(Satire) Trapped in a government facility

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This post doesn’t reflect reality (or how I perceive it), it’s just an extreme interpretation of being put and being on a psychiatric ward. Twisting events so it seems like I’m a prisoner on a military black site. I had a friend not want me to discuss me being hospital, so I started thinking about other ways to express it, and this idea came up. The abusive relationship is with OCD (Ocd), treating it like a person.

1535 29-01-2020. Withheld phone call, offering support escaping my abusive relationship with Ocd.

1600 29-01-2020. Picked up in a black vehicle and taken to a state assessment centre.

1630 29-01-2020. Assessment begins, lasts hours, with two active assessors and one unknown operative watching proceedings.

1830 29-01-2020. I agree to stay until an elite assessor can arrive to finish the assessment and paperwork.

0020 30-01-2020. Elite team arrives, official designations AMHP and a Section 12.

0130 30-01-2020. Escorted to small discrete vehicle for transport.

0200 30-01-2020. Arrival at facility only known by an obscure identifier. For my ongoing safety from active operatives I cannot be any more specific. Operatives here dress in blue or green outfits. Those in green seem to be minions of those in blue, and try to extract information to hand over to the blues.

(unknown) 30-01-2020. Assessment by facility director. Given fake sympathy (it wasn’t fake in real life, but this is a fantasy version of events, so I can twist it 😛), and directed to take unknown (I did know) medication to curb unwanted behaviour and simplify my management (I think you get the idea at this point, the staff were great, but twisting stuff you can make it seem like anything but that).

1500 30-01-2020. Escorted around the facility. Staff member following me was jumpy, unknown cause. Possibly determining whether physically assaulting be would be necessary to avoid repercussions from their bosses was necessary.

2230 30-01-2020. Compelled to take two unidentifiable tiny white pills. Sleep came easily after consumption.

0815 31-01-2020. Facility staff, bang on the door to and then enter my unit, with another white pill, and wait for me to take it.

1200 31-01-2020. I start my hunger strike.

1220 31-01-2020. After harassment, agree to consume a sandwich.

(the time blurs)

1400 04-02-2020. Top security, but a shower has broken drainage. This is a government facility after all.

1450 04-02-2020. A red clothed staff member reports the flooding to a green. From what I could see reds cleaned up any mess caused by the questionable activity of greens and ensured the director never had to worry about seeing the effects of their orders.

1510 04-02-2020. Plain clothes operatives put me in a nondescript car for facility transfer. Something about “more appropriate care” elsewhere.

1530 04-02-2020. Traffic cleared in advance to smooth the transfer, I arrive at another facility (can’t identify it here for my own safety).

1420 05-02-2020. Haven’t breathed open air in so long that I attempt to force my way out of the main door. A blue at the door uses non-lethal restraint to prevent me going an inch outside.

1430 05-02-2020. Muttering between blues and greens about that “we said we’d look into letting you out” to try and make my breakout attempt seem unreasonable.

1910 05-02-2020. Deputy director of the new facility directs blues and greens to do short escorted trips outside the containment wing. I’m not about to run from the escort – I have no wish to face down a capture squad.

1920 05-02-2020. Access to food supplies from outside the containment wing. These are superior to those on the wing. Pricing is exorbitant though.

2000 05-02-2020. Ocd is granted access to me for the millionth time since I was detained. Blues and greens seem unaware (at least when I feel too guilty about it to tell them) they keep letting Ocd in or ever making its torture of me worse.

2330 05-02-2020. Ocd, in cooperation with another detainee prevents me from using my designated bed, even though the bed has no visible reason to prevent use.

0040 06-02-2020. A blue and green issue me another bed elsewhere in the containment wing to ensure I sleep without Ocd getting in the way.

1500 06-02-2020. Taken off site to complete mandatory paperwork from the DWP. Rumor is that those who work for them are heartless monsters, and their overseers are pure evil (😛).

2230 06-02-2020. Can finally go to sleep as the last pill of the day has been issued.

0800 07-02-2020. Got to take another pill at this time, as per usual. I was asleep!

1000 07-02-2020. I secure access to my phone after losing access previously (due to needing to leave it with staff to charge). Limited connectivity only lets me transmit this log. If you find it, please get me out of here – they might have lost the paperwork but I exist!!

