…the psychiatric ward. And I didn’t even want to go onto the ward in the first place. What happened?

The plan was to transition to rehab accommodation, but I’ve been told it would mean only being allowed off the premises once a week (Covid-19 precautions), and even then to only visit a supermarket, not to have a a walk. Being able to get out of my living “zone” helps me cope when the anxiety in one place becomes too much, just change place (zone) until I feel a bit better. Relying on sedatives isn’t something I want.

I don’t want to go back to my existence before I came onto the ward, being dysfunctional is no fun whatsoever.

I don’t want to stay with my parents, I moved out because they had trouble dealing with my OCD, and its worse than it was back then, so it will become an unpleasant issue that isn’t addressed or quite ignored.

I don’t ever want to try swapping medications in a community setting again – back in May it felt like I’d been forgotten and left to deal with any side-effects unsupported; there’s no way I’d cope with my current switch alone or without adequate support (my anxiety is up, a lot, made worse by the fact that is was lower than usual before starting the medication.

My coping strategies at the moment revolve around the ward and the staff, if I move I’ll create new coping strategies, but going to someone I don’t want to go as a “voluntary” patient isn’t something I can consent to.

I can’t stay on a ward indefinitely, I need an exit plan that works for me, but I don’t what that is now. The rehab accommodation was that exit plan, but Covid-19 has made that unpalatable. It’s possible something will change (I hope), but my mental view of the future is some kind of darkness, with nothing good visible, just spectres out to get me.