very little alone time and definitely not alot of quiet time, I will almost miss help being at hand 24/7 and being amongst people. My life in London was very sociable. I had alot of friends and acquaintances and have barely any in Birmingham. I wish I could just get out there and meet new people, potential life long friends but it gets harder with age. Most people my age already have their solid group of friends, or they are settling down, getting married and/or having kids. I feel so very left behind. I like my own company and I need routine. Prior to hospital I was in a relationship which meant that I was alone less and my routine took second place to my old someone’s needs and desires. I wish that I could say no regrets as we had some good times but being poorly and emotionally unstable, the whole situation was handled in an insensitive manor by my old someone and that fed my demons. There was already so much going on, it is not surprising that I cracked. Unfortunately after so many relationship hiccups these past few years, one romantic, the rest all platonic, and with my anxiety in mind, I am less inclined to get out there and meet new people. If my energy is negative, it will only attract more negativity. I have never loved myself, perhaps there lye’s the real problem but I do plan to nurture myself back into a level where I can at least feel comfortable being me. A place where I can enjoy making memories with the very few nearest and dearest in my life. I am happy for everyone who has found love, who feels comfortable in their work and have great social lives and salaries. Do I feel slightly resentful for not being a more active part in their lives? Yes, but the world can’t go on hold until I catch up because in all fairness, with all the difficulties that I have had to endure, that I imagine will always be part of my life, I will never catch them up and as much as it hurts, I must not hinder there happiness and success. Someone has to miss out and/or loose out and it seems that I am that someone. The runt, the looser, the down trodden and forgotten. So the likes of yoga, wonder care smart and the gym shall be my loyal trustees’ until I gain some confidence back and then and only then will I take another chance at weighing up my options. I have so much love to give, I really don’t want to waste it. Let’s hope this discharge from hospital allows me to open a new chapter, to start afresh. Fingers and toes well and truely crossed.