P.S. Writing this was fun. I am on a section 2, so don’t have a choice about being on a ward, and I do get regular escorted leave now, at least since a psychiatrist, a director, directed the nurses, blues and heath care assistants, greens, to make sure it happened, even if they were “busy”.

When OCD crosses the line, by a million miles

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OCD is, simplified, obsessive thoughts and compulsive behaviours (rituals) that are done to get the obsessive thoughts to fade.

For me, the rituals were only time consuming, irritating and got somewhat in the way of functioning like an average person…

However, what happens when the rituals themselves generate so much distress from the fear of not doing them correctly that I avoid doing them? I shutdown and stop functioning 😢

Things just don’t get done, including eating and drinking (don’t get me wrong, I do, just not as often, healthily or regularly) as they require a clean surface or tap to do.

I end up spending potentially hours in bed when I’ve already woken up just avoiding getting up and facing down the rituals.

I end up putting off having a shower because the rituals involved make it take five HOURS!

My flat ends up a mess as the anxiety of carrying a contaminated item over to the dustbin exceeds my threshold for acceptable distress.

Walking through a door becomes an exercise in avoiding bumping into the doorframe.

Just opening a door becomes stressful as the handle isn’t clean, so am I going to face down opening it even with gloves? Now, in 30 minutes, or in 2 hours…?

Using gloves or wipes becomes a guilt trip for the sensation of wasting them to avoid touching or clean something that doesn’t need it.

Sitting at my desk becomes avoiding raising my kneecap so high that it hits the underside of the desk, which I haven’t cleaned, yet, from a day or more ago.

Going to sleep becomes “will I be too contaminated to function when I wake up?”. So how about staying up a bit longer, like until 4am…

Being on the bus becomes will I brush against anyone? So if the bus is crowded I’ll wait an unlimited amount of time for a less busy one.

Putting my coat on becomes did it get contaminated because I was careless taking it off?

Putting pyjamas on becomes will pulling my shirt over my head to change contaminate my face? So I sleep in my clothes.

Resting my head on my arms becomes contaminating my head with whatever might be on the floor as my elbows brush against stuff. So it doesn’t happen, no matter how relaxing…

I just shutdown, stop doing anything, and try to work up the courage and energy to get up and face down another task until there is no longer a day to face down and life becomes just pointlessly existing.

I feel so guilty expressing my distress that I get even more distressed and become unable to form words. My mind simply prohibits it, making not speaking the compulsion.

P.S. About the title, it’s a reference to how unreasonable OCD is. The line being minimal impact on life. The distance past is how impactful it becomes. I love playing on common sayings to say something awkward. Although as I find myself explaining them a lot, maybe they get a bit confusing 😛, hopefully this one isn’t…

P.P.S. I even feel guilty about writing about my OCD, knowing that someone might spend time reading it, and so I feel compelled to thank you for getting this far. Thank you 🐭

Life on a ward, with severe OCD

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I do not want to be on a ward. Who does? I guess me less than some as I’m sectioned. Although somehow I went onto a ward voluntarily in the past!

I’m here because my OCD has become so distressing and disruptive that I managed to concern my local CMHT a lot.

My daily routine, so far is:

  • Wake up in the morning, then not get up as I don’t want to feel any contamination anxiety.
  • Say I don’t want breakfast (08:15) when a member of staff asks (I do, just can’t face down the anxiety of getting stuff off a shared food trolley, contamination).
  • Get up when a nurse comes along with meds, and take them (10:00-ish).
  • Wash my hands, and partway up my arms.
  • Clean my teeth.
  • Ask a staff member for my phone – it’s been on charge in the locked office overnight, for those who don’t know, possession of cables is prohibited as they are high risk items.
  • Do stuff on my phone until about 11:45, or 15 minutes before lunch time.
  • Hang around the dining area to try and get my cutlery before anyone else, and get to the front of the lunch queue. Fail? Not having a hot lunch, maybe sandwiches instead, the staff seem to notice and supply them so I have something…
  • Water? Do I have an uncontaminated cup and can face down using a shared sink. Spoiler: nope.
  • More phone stuff.
  • Now I’m fed up with my phone, at approx. 15:00 and ask (and get) escorted leave to the hospital shop (getting a sandwich, bottled water and a chocolate bar) and a short walk.
  • Water? Yep, got a nice clean bottle 😁
  • Next mealtime, same as before, waiting from 16:45. If I can’t get desert before my anxiety (contamination and noise) overwhelms me, I’ll just skip it. So “wait 5 minutes until everyone else is served” is the equivalent to telling me no!
  • More playing on my phone, and possibly taking a nap as there isn’t anything better to do.
  • More meds (I do have meds in the middle of the day, but can’t remember when).
  • Sleep, I finally knock off sometime between 09:50 and 11:30.
  • Flashlight through the window of the door in my room, staff checks, which never, ever, wake me up 😛

