This will be the hardest letter to write.  It will require me to acknowledge myself on the deepest terms, in a way where I may struggle to find the words I need to express myself correctly.  In this piece of writing silence and a joke will not do.  I deserve to at least understand what I am feeling and experiencing at the moment.  I will not focus on the triumphs and despair of the past.  But the current situation.  The moment I currently live in.  Right now, right here. 

So at the moment life is just a bit shit.  The noise and demands being made of me are beyond what I have experienced previously.  I feel like I am in a reality which others do not understand or comprehend.  When I try to explain myself the words are coming out, but the looks on the faces of others show me that it is not a shared reality.  They do not belief that what I am experiencing can be fact.  Where as I am living it.  I get confused sometimes but the majority of the time my thoughts are clear if not a bit fast.  I understand what is happening to me in a way that no one else does.  I understand that I hear, see, feel, taste things that are not experienced at the same time as others in that moment.  I am also certain that the voices I experience also occupy the minds and souls of others.  These things are clear to me. But cause confusion in others.  

What I am experiencing isn’t new or an undiscovered phenomenon, it has been part of my live for decades.  It’s just at the moment their demands control not just my mind but my heart and soul.  That is why it is so difficult to just do what I know needs to be done.  The risk is too great.

I am not going to go into woulda, shoulda coulda’s because I cannot live in fantasy where I will just do as others and myself really want to do and comply with the Command Drs. Because at the moment that is not possible.  I do not have the strength of will, I hope that in time I will break through that barrier and will start to make the strides that are needed.  Not just the baby steps of making it through each moment but actual paces, large strides and even a bit of a jog (watching me run would be too funny) to get to be me again.

I also have to come to terms with the fact that some of what I am experiencing may be slightly on the paranoid side.  When I march around the corridors and look behind me I know that no one is going to creep up on me but I still have to check more times than is required.  The water/food thing is getting boring.  Who the hell can survive off three mouthfuls of half cooked (the water is not hot enough to cook the noodles/pasta properly).  I know I can shift some timber but it cannot be a healthy way to live.  The TV thing is beyond a joke, it is an actual fear of hearing or seeing the TV/videos/moving screens and the almost certainty that occurs in me that the staff can hear my thoughts if I see/hear the TV/etc.  Part of me thinks if they could I would be getting more injections lol (sorry not supposed to be joking).  But the feeling, the knowledge behind the idea is real.  It is just I do not understand how they do it.  As a person who believes in science I do not get how it is done.  But then how does science explain all the shit I experience on a moment to moment basis.

What I said in ward round.  The wishing that it would be quiet and still and that I could just be at peace.  Came out a little differently than how I just explained it.  I said that I would jump off a motorway bridge if I could ( how is there no fucking motorway bridges within absolute miles of here).  These thoughts I know are selfish.  That I have a family, children to consider but if I could just stop it all the feeling would be immense.  Even when I am classed as well and coping with life I experience moments and noise that would drive the kindest and most open minded person to distraction and utter despair.  It is only through self taught coping strategies and a will of iron ( I have my little family to thank for that determination) that I am able to live my life without the stigma of madness that so so many other people are tarred with.  

Tomorrow is the mental health assessment I wish I could wear my sunniest mask.  But that would be wrong of me to allow myself to go home.  Put my children through this turmoil would be nothing but wrong.  However hard it is I must be honest almost to the point of bluntness.  Try and make them understand the risk is real, that my reaction is a Mothers reaction.  But in time I will gain a better control and that the reality I reside in now will be less prominent and that my shared reality with others will be the one that I am in the most.  That is what I hope. x

But even after saying that I really want them to say “go on lass off you go” - we can wish x

There goes the keys again, these sounds will stay with me long after I have put these experiences behind me and moved on with my life.  The echo of each of these moments will pull me back here, to a place I hope to leave behind me forever until the next relapse (fingers crossed, NOOOO!!!).

