So here I am again. Back from the brink of another crisis, back to being carefully watched by those around me, back to trying to pick up the pieces.
This time, it’s harder. Everything has changed. My support network, my surroundings, the measures that have been put in place to try and keep me safe.
Even the country is different.
My support worker suggested I tried writing about it. Writing often helps me, so I am going to take her advice.
But having been burnt before, I’m keeping this anonymous.
I feel dead. I often do, after a crisis. The phrase ‘dead calm’ is strangely appropriate. But it’s not a reassuring calm. It’s a calm where I feel becalmed, left adrift in a strange ocean, not trusting myself or those around me, and with no compass or map to guide me.
I am supposed to have these things. They tell me someone with my length of “experience” in the mental healthcare system should be better equipped. They tell me I am equipped. They tell me I just don’t want to manage, that I want other people to manage for me.
Which sounds like a lot of accusations to me. Not supportive, really. You’d think they’d have been trained to think more carefully about the language they use.
But what do I know? I’m just the patient.
It’s just that I was foolish enough to think that it was their job to listen to me, to help me.
But despite all my fears, all my tears, it seems that the best support there is is to leave me here, with a list of phone numbers and an appointment for next week. And instructions to “manage myself” so that I stay safe.
Well. Let’s see if this blog helps.