Southend Hospital, Mental Health Department.
The other night, I felt totally desperate losing all sight of reality. My sister called 111, they told us to head to a&e and I would get the support and care I needed.
My sister drove us, I sat in the passenger seat wrapped in a blanket feeling afraid of myself and my thoughts. We waited for a hour, very quick for a&e! Saw triage, he took my blood pressure , temperature and we had a little chat. All fine. He told me a psychiatrist from the mental health ward would see me.
We sat back in the waiting room, very soon a lady collected me. She said my sister wasn't allowed to come with me. That made me feel anxious. But I went with her anyway.
I sat in another waiting room, for a few minutes and was given some forms. The psychiatrist collected me and took me in to a room.
There she asked me questions, as though she was reading them from a questionnaire. I was in tears, finding it difficult to talk or even make eye contact. Wanting to go so far into myself that I would disappear.
"What was your birth like? Did your mother give birth naturally, c-section, were forceps used?"
"What is the problem, what is going on?"
"Have you actually been diagnosed with any mental health issues from your GP?"
"Tell me about your childhood?"
Each question asked like she was filling out an order form in a shop. No compassion, no care or sympathy. I was opening up to a brick wall.
After all had been said, I felt exhausted and just as desperate. The psychiatrist responded with:
"There's no magic cure, hun. You have just got to take it day by day."
What?! I don't care about tomorrow, I need help now. I feel like I cannot continue living right now, in this moment. When I shared these sentiments with her she replied;
"What did you think would happen here?"
Help! Help is what I thought would happen here.
"Oh, we just signpost you to other places we think can support you." She gave me some leaflets and I was left. Left.
I had opened up and reached out in my darkest moment, desperate for someone to help me when I felt like I could no longer carry on. And nothing. Some questions asked and sent on my merry way.
I had found the strength to seek help when I needed it most instead of letting it engulf me, and I got nothing back. I came out feeling worse in fact. I am so thankful I had family with me, because the feeling of, 'not even the doctors care or can help me, I am just worthless and pathetic, what is the point,' Were so strong, they fed the feeling of not wanting to be here even more.
I am sharing this, because I think this highlights just how mental health is still not always treated equally to other illnesses. If I had gone in with a cracked head, I would have been looked after, cleaned up and maybe some stitches. Only allowed to leave when everything had been checked and I was in a fit state to leave. But because my injuries are on the inside, and cannot be seen, the same treatment is not afforded.
I recognise the NHS are wonderful in so many ways. But, this was not a wonderful experience or a wonderful department. It almost feels to me that the department should not be there at all, if they are not able to provide a fulfilling service.