MENTAL HEALTH AWARENESS WEEK 

14 – 20 MAY 2018

 

I don’t often talk about my experiences with mental health breakdowns, mania & depression.  Sometimes I want to talk about it but I don’t know how to begin the conversation.

According to statistics, 1 in 4 people suffer from mental health problems each year.  2.4 million people in the UK have bipolar – and I am one of them.

Dealing with a mental health problem can be isolating but I am so lucky that I have brilliant friends and family who have supported me through difficult periods of highs and lows.

In 2008 I suffered two manic episodes, both resulting in hospital stays.  I was in hospital for one night on the first occasion and on a mental health ward for 1 week on the second occasion.

I’ve hardly talked about these experiences but four years later, I wrote a poem about being a patient in a mental health hospital.  At the time I couldn’t bring myself to call it ‘The Mental Health Hospital’ (as I was ashamed!) Instead I chose to call it ‘The Centre.’

 

THE CENTRE

 

We’ve all got our problems at the centre

There’s one who gets really close to my face when she talks to me

And she likes private chats.

And there’s another who doesn’t speak, just walks silently, arms shaking involuntarily.

There’s one who lies down in front of the TV with all her clothes on.

And one who pushes a trolley and sits in the corner speaking gibberish to herself.  Or is it to someone who’s not there? Or us who won’t listen?

There’s one who screams and wants to show us her underwear.

And there are other faces who follow the same routine.

Breakfast, medication, lunch, medication, dinner, medication, toast and hot chocolate, medication, bed.

And there’s me.

 

I look at these women and I wonder what happened?

What went wrong?

Did someone mistreat you?

Betray you?

Not love you?

 

Perhaps they look at me in the same way.

There are no easy answers.

Good family, good job, good life.

 

I stop wandering the corridors at night

I stop looking for escape routes

I stop asking to leave

I stop trying to avoid taking medication

I stop being me.

 

I exchange whispers with the tactile woman

I shake my arms with the silent girl

I lie beside the woman with all her clothes on

I try to understand and decipher the mutterings of the trolley lady

I look for a moment when the girl flashes her underwear

And I fall into line.

Breakfast, medication, lunch, medication, dinner, medication, toast and hot chocolate, medication, bed.