Perceived: Losing and Finding my Mind

EPISODE 2: PART 2

The next day, I was informed that I would be going to a private hospital. From memory, I had texted mum that night and she told me everything would be alright, and that I should sleep. I thought she was telling me I should die, by saying that I should go to sleep (I thought she meant forever), but I nonetheless somewhat trusted her. I thought she was good at heart but that she had been influenced by those around her to become evil, but that maybe she wouldn’t physically hurt me or allow others to physically hurt me, and was rather playing mind games. So, I let her and dad come and pick me up the next day and take me to the private hospital. The room there looked like a hotel room. It had a television, its own little bathroom, it had a pool and a gym, and a dining room with its own chef. Mum, dad and my sister had worked around the clock to secure for me a gold package on our health cover which accommodated for mental health. A man showed us around, and I remember thinking my family was getting what they wanted in that they had me trapped in a prison under the pretence that they were caring for me. Looking at my perspectives now, I am ashamed and so grateful for my parents and family and appreciate how much emotional trauma they go through when I get sick, with me thinking such horrible things about them. However, I simply cannot control the way my brain starts to work; I become a totally different person.

When my parents left, I got a tour of the place. It was okay, but everyone there seemed old and very distant. I thought that this was part of my challenge. If I completed some of the activities I had to do here, exercised a bit and ate the food they gave me, I would win the game I thought I was playing, and my suffering would stop. People would stop trying to kill or attack me. I was tired, and desperate for everything to come to an end. I knew that time would not stand still, and that night, even though my mind was in a jumble, I decided to focus as best as I could and write an application for a university placement I really wanted to do at a legal centre that focuses on domestic violence, elder abuse and assisting the impecunious. I wrote down some dot points in my notebook and downloaded an application on my phone where I could complete the paperwork. I wrote my application for a few hours, as my brain had really slowed down and it took me a while to focus, generate ideas and write well. That night, I submitted my application, then I made a timetable for myself for the next day of classes I would go to and exercise I would do so that I could get out of this place. Everyone seemed so artificially nice, even the nurses who gave me my medication at night. I just wanted to get out of there. But where? I had nowhere to go. My family wanted to harm me, my friends probably wanted to harm me too, and the only person who I knew had my back was Dan (this was a fictional reality I had cooked up in my own mind using subliminal messages to “decode” a deeper meaning to everything).

The next morning, I went to a yoga and meditation class, and I went to the gym. I went on the treadmill, and decided I had to be on there for thirty minutes, otherwise the world was going to end. At fifteen minutes I was so incredibly tired, due to the strong medication I was taking, and lack of fitness that had stemmed from a lack of motivation after my first psychotic episode. Nonetheless, I pushed myself on and on until I reached thirty minutes. There was a lady in the ward who was in her late twenties or early thirties, who refused to crack a smile. She was so serious, and would never talk, it reminded me of how much I hated this place. At lunch time, this old woman came and sat next to me and started talking to me about her family. Usually I would have really appreciated that this woman was taking time out to talk to me and make me feel more comfortable, but I was having none of it at the time. I remember her saying, “who knows when we will get out of here”. I craved for people my age who I could trust, someone a bit more relatable. By this time I had started second-guessing Dan’s trustworthiness, as he hadn’t been in contact much. I was going back and forth between him and Allan now, as to who my most trusted person was. (Boy crazy, I know – all I can say is that I am not like this when I am well). Could it have been Allan? Was I wrong all this time? After all, Dan had given me an earful about everything being my bad karma on my first night in hospital.

