Diary of a Madwoman Day 1

As a Madwoman, my journey begins at Accident and Emergency. Actually, it started before that when my involvement with Ukraine triggered a neighbour directly opposite me a neighbour. who, unbeknownst to me, was a rabid Putin fan. His background is as a mercenary who hails from the US. He had already told me “I can’t allow myself to get angry, as when I get angry, I can kill people”. That was years ago but I planted it in my mind.

He recently commenced a hate campaign involving repeatedly calling me a Nazi, making death threats against me, attempting to break through my door and threatening to blow up the entire building etc. The latter resulted in the entire building of 35 flats having to be evacuated twice and the road cordoned off. The armed police who deal with terrorism attended along with a host of other representatives of the emergency services.

He was eventually arrested, then placed under a Section of the Mental Health Act. I was assured by my landlord that he would not return for a long time, if ever, which reassured me. That was short lived. Within a day or so this was changed to my being told HE has rights so would be returning to live opposite me. I was devastated and my mental health was teetering on the edge a cliff.

I already have PTSD & am a rape and prolonged sexual abuse survivor. I have had many experiences of being on the receiving end of male violence, in other words. I was terrified and horrified. On the few nights I slept, I had nightmares about him. In that case there was NO respite whatsoever. David (not his real name) had taken up residence in my head.

Then the flashbacks started. I had not had those for twenty years. They are so vivid I can be transported back to the original trauma. In this case I was convinced he was once again trying to break through my door shouting. In fact it was the police trying to evacuate us as they believed he’d set up explosives throughout the building.

My health deteriorated to the point that I was by now not eating, not washing & my flat was a tip. I took care of Izzy but that is all. I went to A&E to ask for help as all the well-meaning but useless mental health campaigns tell us. Medics judged me on medical criteria solely and as my blood results were deemed fine I was sent back out, on one occasion at 2.30am. I asked for help to get home safely and the response from the medic was “you are not an old lady. You are 56 and should be able to look after yourself”. His contempt was evident.

In A&Е there are a few possible outcomes dependent on the answer to the following:.

1. Will there be any cubicles left or will you be languishing in the corridor?. 2. Will you be seen by a Doctor at all? 3. If you do see a Doctor will this person have ANY insight into Mental Health?.

After, I think, about four attempts to get help as I felt close to taking my life. I phoned the Mental Health Trust Single Point of Access. They listened. They were kind. They sent me back to A&E as I was by this time, actively suicidal. I had arranged someone to look after my beloved cat Izzy. I had amassed enough pills to do the job.

In a Groundhog Day scenario, I was told my blood results were fine and I should go. I felt unsafe and wobbly but he took one blood test to declare me fine so I prepared once again to wobble home. It was 3am. My Angel saved me though as I was stopped by the incredible Psych Liaison who sent me straight back to the cubicle to remain there until he was satisfied I was safe and managed to overrule the Doctor. If I had been one minute earlier, I would have missed him and I doubt I would be writing this now.

He decided I needed admission to hospital to have time and space to get well and this would not happen with the violent neighbour who had been permitted to return to live opposite me. The latter news had knocked me for six and sent me spiralling down further. The Housing Association’s preference was for ME to go to the Town Hall and declare myself homeless. My last experience of that unit was being shoved in a taxi alone and sent to an illegally converted building in Tottenham where I was visibly vulnerable, and so preyed on by another resident who dragged me into his flat, stabbed and raped me.

Back to my experience in A&E. I was ‘lucky’ only to be on a trolley for 16 hours waiting for a bed. I was lucky as I know of someone who was there for 36 hours.

Perhaps this time, I might get the help I needed really to save my life. Perhaps then I would not be judged a time-wasting nuisance clogging up an A&E cubicle. Perhaps there was some hope…

More to follow, when it gets REALLY interesting….

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