Don’t have a change of clothes on me. Was not planning to get sectioned when the home treatment team (part of the mental health crisis team) assessed me on Wednesday (it’s Sunday as I’m writing). Fingers crossed I’ll get unescorted leave, or at least longer escorted leave, to visit my flat tomorrow and get some. I’m not a fan of having other people go into my flat to get stuff. Don’t know why…

Oh, and I haven’t told my parents I’m here – it feels too embarrassing to be in hospital for anxiety. Trying to kill yourself is easier to explain.

I’m on medication again technically voluntarily, but more because I don’t want to see if they’ll inject me if I refuse. I am aware that I’m struggling with my OCD, a lot. Having memories of agitation and feeling suicidal from a past med that I took for all of 36 hours is making me want to avoid medication, can’t any longer though.

Bye for now. Sleep incoming… Unless there’s something pointless I can do on my phone instead, got 2% left. Sleep it is, probably, I’ve still got 2% 📱

It can always get worse…sectioned

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I’ve been sectioned under section 2 of the UK mental heath act. That means I’ve been placed on a psychiatric ward without my consent.

This is a result of my OCD becoming too disabling; with the anxiety taking priority over sleep, eating and drinking water – I got some of each, just not a normal amount. Oh, and my flat was a “bit” of a mess.

The idea that my OCD would become so bad that I would end up on a ward, or that a section would even be applicable to OCD was inconceivable to me. It didn’t even feature in my imagined worst case scenarios.

My care coordinator called me yesterday asking if I’d come in to the hospital so the home treatment team could assess me for extra support. I was anticipating home visits, or something along those lines.

The assessment started at 16:30. About an hour and a half in, going into a ward was identified as the best option – even I admitted I wasn’t coping. However to proceed they needed my consent or to section me.

At that point I was asked if I would agree to go onto a ward informally. I never actually answered the question, and some time later the anxiety and distress created by it caused me to I shut down and feel/being unable to speak. This lasted for so long (I’m not sure how long, could have been an hour or more), that the decision was taken to proceed with sectioning.

More people assessed me (2 doctors), but as I still wasn’t speaking I had professionals needing to discuss me while I was in the room and unable to respond. That wasn’t from lack of trying by the professionals to speak to me though 😢.

I did start speaking again eventually, but only about irrelevant things, TV, books, etc, which didn’t affect my assessment. My mind didn’t get in the way of talking about that. I’d considered what it would be like to shutdown and be unable to speak, but I never thought it would actually happen!

To be fair to my care co tried their best, and they did want to put off the sectioning until the following morning, but as my distress was skyrocketing already they decided it was unfair to me to put me through it again.

When the AMHP (approved mental health professional) finally got around to me, at 00:200, I was able to answer questions, fortunately they didn’t ask many – having discussed me with my care co.

So… Only 6 professionals decided that my admission was a good idea. Two of which couldn’t do sectioning and were just doing the initial assessment. They did their job, and I still like my care co, which is a plus.

P.S. When I shut down I have everything I want to do and say at the front of my mind, but can’t make my muscles comply because the anxiety associated with expressing myself is too high. Eventually I could nod and shake my head, but getting my voice back took longer.

P.P.S. I didn’t need to be dragged to the ward, but I wasn’t going to go onto one unless I had no choice.

Fake, fake and another fake

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When making sense of my OCD I create jargon to summarise the various facets. The term “fake” means that it feels like I was contaminated, my mind (if asked) says, “yep, you’re contaminated right now”, but I’m not.

Some fakes aren’t a problem can be brushed off in seconds as it is overwhelmingly clear that I wasn’t anywhere near, anywhere from 20cm to 2m, the object that I was supposed to have made contact with and had it contaminate me. The most common example is going near a surface that isn’t clean enough to use on the way to doing something else.