Waiting for the only supposedly therapeutic action of the week (ward round) is like waiting for judgement day.  Your week has been written down in haste by over worked and stressed members of staff.  A brief exchange noted and any out of character behaviour jotted down.  Either that or the word settled (I hate that word) thrown into a whirlpool of paragraphs.  These sentences are then used to assess our week.  Then there is the actual ward round, which will decide our fate.  I have requested that the nurses pull me up if I am being an arse in ward round, it doesn’t suit or help me.  It makes me look like a spoilt and really unwell child.  I am hoping to have my recovery plan looked at and that will not be achieved if I do not communicate my wishes.

Bang, Buzz, stomp.  How are you supposed to think with these persistent clashes of noise and vibrations.  I hope they understand actually how difficult the first step of my recovery plan will be to action.  The fear I will feel the tears I will not want to run down my face and splash on my jumper.  I will wipe my wet cheeks with raw anger and shame.  I will do my best not to crack in front of them.  For fucks sake it will only be swallowing some tablets.  I have done it so many times (for positive and negative outcomes) in my life it is uncountable, but on this occasion it will be the hardest thing I have ever asked myself to do, even though I know it is for the best.  Breaking that cycle, dimming the noise this is the only chance to go home to them.  Whilst in my heart, I still feel that taking them will put my dearest ones in the most horrendous harms way.  Stuck in the middle of my own thoughts and wishes.  Such an awful place to be.

We had a community meeting on the ward today.  After allowing us to vent our grievances for a considerable amount of time, mainly with regards to the building and facilities they tell us we are moving wards, possibly this Thursday.  What was the actual point, I might have started the meeting with we are moving wards on Thursday.  This ward will be done and dusted and you will have a sparkly new one to fuck, oh and there will be men too. 

For some women just the thought of that is terrifying.  In their home life’s some men have taken the living soul from these women’s day to day existence.  Now they are expected from what could be the worst period of illness in their lives with men ( as innocent as they may be) looming in the back ground.  Just their presence  will feel oppressive and the effect of this can be so detrimental, that it could set back recovery and delay the release from their forced detention, at the pleasure of the NHS.

Thankfully for me my story is not so heartbreaking so the impact won’t be as great.  After all I met my lovely William on a mixed ward and we are still living our happily ever after ( past and current glitches set aside).  This sentence makes me realise even though I am here I am still in such a lucky position.  I feel selfish and a tad guilty to even think of any part of my life as a hardship.  

On the plus side they have set up the ping pong table, swoosh, tap, wallop here we come!!!

To be honest a little nervous regarding today’s ward round.  I do hope my inner arsehole ( don’t be rude) doesn’t come out (don’t be very rude!).  

I need this to go smoothly, I need to attempt my plan in the least and break that cycle that is destroying my day to day home life and is keeping me here, in this fly infested, chairs smeared in blood, blocked toilets hell hole.

Tick Tock,  the day passes with each moment taking that slight bit too long.  Dragging each minute into ten, then twenty and the sequence follows through to the long whole complete hour.  The lack of something satisfying and with a purpose is almost some kind of boredom based torture.  I had a chat with Nicola at work about my AN process.  Parts of my brain that have been dead for weeks lit up and came back to life, even if it was just for that five minute chat.  I am glad I am motivated to do at least something most days, without the distraction I may sink into a place I do not wish to enter and would fear that I would never return.

Post ward round - My Dr doesn’t like to be told what to do lol.  He has agreed to the plan with sedatives for three days, then a review.  I will take that as a win for now.  The hard part will be tonight.  How I am going to achieve my goal is a mystery to me but I must persevere.  The only block in this situation is myself and my inner demons.  Breaking the cycle is my goal, keeping the cycling rotating wildly in an uncontrolled manner is the voices.  I do not know if I will win but I must give it my best shot.  The pain I already feel in my very core is so animated.  But I keep breathing.  Each breathe is proof that I am still here, not the person that they see and judge so harshly with this cruel condition.  But me, the hard working, wife and mother.  The funny (only I think I am funny), caring person I know I truly am.  I will not become the person engulfed with the madness they expect to witness.  I am aware I have this illness, doesn’t mean I am going to show it.

