Hospital Diary 2 of 10 (From Sunday 11th September 3pm)

25 Sep

How can I even start to moan about my life today – the anniversary of such sickening and cruel acts over in the US. And yet, because I have to write I will write.

I wrote how much I wanted to die a couple of days ago on Wednesday. On Thursday (I think – my days are still a bit muddled up in my head) I again overdosed and ended up going firstly to my local hospital and then being moved that evening over to the main hospital. I think this was so I could get the relevant blood tests and also because my pulse was extremely fast.

On Friday I was transferred from that hospital for 3 hours to get to the looney bin where I am now. I met a psychiatrist earlier who seemed really nice. He seemed to be genuinely interested in trauma and has been using EMDR therapy for quite a while. He says it’s an excellent treatment for people who have suffered a trauma in their life that they just can’t get over. It sounds like a good move to me – something I’ve never tried before.

He was the weekend psychiatrist so I asked to see him briefly again today. It’s Sunday afternoon now. He came to see me and we went into one of their quiet rooms. He asked me what was happening in my head. I told him the voices were beginning to get really bad and I was scared that they wouldn’t switch off.

His response? “You are an intelligent girl, you know that medication is not the answer”.

So we ended up in some stupid debate over diazepam, lorazepam, temazepam, and every other benzo you can think of. So I got upset with him and told him that I didn’t give a fuck about any kind of ‘pam’ I just wanted the fucking voices to STOP for a while.

His response? Nothing. No help. No acknowledgement of the craziness in my head. Just “make sure you tell your psychiatrist everything at your review tomorrow.”

And then he left.

I know this was extremely bad of me but I didn’t know if I would still be prescribed my diazepam in here so before I came in I quickly bought another 15 blues and put them in a little bag stuffed into my bra. Well I’m upset, distressed, no one seems to want to speak to me even for five minutes ‘cos they’re all too fucking “busy”. There is no one around to try and have a chat with to help me calm down. I’ve got no concentration so I can’t read or watch TV. I feel emotional and miserable. Fuck all I wanted was a break from my head. I’d already been feeling more and more paranoid. Then I was even more paranoid that someone would find the blues and I couldn’t stuff them any deeper into my bra. So I went into the toilet with a bottle of water and swallowed the 15 of them. I would never have done it had someone just paid a little bit of attention to how desperate I was feeling. A chat could have avoided all of this. Anyway I took the pills, I’m getting so sleepy already.

I’m so tempted to do a runner from here. Abscond. Whatever. But I think I might fall over if I try and stand up. And I have no money right now and there are no buses on a Sunday so really I’m kinda screwed. Sleep might help. Let’s try sleeping instead. Just want it to stop really. My eyes are getting tired so fuck dinner time at 5pm and fuck all of them here.

I am going to sleep.

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