New Relationship and feeling vulnerable

I am currently in a new relationship. He is lovely. 7.5 years older than me. Mature, sweet and just very, very lovely. I refer to him a The Lovely Man (TLM).

I have known him well for 3ish years. I had been told a while ago that he liked me and, secretly, I liked him too. He is very shy and I knew that I would probably have to make the first move. And it took me over a year to pluck up the courage to do so but just before Christmas, we went out for the first time to see ‘Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them’ and although it’s a cliche, we’ve been quite inseparable since.

Due to his work commitments, we’ve mainly been spending Saturdays together and we have the best time. Last weekend, I went away for the weekend with some of my family. I missed him SO much it actually hurt, and I know that he missed me too. As we were telling each other this, I suddenly felt extremely tearful and vulnerable. I am not used to wearing my heart on my sleeve and this felt weird.

We’ve already had the “I have a severe mental illness” talk and he was super lovely and respectful about it. I was worried as I thought it might put him off me but he couldn’t have taken it any better. I was so touched as recently, I’ve been quite sure that no one would actually ever want anything to do with me because of my unpredictable mental health.

So, why do I feel so vulnerable? I’m not sure but I think because my previous relationship started when I was only 13 and ended when I was 20… I don’t really know how these things work because I didn’t need to. I was left heartbroken at the end of the relationship but realised after a while it was 100% the right decision. But my ex, he knew everything about me because he’d been there when it was happening. I didn’t have to explain much to him and he was (for the most part) really brilliant.

Since then (May 2015), I’ve hidden a lot of feelings as I’ve had no one really to share them with. I now have someone to share my life with again, and it feels quite strange. To good to be true. Because, why WOULD anyone want to be with me? I’m an ugly, unstable, fat, unfit 22 year old who has some major issues going on. Why would anyone want to be with me?

I think I was feeling vulnerable (and still am tbh) because I’m so used to keeping things to myself, to protect myself, being open about my feelings could mean I end up getting hurt.

We’re off out for dinner in about an hour. I’m looking forward to it because I haven’t seen him properly for a week. But I’m nervous too (which is weird because I don’t think I’ve been nervous to see him since the first time we went out).

I’m sorry this post is strange. I needed somewhere to put my thoughts down that was longer than 140 characters.





3 years.

On this day in 2011, I did this really brave thing. I asked for help for the first time.

I was very aware that there was something not quite right. I wasn’t eating properly, I wasn’t sleeping properly, I felt sad All. Of. The. Time. And worst of all… I had thoughts of self-harm.

I had been suffering for a while before I sought help.

I didn’t feel like I could tell anyone about the way I was feeling so when I turned 16, I decided that I would go and see a GP about it. On my own. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going. I was scared. But my gut instinct was that I needed help and I needed it pretty soon.

I’m not quite sure what brought me to the decision to visit the doctors. I think I might have read something on the internet. That information I read probably saved my life.

I remember very clearly that appointment. I was so relieved that the doctor knew what I was talking about and understood straight away. He prescribed me an antidepressant and offered me counselling (which, because I naively believed that drugs would fix me, did not take up… oh hindsight is a wonderful thing).

Fast forward 3 years on and my mental health has deteriorated further over the past year or so. I have tried to take my own life a couple of times and I’ve had psychosis to deal with as well as having drastic mood swings.I have a diagnosis of Schizoaffective Disorder.  When I first was diagnosed with depression, no one could have predicted that this was going to happen. It could have quite easily gone the other way and I could have had a six month course of antidepressants, had some therapy (which I did eventually get in the middle of 2011) and gotten better. Unfortunately it’s not worked out that way.

I just can’t believe it’s been 3 years.

{my mental health in stats:

4 antidepressants

2 antipsychotics

8 sessions of CBT

3 services I’ve “been under”

1 girl who’s still unwell.}


Today is the first day of “Freshers Week”. My first week of university. 


I left home last weekend and have coped pretty well since then. I spent all of Friday in bed because I couldn’t move I was so ill. 

Tonight, I’m staying in whilst everyone else in my hall goes out to the official freshers launch event. I know I made the right decision for me not to go. 1) It would be really crowded and I’ve a tendency to panic in crowded places and 2) drinking makes me unstable. 