Peer support on the ward, should be put on the activity board, because apart from the meals and medication it is virtually the only consistent activity I have witnessed.  The kindness of others is so clear to see.  Women who are going through so much, caring for people who were moments ago strangers from all over the country.  Mixed accents, ages, diagnoses and personalities coming together to form a temporary community.  A community wish embraces the differences among us and envelopes those in need, in a virtual (sometimes very real) embrace.  A hug.  When you are weeping, tears falling from your cheeks, falling to your knees,. That human contact and warmth is a god send.  The touch of another person who is in a similar position can take a moment of pain away.  Can provide comfort that no one to one or ward round would ever achieve.  When the moment comes for me to provide outward display of kindness, I give my biggest mum hug.  Take them in my arms and wish for one split second they feel connected to another and a teeny tiny bit of pain evaporates for that moment.  That they feel warm and cared for, even in this earth shattering experience.  That firm hold can offer such a chemical release in your brain it is probably better than any benzo I have ever had.  Whether it is giving the hug or needing it.  It should be prescribed.

Any how got to shoot they have unpacked a jigsaw from the 1800’s.  Time to get a retro illness like cholera from the tiny bitty pieces.

Deep in slumber, my mind distracted from the chaos and sadness of the day.  Then an explosion of light, flash, you are awake.  I utter FFS and then stumble to the desk, write a polite note, stick it to my door and then try to get back to sleep.  A few hours later, I am awoken again by the chatter of cleaners discussing bog rolls and whatever they wish to discuss using loud clear voices.  I am up.  The day has begun, at least for me.  It is 6am.

I know what the layout of the ward brings my mind to think about.  An airport lounge, the layout of the chairs, the large screen.  But instead of excited travellers, here sits people with the weight of the world on their minds.  Instead of excited smiles are looks that portray hopelessness and despair.  No 6am holiday beers (the only time you can drink at that time and not be frowned upon), are tepid paper cups of tea with sugar unstirred and the teabags retrieved with fingers.  The enormous screen displaying the overpowering mind numbing programmes suitable for all, instead of the destination of your dreams.

The screech of a fire alarm siren forced me outside.  I have now been into the “garden” which looks like a prison exercise yard. Gone is the single colour changing beautiful flower and we are now welcomed by wire barriers where even Spiderman would have difficulty to scarper up.  The relaxation of a cute petite garden has been replaced with another reminder that you are detained against your will.  That you are not invited to stay but are forbidden to leave.

After my depot the heaving sobs of my inner pain returned.  The will for my breath to be it’s last overwhelmed me.  My words coming out mixed with the taste of tears, I don’t know where all the snot comes from but here it was running onto my upper lip (why are there no tissues in any of the rooms here?). The start of my 1-1 began with the the muttering of I am not strong enough and pleads for it all to stop.  I passed the laptop so that they could read my words and possibly understand what I was unable to articulate.  Reading, comes with silence only disturbed by my expression of the pain I was feeling.  Noises and sounds coming from a primal place deep inside where I normally keep it in a locked cage of inner silence.  Words of comfort and pain exchanged by both parties.  Eventually I regain control of my tear ducts and can breathe at a steadier pace.  The urge to be sick disappears and conversation returns to a more even and consistent banter.  My face still streaked with tears and stained by red blotches.  But I put my mask back on slate the newbies and comment on the facts of the day.  