This evening however the fakes were about hitting items in the bathroom, where cleaning off the contamination would generate needing to have a shower immediately (which normally takes 4 hours, on a good day, without any special contamination) if not cleaned by other methods. I was aware that I probably didn’t hit anything, and every time I repeated an action that supposedly hit something I could see that I didn’t actually hit anything.

That didn’t prevent spending 40 minutes dousing clothing and my hands with disinfectant in a desperate attempt to remove enough contamination to avoid suffering through a 4 hour shower.

Eventually, well and truly fed up with the procedure, and safe in the knowledge that from any “normal” person’s perspective I’d have obliterated, multiple times, any biological or other material that could potentially cause harm I decided that “I hadn’t actually hit anything” and stopped there. Deciding that I had been hit would have required more cleaning, and a more intense version of what I had just done.

I use the phrase “a hit” to describe becoming contaminated which something as a result of impacting a contaminant or a contaminated item.

When I manage to avoid actually hitting anything, my mind seems so determined for a cleaning procedure to take place that it creates fake hits that I’m “required” to clean, unless I can show that they didn’t happen. Figuring out that I could avoid the cleaning by showing that it didn’t happened wasn’t what happened initially though, so lots of stuff got cleaned pointlessly (or even more pointlessly, as OCD isn’t solving a real problem).

I can temporarily distract myself and avoid cleaning a hit, but minutes, hours, days, or even weeks later the memory of the hit can impacts me at which point I’m compelled to clean everything I can to obliterate the memory of the hit – the logic being that by virtue of not cleaning the original hit the contamination has spread a lot.

The experience of having a hit overcome me long after its actually happened is what drives me to clean even when I feel that the hit maybe, probably, sort of didn’t happen, as getting past my anxiety to convince myself that not cleaning is OK feels impossible. So far I’m only able to bypass my mind when I can reason that the hit isn’t bad enough to require cleaning.

This brings me to more jargon I use. A “bypass” is when a hit that would normally require cleaning occurs, but I’m trapped in an important (for me) social situation, or deadline, basically something else is stressing me, a lot. This means that so long as I can vaguely reason that the hit “isn’t that bad” I will skip the cleaning is possible. The threshold for “badness” is low, so hitting the floor or shaking hands usually the worst I can bypass.

When trying to deal with everyday hits that no-one else is bothered by its sometimes possible to create a “skip” or a “cheat”, basically a rule that says that “in this situation, with this hit, it doesn’t count”. The rule is created after analysing previous stuff I’ve done, what other people do, so using logic to “skip” my OCD ritual. These usually require a trivial hit (knives and forks, say from a café) and won’t work when my anxiety level is too high and I lack the energy to enforce the “skip” as valid.

There is some overlap between a “skip” and a “bypass” as both provide practical advantages. However a bypass is created by sufficient stress overwhelming the distress created by my OCD, and a “skip” is created by using logic to work around my OCD, without actually beating it. As a “skip” doesn’t actually beat my OCD its also cheating in a way, as I’m not beating my OCD by overcoming it, just by side-stepping, hence the fact that I sometimes call it a “cheat.

P.S. Its been a while since my last post, a couple of instances of superficial cuts, but nothing since September, but my OCD has become worse and more overwhelming. My psychiatrist is referring me to a specialist OCD unit in London though, so that’s hopefully going to make a big difference.

It’s a training issue…

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Met a a CPN (community psychiatric nurse) (lets call him Mark, not his real name) on Tuesday for an assessment. He had training in handling difficult behaviour.

It’s not what you think, his training focussed on understanding why someone would do something, and how to work with them.

So his first response to me self-harming is why did it happen, not how to deter or stop it. Although how to avoid it happening does come later, and the procedure is based on understanding the person.

He did understand that a lot of staff didn’t really want to focus on the triggers, just avoiding the problem of self-harm, especially when they are the triggers. Obviously 99% of staff don’t have the behavioural training, I really wish they did.

Oh, and as a double-plus I found out that my current social worker definitely subscribes to the same view as Mark, I’d suspected that beforehand though, as her behaviour towards me indicated that.

This gives me a bit of hope that the CMHT might be able to help me.