I began thinking that maybe I had wrongly sidelined Allan. So I decided to reach out to him. I texted him and told him I was in a psychiatric ward, and that I would like him to come and visit. To give you some context into what I was going through, I felt like I was being held hostage in a place with no one I knew; no familiar faces, and everyone that I did know was out to get me. I was desperate for connection, for feeling like I was loved genuinely. Allan was very kind and told me he would try his best. I became so excited that he was coming that I began to have some hope. Maybe he would save me from my crazy family, and this crazy world. Maybe he was my only hope. I was so ridiculously elated at the prospect of him coming to hospital. I texted my sister to send me several outfits with my parents. I told her to send me some branded earrings and my watch and makeup. I requested permission from the ward to let me use my hair straightener and razor to shave my legs. I was ready. My psychiatrist came into visit me and after I explained to her what was going through my head, she warned that it was nice I had started talking to a nice boy, but that she felt it would ruin my chances with him if we were to meet each other under these circumstances, in a psychiatric ward of a hospital. I refused to listen to her. A few days later, it was the day that Allan was meant to come and my mum and dad came to visit in the afternoon. I added Allan’s name into the guest register and mum and dad just looked at each other. Mum told me that he probably won’t come. Surely enough, that afternoon, after I had showered, straightened my hair and gotten dressed in a fancy black dress, popped on my earrings and watch to make a good impression on him, he texted that he would not be able to make it to the hospital. I was devastated. But then I thought maybe everyone was just trying to surprise me. Again, I felt like maybe I was being recorded, and mum and dad were there because they were excited for me and Allan would show up even though he said he wouldn’t. So I took mum and dad into this outdoor courtyard at the hospital, so that it was a nice little setting for when Allan revealed himself. Time went on and on. It passed by, and kept passing by. I became impatient. Where was Allan? This surprise was getting on my nerves. I just wanted my man. Mum looked at me funny and said, “are you waiting for someone”? “No”, I said, coming to the awful realisation at around 7pm, after waiting for hours, that there was, in fact, no surprise at all. Mum and dad left then and I went back to my room, took off my makeup and dress, and got into my pyjamas. I cried myself to sleep that night. I was so incredibly tired. Tired of trying to find someone who I could trust. Maybe there was no one.

Once Allan was a no-show, I immediately reverted to Dan being “the one”. Precisely why there could be only one person I trusted, and why I had to eventually be in love with them, I do not know. It’s just the way my brain starts working when I am ill. As I hadn’t talked to Dan in a few days, I didn’t ask him if he would help me again if I needed, but I knew that the one person I could trust would have my back, and at this point I was incredibly confident that it was Dan. I had had enough of the psychiatric ward, (even though it was pretty luxurious), and I decided that the following day I would be self-discharging, or I would be stuck in there forever. I thought this is what my family wanted…to call me crazy when I wasn’t, and admit me to a hospital forever so that they didn’t have to deal with me at home. 

So the following morning, I went to a meditation class, and waited…and waited. No one came to get me even though I said I wanted to get out of there. I wasn’t crazy. I waited for hours, and then finally someone came. It was the hospital psychiatrist named Dr. Serp. I remember being scared of her, because I thought this was code for the fact that she was a snake. Dr. Serp set up a conference with Cara and I, and Cara was explaining to me that it would be best if I stayed in hospital for a few days and that I could then be discharged. However, I was adamant that I wanted to go to the suburb I had lived in throughout my childhood, get my hair cut there and visit some family who still lived there. I had remembered a friend of mine had made a post about cutting off some of her hair and donating it to cancer patients, and I thought that God had made me remember this as a clue towards how I could save the world. I had spent the whole night before decoding the exact schedule combination and times that I believed would save the world from coming to an end. I truly believed that if I leave, I could stop the world from coming to an end. I tried to explain all of this to Cara, however, she wouldn’t understand and I was getting impatient.

By this time, my sister had arrived, poor thing, I remember vividly, was sitting there in a green Country Road jumper with tears streaming down her face. I remember thinking that she was full of it, and must be evil, as she was wearing the ‘Evil’ house colour from said Wizarding Series. I tried explaining to her that I needed to go to Ipswich and do everything in the order that I had planned. I even sent her a screenshot of the minute-to-minute schedule I had created for that day. She was patient and through her tears, she said that maybe we could go to Ipswich.

