Cemented

On 8th of April 2018, I was admitted to Royal North Shore Hospital for an overdose. I hate how it felt. I slept for days. I don't remember the interactions. It was all very fragmented. I remember nurses yelling at me trying to wake me up and a nurse digging his elbow into my chest to gain some sort of conscienceness but that's all I remember.

I became responsive a couple days later. It felt like I was comatose. I was angry that I wasn't dead but didn't want to go through the process of dying. I was transferred to Hornsby Ku-ring-gai Hospital. I still hate psychiatrists. I despised talking to Anila Jacobs (I think that was the doctor's name) the most. She ultimately made things worst by the time it got to week 4 of my hospital admission.

(I later found out she was on leave and things actually felt dramatically better)

I was seeing and hearings things again but it was different. My memory became spotty but I vividly remember my obsession with the water there and how it was making me worst. More paranoid thoughts continued to seep through. My distrust in all the doctors and nurses made it so I lied about everything. I know some of the nurses tried to the best of their resources. It just felt like a holding cell. I was drowning.

By the end of it I was to worn out to even think about killing myself (or even telling the nurses what I felt), was labelled a violent/aggresive/hostile/abusive patient and felt worst leaving than I did going in. I felt PECC was a good change of ward for me but I was still discharged with no changes to my mental health state. I can only wait until the next relapse occurs. 

It is utterly exhausting and draining living in a near constant state of fight or flight but I want to continue to believe the fire in me burns brighter than the fire around me. It's all I got left.