P.S. I’m an unusual case for Mark, usually he’s called in to deal with aggressive/uncooperative behaviour, that isn’t me, but he was still the best option. For me it was that stuff triggered me to self-harm, but most staff had (some?) trouble figuring out how to help and reduce incidents.

P.P.S I’m not sure just giving all staff behavioural training would work, as some have been on the job for long enough that their mindset that “the patient is always the one at fault, not the system they’re in, and definitely not any staff”. I’m not sure what would be required to fix that, other than making sure that new staff don’t develop the mindset so that eventually it’ll disappear as staff retire.

Almost, but not quite 😁

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So tonight I almost burnt myself, but pulled back at the last minute.

Unfortunately I did spent more than 75 minutes procuring the means to burn myself, and I cut (superficially) earlier.

I’m gonna call this this a victory. I still have the means, but I haven’t used them.

What got me distracted? Had a new phone which had all the wrong ringtones, so I had to copy them from my old phone onto the new one, and pick the right ones. It was a mundane task, but having my new phone just the way I like it made me feel better (the old phone probably stopped charging because the charging port had too much water/cleaning damage).

I did call the local crisis team as well, just had a quick chat with them about what I would be doing tomorrow and later in the evening, when they asked for details, not much time spent on the self-harm. Not sure how helpful it was, but I didn’t harm myself afterwards, so it can’t have been all bad…

I don’t know about tomorrow, or the day after, but for tonight, I’m good.

P.S. Was assessed by the occupational therapist on the local CMHT on Tuesday. She was really nice, and somehow made me feel safe describing a lot of the rituals that I go through as part of my OCD. Guess the confidence is a psychology staff thing, only seems to really exist around them. Just to be clear, safety exists with other staff, but psychology staff get to the “safe zone” a lot faster somehow (ie. not after lots and lots of meetings).

My worst psych ward experience: “Finish the job” … and “stop wasting [our] time”

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Warning: If you are affected by self-harm or suicidal thoughts, or have experienced mistreatment by psychiatric staff this post may be triggering

This ward admission happened in August 2018 last year, so 12 months ago now.

I had overdosed, for the third time in 3 weeks, and was being assessed by a member of the local crisis team after being treated in A&E for the overdose.

She asked me the usual questions, was very nice, and explained that my care coordinator (mental health social worker) and my community psychiatrist had written emails to her asking her to admit me to a ward while they figured out how to avoid another incident. Spoiler: They changed nothing about my care, so this ward admission was entirely pointless.

She said that it was up to me, going into a ward I hadn’t been to before, or being followed (with phone calls) by the local home treatment team.

I’d been followed by the home treatment team before, and discharged from them, and was in A&E just hours later, with a broken heel (my mind went a bit crazy and I went out a first floor window)… So I wasn’t anxious to repeat that, and had no confidence they could help me.

Being offered a different ward was a surprise. Had it been the ward I’d been in before, I would have answered no – had a bad experience there.

I wasn’t keen on the idea, but as care co and community psych had recommended it, and I wanted to be as “not difficult” as possible, so I agreed to it.

I’ve never been accused of being difficult my my care co, psychiatrist, or any therapy staff I’d interacted with. Some ward staff on the ward I’d been on before this one had viewed by OCD behaviour as being deliberately troublesome though…

Arriving at the ward, a new environment was unpleasant, but insignificant compared to letting a psychiatric nurse search through my stuff, mixing up all the contaminated and non-contaminated objects. I just pretended it didn’t happen in order to cope, despite the fact I was standing there, watching it happen!!! It was still very awful though.

So far, mostly OK, nothing abnormally bad. Maybe I need to get a new definition of bad, but escaping all the stuff that’s bad beyond a “normal” perception would mean getting rid my my mental health condition, which (as of August 2019), really hasn’t gone away, yet…

The following day I was assessed by the consultant psychiatrist, who told me I was wasting everyone’s time with the repeated self-harm harm, and I should either finish the job, or stop trying.

She also suggested that morphine would be a far more effective drug to take (it would take effect in minutes, not days, which I already knew). My verbal response to here was “If it didn’t kill me, I’d be left with brain damage, and I wouldn’t know how to get hold of it anyway”. She didn’t respond to that.

Her knowledge of the effects of the medication I had been treated for before coming to her ward was a bit sketchy, she seemed to assume I’d have to take it multiple times in a week for it take effect, which I guess appears the same as taking it once, and waiting a few days for it to take effect.

