I'm not deluded enough (contrary to some doctor's belief) to think this came out of nowhere. Ultimately, mental health professionals will do whatever it takes to keep you safe and to stop you harming yourself, even if that means resorting to sectioning. And whilst I am angry and frustrated and resolute in having capacity, I also understand their predicament and primary objective. Mental illness is scary. Even when you have lived with it, fought with it, cried over it, and become familiar with it over the past decade. Even with all the knowledge and insight in the world, nothing quite prepares you for life on an acute psych ward.
My experience in hospital was based off of an eating disorder unit – a place which, despite the trauma of having to face the very thing you feared most three (or sometimes five) times a day, seems like Disneyland in comparison. The limited positives: tea and coffee are in abundance, you aren't screamed at by staff for pacing the corridors, and mercifully, the bathrooms are unlocked. There is even the luxury of sweetener and chewing gum (little things but considered gold dust in an EDU).
On the slightly less luxurious side, there are no comfy beds or door handles. In fact, consider handles of any kind to be off-limits. Add to that sharps, lighters, umbrellas (not really needed when you are, er, locked up), and sadly, my Glossier concealer has been banished due to the glass container. In contrast, life on an EDU was like being surrounded by a niche, somewhat frowned upon club where everything was So Normal if you just discounted the whole-food-bit. Generally, most people were coherent enough to hold a conversation, and whilst there were many tears and arguments (mostly at meal times), life went on, as it does.
On this ward, life does very much not go on. Time doesn't really have a meaning – if you miss meals you aren't given the very generous alternative between Fortisip or NG. If you want to stay in bed all day, that is acceptable. Equally, if you want to stand in the communal area and scream for hours on end, that also seems to be acceptable. Being surrounded by such unwell people is terrifying and also, terribly sad. You can throw normality out of the window (well you can't because they don't open), along with dignity, integrity, and any strand of sanity you thought you had before being admitted.
It seems painfully ironic that last week I was reading Girl, Interrupted as part of my American Fiction exam, and now my life has quite literally been interrupted – or more fittingly, postponed. Exams, summatives, freedom, decent coffee. Susanna's experiences in McLean Hospital, despite it being fifty-odd years ago, really aren't that far from my current reality. There are no trips to the ice-cream shop and sadly, orderlies don't sing Downtown with you in the early hours of the morning. But there is shouting, screaming, singing, crying. There is also fear, knowing that you have essentially been stripped of your autonomy and the only way out, is to actively prove that you are Well Enough to be back in the real world, graduating as a fully-fledged member of society. It is the only graduation I will be partaking in this year due to ceremonies being postponed until 2021 (thanks Covid).
Insanity is a fine line, and a rocky one. Step too close to the edge and you could find yourself trapped there forever, open to truth but shrouded from the world. But by standing there in suspension, hovering in limbo, you find that time passes, quickly. So, what is better? To stand and deliberate for an eternity, or to jump? Coming from someone deemed suicidal, it's probably best I don't answer this one. (Joking. Kinda).
"People ask, How did you get in there? What they really want to know is if they are likely to end up in there as well. I can’t answer the real question. All I can tell them is, it’s easy. And it is easy to slip into a parallel universe. Most people pass over incrementally, making a series of perforations in the membrane between here and there until an opening exists. And who can resist an opening?"
