0 
0 By Sarah Grace
This won’t be the funniest piece of writing I will have done but it might well be the most honest. If it is too uncomfortable for some of you to read then all I can say is, stick with it. It’s not all doom and gloom, I promise you. I have not written this to gain sympathy. I have written it because it gets it out of my head. One thing I have learnt is that my head is a very crowded little joint at the moment. I need to de-clutter. Writing is one way I can do this.
Why have I chosen to share something so personal on such a public platform? Well, it might be worth asking that question when you see someone post a picture of a tasty dessert, share a political view or a photo of a toenail hanging off. I think I might have done all of those things at some point (except the nail one.) I have been guilty many times of posting a boast. Tricking people into thinking all was fine and dandy in the world. Yet, on this occasion, I want to share something real. Something that I hope will shine some light on a difficult subject.
The pressure of encouragement
‘I thought if I tapped into those skills I use when performing on stage and kept up the best act of “I’m fine”, then no-one would notice how unhappy I was. The truth is, I felt incredibly lonely and lost.’
On Wednesday the 31st October 2018, I reached a point where I felt I had run out of options. I felt completely hopeless. I wanted all the noise in my head to stop and I wanted out. The pressure (although I know it was never intended as pressure, only encouragement), of hearing phrases such as, ‘Considering everything’, ‘You are brave’, ‘You are strong’, ‘Just keep going’, all these words of encouragement, had built up in my mind as one big unattainable approach to life. Knowing I couldn’t be or do any of those things, I realised I could no longer cope with my life. I wanted to end it.
When opting out meant opting in!
It is a devastating moment when you admit to one of your closest friends that you don’t feel like you can handle life anymore. You just want it all to stop. But I will always be thankful that my friend heard me say it out loud, as it was at that specific point that she was able to take action and literally save my life.
Little did I know, as I considered opting for ‘out’, that it would end up meaning I was opting to be put ‘in’ to a secure psychiatric ward.
I arrived at the nurses’ hub in the middle of the ward, wearing my work clothes from the day before, holding a carrier bag containing two slices of Victoria sponge cake and a selection of miniature toiletries from Kingston A&E. These toiletries were so small they made me look like a giant. The Victoria sponge cake, however, had the reverse effect. Those slices were massive!
Can I trust anyone?
The carrier bag was swiftly removed for my own safety. I stood in the communal area, frightened, intimidated and completely lost. When trust in others had been eroded away so rapidly in recent months, I considered this to be the ultimate proof that I could no longer trust anyone. I stood there alone. As far as I was concerned, at that moment, I had been tricked into being there.
The bedroom door shut behind me. I realised the only destination left for me to travel was towards the thoughts that were in my head. I had spent months being busy, physically driving miles and miles, attempting to escape, but now there was nowhere else to go. At that moment, I was left with facing the prison in my mind and it was a very scary place to visit.
‘I Want To Break Free’
Now, if it’s possible, let’s lighten the mood just ever so slightly as I attempt to describe the surroundings of the ward. Think of this an episode of Homes Under the Hammer with the tune ‘I want to break free’ by Queen playing subtly in the background.
‘This property is minimalistic in design, purely to prevent the tenants from harming themselves or others. It is laminated throughout, ideal for roller-skating but laces would need to be removed from the boot, again for safety purposes.’
I don’t wish to make light of these matters but trust me, having heard it myself, even the most very poorly of people on that ward would be the first to crack a joke about the fact that they are an adult, run a business, own a home but in this joint they are not allowed to be trusted with a pencil sharpener, let alone a pair of laces.
Assessed or watched?
‘It’s a room without a view, and privacy is limited. Every hour, the slats on the window in the door open. You are then aware that you are being looked at. It’s like a game of ‘I spy’ but without the sense of competition because only one person is playing. The lighting is hard on the eyes and this remains so throughout the night. The bedroom is fitted with en-suite facilities. Ideal for anyone who likes a cold shower where the water is not directed to hit the body but, instead, floods the bedroom. Not a particularly clever design but it’s a conversation starter with your fellow housemates, so perhaps worth the discomfort and the flooding.’
I mention housemates, as quite quickly you are aware that you are being watched; it feels like an episode of Big Brother but without the huge prize money. Not to mention, your fellow housemates are more real and human. Officially, they might use the word ‘assess’ rather than ‘being watched’.
So you start to believe that everything is an assessment of your mental health, from the limited use of a mobile phone charger to the provision of tomato ketchup in a sachet instead of a bottle. How is that an assessment? Well, you try opening one of those sachets when you have no access to scissors, you’ve not slept for weeks and you are on the edge of your nerves. I’m telling you, it was a test to see how we would react out of frustration and anger!
A raw and authentic community
This location I describe was to be my home for eleven days. Surprisingly, it became a place of safety and refuge. Those initial minutes and hours were scary and disorientating. Now that I am on the other side of that desperate low, having received the help that I was needing from professionals, I recognise that this ward was to be the environment that would not limit my life, but expand it.
I have lived in a community in various forms throughout my life. From family to house-sharing and summer camps and tours, but this community felt incredibly raw and authentic. As time slowly ticked by and, man, was it slow in there, people shared their stories. When hearing their stories, there was a connection. It was not that we had the same circumstances or had experienced the same life events; it was simply a connection of all being ordinary human beings. We were all a bit lost in the world but we were all worth finding again.
1in4 UK Book Store:
[amazon_link asins='1977009336' template='ProductGrid' store='iam1in4-20' marketplace='US' link_id='ffcb5f04-1297-11e8-8b2c-c721ea9703cc']
It was a rare privilege to meet and share with such honest people. I have had a shared experience with individuals I may never see again, but for those eleven days, we were a little normal family in an abnormal environment. Their lives touched mine in a way that can never really be articulated. Their stories will remain with me as I continue to rebuild and heal my mental health. For that, I am really thankful.
I am not ashamed
I want to publicly say that I am not ashamed that I had to ask for help. Although I do worry that people will think I am weaker and unstable when ‘going public’ about a breakdown. I hope that it will sink in with me that I am not either of those things. I am simply unwell, but healing and recovery are happening.
As well as an opportunity to therapeutically de-clutter, I have also shared these words with the hope that at least one person who reads them will know that they matter. Even if you feel the lowest you can possibly feel, if you are lost amongst the noise of others, if your heart is breaking, if you have been hurt, if you don’t know how on earth you are going to put one step in front of the other in the next minute, let alone day, then please read this and hear, you can do this! Really, you can, but you don’t have to do it on your own. If you need help, get it. There is no shame in doing that and I really hope you never feel this low again.
I will not give up
I’m not cured of my depression. I’m not healed of my grief. I have not forgotten the hurt of the last year or the trauma of my past. Yet, I am still here and I will not give up. The road ahead is a long one. At times, I know, I will be frustrated that I am not where I want to be. Yet, when I look back on my time on that ward, I will be reminded that I am not in that place anymore. In those moments I will take a deep breath, put one foot in front of the other and live.
And one last little paragraph before I go and have a hot cup of tea…
To my caring, kind and trustworthy friends who made that call to get me help, who have stuck with me when I’ve been at my lowest, sacrificed sleep, bought me crisps, provided little luxuries on the ward, driven me to appointments, calmed me down on the end of the phone when I was anxious, sent messages of encouragement, spoke up for me when my brain couldn’t find the words, who fought my corner and so much more! It doesn’t seem enough but… thank you 🙂
UNITED STATES
UNITED KINGDOM