I’m having really weird mood problems at the moment. I can’t quite put my finger on what’s going wrong but it is. It’s going dreadfully wrong. And now, I’m more unsupported than ever. 


To end on a cheery note, I got into university (if you didn’t guess already) which just proves that despite the hard times, I was capable of achieving. 🙂 

vacances. vacation. holiday.

Holidays are supposed to be fun, idyllic and relaxing but when you suffer from mental health problems, they could turn into a nightmare. 

I booked my girlie holiday to Zante (which also happened to be this year’s European party capital) last September. I wasn’t sure of the group’s intentions for the holiday ie whether it would be a chilled break or a party holiday but as it was probably going to be my only holiday in 2013 and the fact I wanted to go on a holiday with my girlfriends after we finished our exams I decided I would book onto it. Last September, I was naive enough to think that I would be better or at least psychologically strong enough to go on holiday. Oh god, how I was so wrong. 

In the few weeks leading up to my holiday, I had to access my CMHT crisis service. I was in crisis. I hadn’t felt this bad… perhaps in ever. I’m still not feeling good, even now, weeks later. I was desperate to go on this holiday. It was my 18th birthday present from my parents and I would have felt awfully guilty if I had cancelled it. Ha. I wish I had now. 

For the entire week before the holiday, I sought doctors’ advice from my GP and advice from my CPN/CC. The Dr said that she didn’t think I should go. The nurse said she thought I should go. Brilliant. I begged the doctor to prescribe me diazepam for the anxiety. She said no. Brilliant. 

I also searched on the internet for information about going on holiday in crisis and what help I could access whilst I was out there. Seeing as I was going on holiday without my parents/responsible adult I was worried that my friends wouldn’t look after me if I needed them to. There was no information available about mental health crisis on holiday. The top of the search results was unanimously Charlotte’s blog (@BipolarBlogger). She’s blogged about going on holiday and going into crisis whilst on holiday. Well I was going on holiday whilst in crisis… 

I commented on her blog and asked if she had any tips to cope and manage whilst being abroad. She very kindly tweeted me a long list which I copied out to take with me. These things included separating myself from the rest of the group, relaxation music to help me relax and meditation. I also printed off the Trouble in Paradise blog, this blog and also this blog. I put them all in an envelope along with a crisis aversion plan I’d quickly drawn up the afternoon before I left and the CMHT number and my GP surgery number just in case. 

Our flight was at 06:50. I had to wake up at 3:45 (not ideal) and my Dad dropped me at the airport. I was so anxious because I’d never flown before without at least one of my parents with me. I also get anxious before going on aeroplanes because I’m an emetophobe and the thought of somebody vomitting near me can start off a panic attack. 

We boarded the plane at 06:25. At 06:50, the pilot came onto the intercom to inform us that we were going to be sitting on the tarmac for at least an hour because of a traffic jam at the other end in Zante. Brilliant. I cried. 

When we got finally got going, I started to relax a little bit. 

We finally got there at 13:30 Greek time. The passport control was laughable but the bagagge carousels were quick. We were on our way to the hotel within half an hour of landing. 

When we arrived at the hotel, we were ushered into the bar by the Thomson rep. He wanted to sell the Thomson night life package. I immediately opted out of it, alcohol was the last thing my brain needed. My friends shelled out 140 euro on these nights and paid for 5 nights (and some days) out of the 7 to go out and party at events organised by Thomson. 

On the first night, they went out of a bar crawl and I went to bed. One of my friends who I was sharing a room with “got lucky” on the first night and finally crawled into bed at about 01:30. I was soo tired after our early morning and flight. I don’t understand why people wanted to go out?!?! 

On the Saturday, all my friends but one were booked to go on the Booze Cruise boat party. Me and my friend, G just chilled around the pool all day which was nice. I was feeling ok, pretty calm but I was already feeling very homesick. 

On Saturday night, I decided for one night only I would go out with them on the strip. It wasn’t a fun night and I’ll leave it at that. I hated every minute of it. 

On Sunday, I wanted to go to the beach so a couple of my friends and I walked the 500m down the strip and to the beach. It was really nice and the sea was beautiful. I spent a good 2 and a half hours in the sea in the afternoon. Unfortunately during this time my factor 50 suncream wore off and I ended up with the world’s worst sunburn and sun stroke. I was very ill on Sunday night. 