However, by that time Cara and the hospital had taken action. In came a paramedic who they had called to take me away to another public hospital after putting me on a treatment authority under the Mental Health Act (basically signing away my rights to make decisions, due to lack of capacity), who as I perceived at the time, treated me like a criminal. His tone was condescending, and he told me that if I didn’t get on the stretcher, he would strap me down. I started crying. I had never been spoken to like this or treated this way before…what I thought at the time was, quite frankly, like an animal. It was extremely degrading and gives me nightmares to this day. I called Dan as a last resort, and he was on the phone with me for a while and reassured me over and over that I just needed to do what everyone was saying, and we would seek legal action later. I believed this and trusted him, so I got on the stretcher, and let the paramedic strap me in. I then asked my sister to take a picture of me strapped down as evidence for my future lawsuit surrounding how my rights had been violated. My brain would have been so tired, and on overdrive, however, I did not forget this legal technicality.

I finally arrived at the public hospital. I got off the stretcher and followed the paramedics in. I sat at a long table where everybody was having their dinner, which looked terrible. It looked like half-cooked pumpkin with thawed frozen vegetables. A girl of Asian ethnicity started talking to me, and asked what my name was and why I was here. “Priyanka…” I said, followed by, “I’ve just been in hospital and somehow had Meth in my system, when I’ve never touched drugs in my life. I don’t know how they got there, and now I’m here”. The girl seemed kind and rosy-cheeked despite being in a depressing place, which they had tried to make less depressing by putting up some colourful artwork, I remember thinking at the time). She told me that she had been drugged too, by her boyfriend, and had reacted badly to it. She seemed very nice and normal, and I felt a bit comforted.

This other girl with green hair who did not smile, then offered me some of her tea, which looked suspicious…I don’t even know what weed looks like, but I thought she was trying to feed me weed, as they were green loose tealeaves. So when she wasn’t looking, I threw the tea out into the communal sink without taking so much as a sip. Another girl had beautiful, curly, ringlets for hair and seemed a bit out of it. There was another girl named Zoe, who was acting very antsy and could not stand still, had very slurred speech and would not crack a smile.  One of the nurses then took me down a long hallway to my room. When I got there, I panicked. It looked like a jail cell. I had never seen anything like it. The adjoining bathroom was a shower head and toilet, which were not separated at all, so I assumed when you went to the toilet after having a shower, the floor would be all wet around it. I felt so down, and walked back to the communal area. I sat with the three girls who were talking, but I had zoned out. I just stared at the doors to the hospital ward, and prayed that Dan would come and save me. He was Jesus, so he would know what was going on, right? He would save me. I watched the doors for minutes, and then minutes became hours. He never came. Izzy, the part Asian-looking girl told me to be careful while sleeping, because the doors didn’t lock and some of the boys had been caught trying to get into the girls’ rooms. I was terrified. My mind went back to a similar trajectory to the first episode, and I was scared people might want to assault me. I thought that maybe if I listened to religious songs all night, that would ward off any evil people, and so I did, and got no sleep that night. The food was gross, and I thought I was a goddess and deserved great food, so I decided I would get Uber Eats every day that I was in there. The next evening, the girl with the curly ringlets was missing. I pointed this out to the other girls, and we decided to go looking for her. We checked in her room, and she wasn’t there. We checked in the TV room, and she wasn’t there. We checked everywhere, but she was nowhere to be seen. We decided to check her room again, and heard a noise towards the back of the room. We proceeded to go in even though we weren’t allowed to. I saw her first. She was sitting, with an uptight posture, cross-legged, inside a small cupboard in the wall that was there to put clothes for more long-term patients. I was terrified when I saw this, and yelled out to the other girls. The other girls came in and suggested that I go out, so that we wouldn’t alarm the girl by swarming her. I agreed, and watched from the doorway. Then Zoe came in and started panicking and yelling, but hugged the girl with curly hair, who responded slightly to her, even though she had not responded to any of the other girls. A nurse shoved past me at that moment and entered into the room. She started barking at Zoe to get out of the room. This triggered me. “Excuse me”, I said. “Could you please speak to Zoe like she is a person? We are all going through a lot in here, and some empathy from you would be nice”. The nurse was flustered and did not know what to say. She lowered her tone, and said to Zoe, “Please leave the room Zoe, while we deal with this.”