I got my paper work through today.
The letter to say they’ve signed me off the crisis team and am now under the acute day services. And will be passed over to the adult mental health services after that.
They’d promised they wouldn’t do that until my meds were finalised and another meeting held, but that didn’t happen.
They make me sound like I’ve thoroughly enjoyed and embraced my time with them and I’m coming on board in leaps and bounds.
They’ve failed to mention since signing on with them I slit my wrists. And they failed to mention how every day my head is telling me to buy a litre of vodka, as many pills as I can gather and fade to black.
I feel everything they have written is a lie seen through rose tinted specs. And it’s making the pain in my heart hurt even more.
Like I can’t keep pushing on with this journey if they’re not accepting me at my most vulnerable.
I’m baring my heart and soul and they’re just shrugging it off.
They’d even promised to contact my GP with regards to repeat prescriptions for the medication I’m on. Medication they’ll only give me 1 weeks worth at a time. But when I called my GP today, emailing copies of the previous prescriptions to prove my dosage, they still won’t issue what I need to survive each day.
And that really is what it feels like at the moment, just surviving each day, 1 day at a time because it all feels so hard to fit in with.
My husband has now stepped in.
A letter of complaint against the general practitioner I’m about to be signed over to.
Her general incompetence and lack of thought when choosing her words when talking to someone so fragile.
All I can do in the meantime is either phone the crisis team who will suggest I go to A&E, sit me in a chair for a few hours before being assessed and sent home, or just go to bed and stop my mind from shouting at me constantly.
I’ll choose bed again today.
But I can’t keep hiding in my bed. Eventually something will have to change.
Let’s hope it’s through their actions and not mine.