Admission to hospital

20:52hrs 5th September 2008

I have just arrived at ward XXX. It is an adult acute assessment and treatment unit. I cannot believe I am here. They have made a massive mistake, but they believe I am psychotic, and floridly so. I don't need hospital. I need a priest. An exorcism.
A couple of weeks ago I was the nurse in charge - how can things have turned so quickly that they believe that I don't know my own mind. They think the lunatic was running the asylum, but they are wrong. How many people have I done this to. Denied what was happening to them. Didn't believe them. Or believed that it was their perception, but obviously their perception was incorrect and mine was not because they are mad and I am a registered mental nurse.
No-one believes me and i don't know what to do.

I have been greeted my a staff nurse who has gone into the office with the nurses from the Crisis Resolution Service who brought me here. She is probably a bit younger than me, and looks bright eyed and bushy tailed. She talks to me in a way that I am sure is intended to convey empathy, warmth and understanding. How many times have I used that same gentle, calming reassuring voice. It makes me want to smash her fucking head in. But I know that will be a one way ticket to shit loads of meds, a label of being aggressive, and being sectioned. Which must not happen. Under any circumstances. I want to go on holiday to Disney with the kids in 2010, and if you have been sectioned you can't get in the USA without a fight.

She is completely ignorant of what is happening here, and and want her to believe me, but I know she won't. She is treating me to the same gentle and supportive welcome to the ward I have given countless times. Have many people have I done this to? She is totally ignorant of the truth of the situation. And a couple of weeks ago I would have agreed with her.

I am shown into a room which is painted a kind of camouflage green. I am sure that there is some evidence base that it is a relaxing colour. It is the most dismal colour I have ever seen. I have been informed that they will get to me after the handover to the night shift. One of the CRS nurses goes into the office to hand me over to the night staff. The other nurse sits in the room with me. Another nurses keeps peering through the window every minute of so.

There is no more talking. There is nothing to say.

I am waiting for the admission process to begin. I have requested a joint admission assessment because I can't bear the thought of having to go through everything numerous times just so the documentation gets completed. The nurse agrees and I am shown to my room.

I can see where all the cash inn the trust is going- and it certainly isn't clinical psychologists. The unit is immaculate. I am shown to a single room which has an en suit on a mixed corridor. This worried me a bit, but they showed me that I can lock my door, and only staff can gain access. The nursing assistant, (i don't remember her name, but she sounded polish and was wearing nice quiksilver jeans) has worked here for 4 months. Only a few weeks ago, I would have been the senior member of staff, the accountable member of staff. And now I am a patient. How the fuck has this happened?

I do feel calmer now than I have in days. I feel sure that the girls and P will be safe now I am no longer under the same roof, or physically near them.

P cried tonight. I have only ever seen him cry once before, when I had our first daughter. It broke me to see him cry. He cried because he believes that his wife is ill. He doesn't believe me. He thinks I am mad too. No one believes me.

I know that he genuinely believes that he is doing thew right thing, as that is how he sees things from his own distorted perception. He , and everyone else are misperceiving the whole situation, and don't understand what is happening. They are unable to provide me with any evidence that my perceptions are incorrect, however they are expecting me to accept that they are right merely because they are the majority. A few weeks ago I would have been a part of that majority that hospitalises and penalises those who perhaps, see things as they really are. It is they who should be listening to us.

They all bleat the same old pacifying bullshit. "....Whilst I do believe and accept that what you are saying is your experience from your perspective, and it is real for you.........blah........blah.........blah...........but then go on to say essentially -you are fucking bonkers-take these meds, behave and play the fucking game, or we will totally shaft you by detaining you under the MHA. I am informal, which is good. I am here voluntarily, which is good. But the truth of the matter is, if I don't play the game, I will be on a section before you know it. So, I am involuntarily voluntary, or something......this is not an optional stay in hospital, even though it is disguised as one.

So what are my options and non options

1. Stay at home and leave things as they are. I would be there to try and protect my family from Daniel, however I know his determination for me to die by my own hand is becoming increasingly difficult to fight, whilst trying to protect everyone too.
2. Daniel is upping the stakes.
He has killed Amy's best friend Tara, a 32 year old mother of a 1 and 4 year old.
He has killed one of my closest friends, Sarah's father.
He has killed my next door neighbour, John, who was buried today.
He has orchestrated one of my closest friend and neighbours to lose his job.
He has killed my next door neighbour's son-in-law at the age of 33 leaving his wife,
Joanne having lost both her husband and father within months of each other at the tender age of 28.
3. He is playing games with me. Deathly games, in wh

Back from Psychosis.

This is my first entry for a while. I have had a bit of a nightmare just recently. To cut a long story short I became rapidly and floridly unwell, and was admitted, for the first time to an adult acute ward. Two weeks previously I had been in charge of one.
The lunatic had been running the asylum.
Whilst I was hospitalised, narrowly avoiding being sectioned, I kept a diary. This diary was, at the time the most important item I owned because by writing in it, and being able to read the words back to myself, I knew I was still alive. I also wanted evidence for my daughters, my husband, family and friends that if I died, it was not out of any desire to leave them and that if I was dead, it may appear to be of my own hand -but it wasn't -it was forced.
Really weird reading that back now.

I'm not sure how the best way of writing this will work. Whether to write it in real time, as if I was entering the events, thoughts and feelings on the actual days they occured, or by bringing them into current time. The only thing I am sure of, is that I will write it, word for word, how I wrote it whilst in hospital. So here we go.