Locked up

Voluntary. It means a totally different thing to mental health professionals than it does to the laymen. You believe that if you sign yourself in to a psych ward voluntarily, you have the ability to leave. What it actually can mean is, you are voluntary until such time as you don't want to be here, and then we will section you under the mental health act, and make you an involuntary patient.

I'm not complaining. I was treated well. It was probably the right thing for me therapeutically at the time, however much it pissed me off. But... its kind of laughable right? Voluntary

The end of last week is all a bit hazy. Here is what I do know. I took a whole lot of benzos. Drank a whole lot of vodka. Apparently, I wrote, a couple of goodbye sweet world notes. I rang my therapist (D) to cancel our appointment. She was concerned enough that she insisted I either call an ambulance or my Case manager to take me to hospital. I did. At some point I then decided, I didn't want to go to hospital, and began filling the bath tub before they could come. I guess they arrived before I put that drug addled plan into play.

When I woke in hospital, they told me I was being taken to the psych ward, and could change make into my civillian clothes. Unfortunately, they had been cut through. Turns out instead of transporting me by car as originally planned, an ambulance had to be called as my heart rate went (paradoxically) through the roof, instead of through the floor as it should have with the benzos. They're still not sure why.

Upon installment in psych ward, I decided to finish off what I started and tried to asphixiate myself with a plastic bag and cord. At this point I was 'specialled'...which basically means one to one nursing at all times, (Yup! Including bathrooms) And sectioned as a 'risk to myself' and an involuntary patient under the mental  health act.

The world was topsy turvy. On one hand, I truly wanted it all to end, and I continue to fail to see how things can improve, and on the other nature wins out and wants to protect our survival. I am beaten and bruised emotionally and not really up for a big post, but will try again tomorrow.

My family has finally come to realise that they need to drop their expectations. For the moment. I cannot be the golden child. I am fighting just to keep my head above water, I cannot carry their hopes too.

This week, if nothing else, was a wake up call. Things have to change. I cannot survive if they continue the way they are.

Thank you for all your kind wishes and support. Hopefully Ophelia will be 'back in the building' soon/ Love and peace.