Today is a Saturday, a day normal spent as a family on one of our little adventures into the world.  Instead while my children play and explore I write to you and contemplate the day ahead.  I do know that there will what will seem to be endless time, the slowing of the clock, I wish I could change the batteries so each tick and tick were in time with the rest of the world.  I have started the day with dry eyes and the urge to share my story once again.  So I pass these few stretched minutes talking to you from my heart.  I will stop for now as it is almost 9am and I should at least say hello to the other ladies in here.  They at least understand some of what the day will entail and the stuck clock.  The routine that we are urged to follow Meds and meals.  The rest of the care is left to us, peer support at it’s most inclusive, most necessary, the most vital part of our stay here.  Apart from fleeting glimpses of staff so run ragged they would  say that the clock is running too fast and don’t have enough hours in the day.  It is remarkable how purpose changes the perception of time and the passing of it so dramatically.

The next few days will be different and petrifying for some as here come the boys.  I will update the events at my soonest convenience.

The buzzer has gone, I think my brain has memorised it holler and it will be there forever but for now some peace, well apart from the continuous drone of the very large television.  

Do not think there is room for the ping ball table which is a shame.  The one day of very red faced and sweaty games was fun.  We all laughed at our extreme prowess at the very nimble sport.  The ball went from side to side and we batted with a delicate and sometimes not so delicate touch.  On one of my more vicious attempts at the poor little plastic ball I swung so hard my bra broke.  Just another indication in life that these momentous boobs are not meant for any sport.

The first man/boy (oh so young) has arrived, he is all by himself without a male comrade in sight.  Poor lad.  I waved, introduced myself and told him the vital facts that both Tesco and Just eat deliver here.  These are the things they should have in the induction, that and the massive delay in receiving your post so order early.  I have ordered that much online that Will is bringing me an extra rucksack on Tuesday (only four days to go eeek!).  Maybe that is something they should tell people when being sectioned.  Bring an empty bag for all the shit you will buy due to the sport I call internet shopping.  My poor bank account, Will’s poor face when the email pings that I have bought something else.

Being on the newly formed mixed ward brings back so many memories of Moor Lane (the mixed rehab ward), where Will and I were lucky enough to meet, become friends, more than friends and then happily ever after (even with this and past bumps in the road).  I remember us buying walking, singing toy chickens and racing them down the corridor.  The staff looked at us in the most baffled way, all the while the brightest smiles on our faces at a time we were forging a new life away from our past demons and present illnesses.  There was also the time when Will had a self contained flat on the premises.  He had the lovely idea of cooking us a three course meal (our first date, as I see it).  Once the staff twigged I was in his flat a swarm of staff emerged from no where and ordered I leave with immediately.

The psychosis diet to the Schizophrenic (lost 11lbs so far), few is in full swing again, I am managing to drink but the one small meal I had on Thursday (it is now Saturday) seems to be sufficient for the time being.  If I was a celebrity it would be in magazines “Get fucked up in the head and the pounds will fall away”. That with the potential of the new meds giving me bigger boobs will have Will looking at me in a new light (or lighter) PMSL.

My focus for the next few days is the countdown to Will’s visit.  I cannot wait to see him and have a hug.  HIs arms holding me tightly, gripping him like I will never let go.  Walking around the grounds (beautiful so I have been told, not seen them yet) hand in hand talking face to face.  Spending time with the love of my life.  The only man I will ever call mine.  Time will pass so quickly I have to accept that, but I shall treasure them like they are a precious gift.  It will have been seven weeks since we have breathed the same air and stood face to face. 

It sounds kinda mean but I am glad it will just be him and myself (grounds leave a god send).  I love the kids but last time when I was in a similar ward seeing them was amazing, it was the saying goodbye that reduced me to a puddle of mush.  I am prepared for the same when Will departs but it will be worth it to see my wonderful (sometimes a pain, as I am too) husband.  He is being so amazing at the moment.  Taking on the role of a Mum and a Dad, supporting and looking after the children at a time that is difficult for all.  I have to remember that he is bearing the brunt of the stress while I am here.  I am here in a bubble it may consist of pain and paranoia.  But he has every aspect of real life to contend with and that is not an easy thing to be asked of you.

