World Mental Health Day 2016

I am thoroughly under prepared for World Mental Health Day this year (I blame working full time and trying to be an adult). So instead of writing a thoughtful and informative piece on mental health, I have a short piece of writing from a while ago. Be warned, it's not cheery. It's about my experience from being in hospital following an attempt to take my own life last summer. I'm posting it because, to me, it actually rather perfectly captures the confusion and intense fear that consumed me. If you fancy a more informative post, check out my post on Anorexia Nervosa which I wrote a couple years ago: http://abinichollsruns.blogspot.co.uk/2015/02/anorexia-nervosa-my-story.html

I guess what I want to say with this post, is that mental illness can be terrifying for those going through it. I had a good experience in hospital, with exceptionally caring nurses who made all the difference. But the fear was so real and so intense. It is a time of my life I would rather forget, but at the same time I think it's important to use the experience to spread awareness and understanding. Things are so different for me now. I am well, and happy and a functioning member of society. 

I shall end the ramble here and just leave you with this piece of writing. If you are struggling with mental illness yourself and need someone to talk to, I recommend giving Samaritans a call on 116 123. If you want to learn more about mental illness, drop me a message and let me know, and I will try and answer any questions. Also let me know any topics you would like me to cover in future blog posts. Love to all, have a good week guys!

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At 6.30am, the lights of the hospital ward flicker on. They don’t wake me up; I’ve been awake all night. Between the visits from the doctors and psychiatrist at 3am and the half hourly blood pressure checks I’ve not had a minute of sleep. The ward begins to stir around me. Curtains between beds are fully opened. A nurse offers me some supplies for a wash. I decline. I am not entirely sure where I am. Or how I got here. The past few hours have been a complete blur of tests, and repeating the same information over and over again to different healthcare professionals. Each time, my story getting more muddled, more confused and less detailed. I lay in bed completely still even though I’m desperate for the toilet. I know my legs won’t actually carry me there. And I honestly don’t care if I wet myself. I don’t care about anything.

My stomach hurts, a deep aching pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I feel so nauseous that even if I had the motivation to move, I know I wouldn’t be able to. My head throbs. I feel dizzy. I don’t understand how I got here. I don’t remember what I did. I don’t want to remember.

Nurses offer me a cup of tea, which I accept but which goes cold beside me. I can’t even face taking on any liquid. My stomach wants nothing in it. I am offered food. I refuse it all. Even when I am asked by a nurse if she can make me a sandwich so that I eat something. I shake my head and close my eyes again, lying sweaty and exhausted in my bed.

Eventually I ask a nurse to take me to the toilet. She brings a wheelchair over to assist me and I struggle to get out of bed into it. I am so aware of how bad I smell. My entire body is shaking uncontrollably.

When I lay back in bed, still, my legs twitch every few seconds. I would cry, but I don’t have the energy to. I have nothing left. I am at the end. I did not expect to wake up this morning. But I did.

As life on the ward starts up for the day, I wait until a doctor comes to see me to ask where I am. I know what hospital I am in, but that’s all. I ask for my ward and bed number and visiting hour details so that I can at least have my own pajamas brought to me. I’ve spent the night in a hospital gown following an ECG earlier in the night. Every time I move in bed, I find another tab on my body left over from the ECG. My heart was fine. My blood work was fine. My blood pressure was becoming fine. My life was no longer in danger. Not physically anyway.

I see the girl in the bed next to me. She looks young, and hasn’t emerged from her cucoon of sheets all morning. When she does, I see her face properly. I see her arms, her scars. I look at her and I know. She is here for the same reason as me. She is at the end.

I am told I could be here for days until they can find me a more permanent bed. I am told that could be anywhere in the country. And that is all I am told. I have never been so scared in my entire life.