SO today I finally plucked up the courage to listen to my voicemails and the chaos I caused. I’ve been dreading this since I realised that there were so many. I had a nurse sit with me whilst I faffed about, I was surprised by my response.

I don’t want to sound unappreciative, but  I struggled to feel anything. I thought I’d be feeling overwhelmed with emotion and guilt and shame. Now let’s be perfectly clear, I’m ashamed and feel guilty by the anxiety and pain I’m sure I caused. I also am ashamed and guilty that I didn’t feel anything, not even a tear of sadness or smile of appreciation that the world has some wonderful people in it, people I have been fortunate to meet in both real and virtual worlds. Just when I think I couldn’t hate myself any more, then something new comes along.

I hate that I caused people to feel helpless.

I hate that I caused people to feel frightened because of my behaviour.

I hate the fact I wasted public resources (Police, Ambulance, Hospital) because of my mind and behaviour.

I hate the fact I failed in what needed to be done.

I hate the fact I’m simply me, and I can’t like me for what I am.

I hate the fact I can’t trust myself.

Trust is such a big thing for me, I will give it readily but if it gets  broken then you never get it back. It was during my meeting with the hospital psychiatrist when I realised I didn’t trust myself, and begged for a an escort to take me home. Now I’m not talking about the kind of  who charges £150 an hour. But one of the nurses.

When we walked out of the hospital grounds I felt quite shaky,in fact probably should have turned round,  perhaps I would have if I wasn’t in desperate need for clothes to change into (I’d been in the same clothes for over 48hours and was getting fragrant to say the least). I recanted to the nurse about what led me to Bootham, every little detail, even the ones that still make me chuckle, like nipping home to get a bag for the step stool I’d bought from Pextons, looking at the old bill straight in the eyeas they flew past in the van with the sirens and lights on, no idea that it was me they were looking for, and that the hospital doctor who admitted me was married to my community psychiatrist.

As we got to know each other my barriers fell, I was letting pretty much a stranger who had a shitload of power know who I was. It never occurred to me what I was saying could have and impact on my treatment. Things got tough as I was bumping into people I knew, people who for the first time could see clearly the scars on my forehead from the fun I had at the hands of the steel I’d been playing with the previous weekend. Worst of all, less than twenty yards from my front door that hag from next door appeared walking up the road. Fortunately we hadn’t got past the point of no return and I whisked the nurse down the adjoining  road and down the cobbled alleyway and back to my front door. I know I’d have lost my fucking shit with that hag, given her 3 years of pent up frustration and have fucked myself at the same time. Now if you have ever been in my house you will know it’s quite the privilege because I keep very much as my sanctuary. I can’t begin to tell you how anxiety provoking it was to let this nurse see how I live, to her credit and that of the hospital he was fantastic.

Now dear reader, I’ve blathered on about trusting, I seem to have deviated  from not trusting myself. But there has been a point, in trusting the nurse I realised I had given a lot of myself, not only where, how I  intended to take my life, and even the fact I’d tried the day before but was thwarted by my physical limitations. Then I opened myself up to here and at which points I really joined the dots up. I confessed how I used to like munching down paracetamol and washing down with vodka and during my stay in Priory I would hop from chemist and shop to chemist and shop, stockpiling resources and getting them back into my hiding place in my bedroom until it was ready. I believe it was was in excess of 250 I got past, what can only be best described as lax nursing. To be fair not as bad (or impressive depending on your standpoint) as my friend who was on level one obs’ (a nurse with her at all times) who managed to get a mix of 30-50 1/2 litre and full litre bottles of vodka (all empty by the time the staff found them when she left and they cleaned her room). Again  I am deviating my point was give me freedom to do the right thing I will inevitably break your trust. I know I can’t be trusted out on my own or I will go to my place quicker than you can say Freddie Starr ate my hamster and I will finish what I started.

Now I don’t want people to think they can’t trust me when they have confided with me. I can and always keep your confidences, it’s when you trust me to do the right thing by me I sadly will always betray you. I am sat in an open area in plain sight of the nursing staff because I have found myself thinking of ways to harm myself I wouldn’t of course, not on the ward, because a kick off like that, has in prior experience sent everything bat shit as everyone falls like dominoes and without exception the staff are too great to have that heaped on them.

So I leave you for the night, with over a thousand words to read and probably the anxiety I’m a risk, well yes ultimately I am and probably always will be a risk to myself and only myself, well with one exception that cunt who has made me like this, but for the meantime I’m on the ward and safe, so I shall bid you all a good night and see you soon.

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