I know I have to be brave when he is here and not babble about every thing that is happening on the ward and in my head.  The time is for us to be together.  Walk on the grass. Fingers entwined and let some of the anguish drift away. Smell the fabric conditioner (a smell of home) on his fresh clothes, look at his face (which he will have shaved for the occasion) and savour the moment because it may be a while before we have the opportunity to spend this time together again.  I feel a warmth at the thought of this, coming through my sadness.  It is my only light amongst all this darkness.  Till Tuesday my Sweet.  As the card that you bought me for our anniversary says “All of me loves all of you”.  Never a truer word has been said.

I know I bang on about the importance of peer support and the importance of this temporary community.  But each day I am involved in and am witness too so many acts of kindness.  The hearts of these broken warriors is something wonderful to behold.  Staff are trained about what to say, what body language to use, offer medication and then walk away.  Eventually after their long arse shifts go home and carry on with their lives, not taking jobs with them.  

But living on the ward is different.  For me to turn my back on one of these women when they are hurting so intensely would not sit well with me.  If I am able I will sit listen and say the things I wish to hear myself when I am at my lowest ebb.  My empathy and that of the other ladies, comes from real experience.  We have all been to the places they document in the text books.  We have looked the beast in the eye and on some days crumbled. On others said let's be having you!  A slight touch on another hand, the feeling of reassurance is good for both parties.  When the words you will get through this, you have before, you are strong.  Come out of another patient’s mouth, there is a conviction.  A real sense that their experience is similar (certainly not the same) to yours gives you faith.  It calms you to a point where you can carry on with the next baby step, next minute, next breathe.  It does not resolve the issue but gives you a little bit of the strength you once had to manage the next moment and feeling that is surely going to happen.  No matter how you wished it wouldn’t.

Another new boy, we now have a duo.  Won’t be long until we have a collection.

The new airport lounge, I mean ward is a massive open space which has two corridors coming off it.  The corridors are really wide and coated in fresh new paint.  But somehow I still manage to walk into the side of the doors, walls any solid object that was here before I arrived and will be there long after I leave.  I must look like a middle aged man who’s had a Wetherspoons breakfast and have too many of his preferred drink.  I am sure I can walk in a straight line.  It’s just the world isn’t as I see it.  My perception is off, going my reality in a separate part of my brain.

The ward is quiet and I it here withy headphones on blasting my brain with music.  I am not listening to the words rather, just blocking out the sound of the TV in the other room.  Only one other patient is up and she seems content with the Tv and sits there with out issue.

I am sat in the ladies lounge (sounds like a seating section at the races), all alone well as ,much as I am these days.  The lights are on, they are blinding, I feel the need to squint.  It’s light outside now, so I do not feel like I should be still asleep.  The day has begun.

My mind is taken back to last night.  During being temporarily taken back to Yorkshire with a slice of Betty’s Yorkshire Parkin.  We discussed the afternoons revelation. That was the white board in the office opened up.  Behind the closed doors there is information that we hold close to our hearts and the majority of the time we keep a secret from others.  Our diagnosis.  For some there may not be an issue but for many myself included it is not information for the whole ward to be aware of.  For the lady who saw the hidden board, it was the first time that she saw what label the Command Dr’s had given her.  She was in shock.  My anger was activated.  “How very dare they” as the famous comic would say.  After some deliberation (must of been at the most a minute), I jumped from the plether blue seat in the ladies room and with the march I use at moments like this, I strode to the first member of staff I laid eyes on (not one of the kindergarten newbies).  My fury exploded.  Once my point was made and I knew that the staff member knew of my displeasure, I retreated back to the safety of the overly bright room of what normally is quiet contemplation.

The day turned into night and the sugar filled Parkin was consumed.  My attention was again brought back to my displeasure of the disclosure from the process followed by the staff.  It was complaint time.  Again power marching to the office.  I asked for the complaints book.  I was given a pen and paper.  I wrote my disgruntled words, ensuring that I mentioned the GDPR laws, asking if the hospital was also governed by these rules. Once finished I handed in and to appease that it would be taken seriously I emailed a copy of the poorly scrawled but factually correct letter to the deputy ward manager.

