Smashing Times…

Don’t get too excited about the title. A patient has just raided the cupboards and thrown plates and stuff everywhere. To smithereens. I understand she was distressed but this completely rattled all of us as patients, and I feel for those with mainly anxiety difficulties. I’d usually be overly kind to this person, but I told her I didn’t agree with what she had done at all, and that it wasn’t fair on everyone. Poor staff were running as ducking to try and control this explosive situation.

This wasn’t the chosen aim for my blog post, however, it just happened as I opened a fresh Word document. My main theme is about how draining never giving up is. And to continue to bounce up and down the mental health spectrum.

They talk about the lightbulb moment, and when you go through waves of illness and recovery, you seem to get a few along the way (rather than one big ‘DING’). That’s my experience anyway. I’ve had my little dose for today, despite waking up in anti-ligature clothing on a bare mattress with an anti-ligature blanket. Things NEED to change and if I have physically survived this far and I’ve chosen to live, then I need to work on making the conditions more bearable. Because I feel miserable as I am.

I didn’t have a review booked in until Thursday, because staff availability. Which is far too long when I had my last on Monday. So, I kind of panicked that nothing would be able to change in terms of little things like having my clothes and more freedom. However, the doctor and one of my care co-ordinators were able to make the time for a chat; I have taken some steps in a positive direction.

Allowed clothes back, bed back to normal, off 1:1 obs and onto checks every 15 minutes and escorted leave 30 minutes a day. Although I naturally would push for more, I settled at this agreement so far. It’s just bizarre to be back in a situation I was in before the PICU. It’s unsettled here which is quite sad. Because all I hear is pain.

At points like this I really need to draw upon myself, because I can easily take on others pain and everything that it can knock me back. That’s bloody hard.

Anyway, I’ve decided I want to get active again because I haven’t bothered since they stopped my leave (I originally had some by myself), but also since PICU when I had my power-walk sessions with staff I’ve given up. I struggle to ever feel good about myself, so to start again anyway felt an enormous effort. But today is Monday and I have taken steps, literally.

Randomly, whilst I was getting stuff back in my bedroom, one of the staff members saw something in a tree, high up. She was convinced it was a cat, but we weren’t sure if it was maybe a carrier bag or something. Going outside we found it was actually a cat, holding on for dear life on a branch. One of the male staff came out to try and help, by climbing ladders and shaking the tree. The poor thing ran back up metres! The RSPCA won’t do anything unless it’s been there over 24 hours. I feel really bad for it as we’re just off a main, busy road. But hey.

It kind of got me thinking that it could be a metaphor for giving someone space to solve their problems and find their feet first, before going in to intervene. I hope that cat’s alright tomorrow and back on the ground.

(photo is of first outfit picked out today and one of coloured Starbs cups!)

Take care,

Yaz

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