After she had finished asking questions, she said she wanted to discharge me immediately. My reaction (internally): I let all my stuff get contaminated, and watched it, for nothing!! I asked her to telephone my care co first, and my care co persuaded her to keep me for another 24 hours. Technically I still hadn’t been forced to do anything at this point.

I guess this is the part where my actions triggered a reaction, I took several photos of people free areas of the ward, and no anyone’s room but mine. I did accidentally take a photo of all the patients names on the “meals orders” sheet, that’s my mistake.

After the assessment had completed, and I was back in my room in the ward the psych knocked on the door, which 3/4 nursing staff behind here.

I was then accused of recording the assessment, because I had my phone in hand, by the psych and I was told to hand over my phone and laptop.

My phone was in hand as I didn’t want to leave it anywhere, for fear of getting it contaminated by the surface it hit, and no, I didn’t record the meeting, kinda wish I did – I didn’t realise how unpleasant it would be.

I called my care co to ask her about my options, which came down to “it’s her ward, I can’t do anything”. I asked “could I leave the ward”, she said I could, as I was voluntary, she didn’t attempt to persuade me to stay. It seems the psychiatrist called my care co before approaching me about any issues, and told them she had evidence of my photographing staff!!!!

Strangely enough, that wasn’t mentioned on my discharge papers, as they wasn’t any evidence – I hadn’t taken any, the other photos were!

In my mind I took my care co not trying to persuade me to stay, as an indication it would no longer make me look “difficult” if I just got discharged.

I let them take my laptop and phone, and then asked to be discharged.

As I walked away from the hospital building (which contained the ward) my mind focussed on jumping in front of a train. I was angry, frustrated, and just wanted to stop feeling so awful.

Fortunately my care co called me just moments later, as she had been told by the ward they’d discharged me, and calmed me down just by letting me explain the events I had been subjected to, and how I felt.

Conclusion: I am NOT agreeing to go in another ward, ever again! I was in there less than 24 hours, but it left an outsized mark on my mind, even a year later, so many of the details of the incident are still in my mind. The overdosing taking a background position.

Fortunately no-one has advised me going in a ward again, even though I have overdosed twice since then, and burned myself multiple times.

The knowledge that I react badly to wards, and wards react badly to me, has persuaded my care staff that its counterproductive to admit me.

P.S. Ongoing CMHT assessment (August, this year) update, got a new care coordinator, the old one from my last time under the CMHT is going on maternity leave shortly. Discussed some stuff, apparently the extended assessment is for the CMHT to review me, and identify whether my problems are as “intractable” (their words, not mine) as they appear, and is there anything they can do that will help.

P.P.S. My only diagnosis is “Severe OCD”. I have been considered for other things, but that’s the only label which stuck.

It was worth it…

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  • To call Samaritans about my worries (which took 45 minutes)
  • To have a shower (which took 3-4 hours)
  • To leave my flat (at 20:00…)
  • To visit my parents
  • To put up with the noisy crowed bus, where anyone could bump into me (OCD and contamination, not fun)
  • To go to the supermarket

Just so I can have moments of peace and quiet now that my day is done, and there’s no pressure to do anything

Just so I can listen to calm music.

Just so I can surf the internet without panicking every 30s that I haven’t done something.

Just so I can be happy, today wasn’t a disaster!

When life is hard, it’s the little things that really matter, doesn’t matter that you aren’t perfect, just that you’re here, and now.

Bye for now.

A good day, for me…

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In the last 24 hours I’ve

  • Tidied up the rubbish in my bathroom and taken it out
  • Cleaned my shower (as I put stuff in there while tidying the rest of the bathroom)
  • Changed, not, cleaned the shower curtain
  • Had a shower
  • Gone out of my flat
  • Got food
  • Got back

Six months ago that would have been a bad day, so I’ve deteriorated quite a bit.

Tidying my bathroom is hard, not just because its a bathroom, but because every time something hits my skin, clothing, whatever, the only way to adequately clean it is with bleach, for skin that means putting bleach on, and quickly washing it off before my skin starts to sting too much.

Onto the next day, fingers crossed, it’ll be better – at least because the first 3 items won’t take up any time, as they’ve been done 😉

P.S. CMHT have decided to do a six week extended assessment to try and get me “better” before deciding whether to put me on the books.