Putting this behind me for the time being, we carried on our night with giggles and a series of monty python inspired silly and inventive walks to the medication counter and then to our beds.

It was both a afternoon/evening of powerful emotions anger and then the silliness that is only acceptable when detained at the NHS’s pleasure.

Spent the afternoon chilling with the ladies, listening to music in the prison court yard.  Singing, laughing and smiling.  These are the days we should be having with our families but instead we have our little temporary community.  The people we are relying on for comfort and companionship.  The ladies and gents (now) who are becoming friends, at least for this tiny part of our traumatic /frustrating and sometime funny stay here.

Throughout the afternoon we have seen slow mo shots being taken of water being poured over heads and dancing while exercising (not me lol).

While we may be detained against our will and do not wish to be here, we are trying to change the flatness, sadness, despair and loneliness to a warm smile and a hearty laugh.  (Writing this while a lovely lady ties up an inflated blue rubber glove, seems normal here).

I try to remind myself that the weather is constantly changing and it will pass.  But while it is blowing a gale, you feel it’s presence and the wind almost pushes you backwards even with the most determined step.

Had a long chat with the psychologist, apart from the head tilting, it went better than last time.  We discussed feelings, reactions and safety behaviours.  She listened and took notes, contemplating my words and silences. I wanted to run away from such a conversation but I also wanted the help, so stood my ground.  The main part I took away from it was “be present”.  Do not run around like a bee collecting pollen (my words not hers), but use my safety behaviours headphones etc.  Do not run from the now trying to get into the future that is not here yet.  But live in today and and the present moment. Even if it is not where I want to be or to be living through.  

I am trying, listening to my music or the book on audible.  Making sure that I do not buzz like the bee, but be still and breathe.  Let each moment happen without filling every second.  Distraction is great but filling each moment to avoid the experience of now, has not been helping.  It is going to take some practice and I am sure that this is a tactic that will only be suitable for this here, this now.  Once the future becomes the present and I am feeling more like myself I will be able to cope more with the demands of my lovely family and working life.

Life on the ward has also been filled with other people’s own experience of their storms.  Some face it head on with the screams of their pain echoing through the corridors.  Others taking to their bunkers and waiting it out.  Some even fighting back by throwing their old and battered trainers at a poor member of staff (missed).  I have to remember that I have company in this experience and everyone is feeling this hostile weather.

I wait for the day the news readers are followed by my own weather reader and they say that spring is here (not staying until actual spring that is not happening).  The days will get lighter as will my emotions and I will be able to walk forward without being blown back.  The daffodils (which I haven’t had chance to plant this year ffs), will start peaking their heads out and it will show that better days are coming, for me and my beautiful family.

The whispers that follow me around.  The conversations I don’t want to join in on and that I pretend not to hear.  The threats to my family.  The confusion between the real world and my reality.

They say that they are in my head but I am never too sure.  I don’t hear them in my head they are all around me.  Follow my every step, watch my every move.  Hear my every thought, critique  every action and response.

They appear into my line of vision, make me take a second look, just to be sure I can believe my eyes.  I should know better than to look, to validate their existence but the fear sets in.  The fight or flight response in my brain kicks in.  My heart races, I feel as though my breaths are not taking in enough oxygen, the fuzz in my head.  Panic freezes me.  

I continue sipping my coffee, smile at my children but all the can think is stop, please stop.  I need to breathe, to hear silence, to be able to trust the visions around me as fact, not the world in which my reality is not seen by others.

I have heard these voices and seen people that others cannot see since I was fourteen.  I spent my adolescence trying to escape the reality that I lived in, by being in a false reality created by drugs and booze.  The feeling of escape helped while I was out of my mind but was always there upon the sobriety I felt in the morning.  Other forms of escape became the norm.  The feeling of a sharp blade piercing my skin, the hit of pain, that moment of release followed by the instant regret and shame.