“Kris!! We’re Here to help!!!”
The front door was being beaten. I stirred The police entered that flat. “We’re here to help you Kris!!”
I was was whisked to A&E. I was assessed by countless doctors. Non were prepared for my panic attacks.
My mind was melting on me. The Black Dog was running circles around my feet. I was trapped. I needed to escape. But I was being restrained. “I want out” is all I could say….
I fell against the doors, crying uncontrollably.
“He tried to fucking kill me!!!” Realisation gradually dawning. I was pounding my head with my clenched fists. Inflicting my own pain to take the real pain away. No explanations.
I was put in an ambulance. I wanted to die.
“let me go, please!!!”
“We’re here to help!”
A bed was found for me 20 miles away. Because I was at risk, the room was bare. No bedding. No curtains. The ward was locked so no body could get in, or out. My belongings were confiscated.
I was given a tranquilliser to calm me down. With the flashbacks coming thick and fast, my body fought against the tranquilliser. No sleep that night, just crying and wailing as the reality hit home. The person I loved tried to murder me.
I left my room to use the toilets. Somebody had smeared shit over the walls! I realised I had made a bad decision. I went to the nurses quarters,
“I want to leave!”
“Sorry, no Dr’s over the weekend, you have to wait to be assessed next week! Go have breakfast!!”
I went to eat. Nervous and scarred, I immediately threw up. It was a men’s only ward. Men were weeping, wailing and crying.
“can I have some medication to calm my sickness, please.”
“No. No Dr’s about to prescribe!!”
A hospital with no duty Dr to help over the weekend? “Can I make a phone call then, please?”
“You have to wait for rounds to be done first.”
15 men needing help: 2 nurses. I went back to my cold room. “Come with me” I was led to the office. “Use that phone there” “Can I have privacy?” “No. No door closed either.”
The nurse sat at my side as I made another painful call to my Mom. I explained what had happened. Tears pouring down my face.
“Please help me, Mom.”
I begged. Within hours, my crisis manager was sat in my room talking to me, explaining the protocol as to why I couldn’t be released.
“You must be assessed by a psychiatrist before being released. We need to make sure that you are in no danger.” Tears falling down my face, I explained that having nearly died in resuss, I’d realised I didn’t want to die.
Within the hour, I was being assessed by two doctors. It was agreed if I could have a legal guardian come take me, I would be allowed to go home. With a psychiatrist appointment for the next day. Another tearful phone call to a “friend”. I was collected soon after, and a conversation describing what had happened.
She was horrified.
But her words felt empty.