I spent all of Monday in bed. I was very anxious and didn’t feel up to facing the world. 

On Monday night I went to have dinner with all my friends. Then went straight to bed whilst they all went to a beach rave. 

My roomies came back to the room at about 23:30. We went to sleep. I was awoken at 3am because a couple of other friends had come into my room. This one girl, who wasn’t really my friend before we went on this holiday and certainly will not be my friend now we’ve got back, decided it would be fun to take the mick out of me, out of my poor health, out of my clothes. I tolerated it for about 5 minutes but after that I just shouted at her to go away. It was 3am and I just wanted to sleep! And I just thought it was soooo rude what she was doing to me. She went away and we all went back to sleep. 

I woke up at 9:30 and read for a little bit. Then I got up (my two roomies were still asleep) and went for a walk down to the shop and rang my mom. I ended up breaking down on the phone and just crying. I wanted to pretend that I was okay because it was my 18th birthday present. I was gutted that I couldn’t pretend. She told me that I should go to the airport and see if I could get home today. I ran back to my room and shoved everything in my suitcase as quick as possible. I told my roomies that I was going to try and go home. They were a bit shocked but accepted by decision. When I was ordering a taxi to the airport in reception I bumped into a few of my other friends. They said I would regret going home early. I didn’t care. I had one thing on my mind and that was going home. 

When I go to the airport, I managed to get on a flight back to East Midlands Airport (my first choice was Birmingham but there were no tickets). I had the last ticket on the plane. Within half an hour of arriving at the airport, I was sitting on the plane waiting to go home. 

3 and a half hours later and I was back on home territory at East Midlands Airport, three days earlier than schedule. 

I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved in my life and no way regret my decision of leaving early. 

So that is the story of my first “girlie” holiday. 

I’m hoping that sometime this week I will be able to do a blog post about mental health and holiday and how to manage it… Not that I’m an expert or anything!!



I’m safe. I’m in acute crisis but I’m safe. 


I’m not in hospital, I am at home. 


Sorry I’ve been M-I-A from Twitter, just can’t bring myself to look at it. 

I’ve not harmed myself until today when I took 8 paracetamol at once. I’m not going to seek help though, last time I did that, it wasn’t fun. 

I’m going on holiday on Friday. A girls’ holiday. With no parents. I’m petrified and anxious. I’ve been to the doctor to ask their opinion on whether I should go or whether I am too much of a risk. They refused to answer the question. I’m still undecided on whether I will go or not. I actually feel sick thinking about it. The last thing that I want or need is to be in crisis on holiday and end up in a foreign medical or psychiatric ward. I went to my GP to see whether they could give me some emergency diazepam for the holiday. The answer was no. GRRRR! 

There are no resources available on the internet about this subject. There should be.

I’m devastated I feel this way at what should be such an exciting time.

Pregnancy & Mental Illness

A few months ago, if somebody asked me what I wanted to be when I was older, I would have replied: a midwife who specializes in helping women with poor mental health, whether that had been brought on by pregnancy or was a pre-existing condition. 

I don’t want to be a midwife anymore, I would like to be a doctor {a long story in itself} but still I am interested in helping those with mental health issues. Whether that’s as a GP or as a psychiatrist I am not quite sure yet (well I have got another 7 years to decide!) but it’s more likely to be GP if I’m really honest :). 

Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been thinking about the implications of me getting pregnant right now. Firstly I would be obstetric high risk thanks to my acute hypertension and tachycardia but secondly, what would happen with my mental health care? Undoubtedly, there would have to be some intervention but to what extent… I don’t fancy asking the CMHT or my GP as they would think I’m weird… or crazy… or something like that. Hahaha.

I read a report this week about the detainment of pregnant women (admittedly it was about the detainment of illegal immigrants and the effect of this on their mental health and the health of their baby). It found that women that were detained during their pregnancy (and to some extent I expect this for women held under the Mental Health Act) were more likely to lose their baby at late miscarriage or stillbirth and then their mental health to deteriorate. The detainment of women under the MHA during pregnancy is something that I would like to   research further. If you would like to read this report you can find it here.

And what about mental health after pregnancy? I would consider Post Natal Depression to be one of the least stigmatized mental illnesses as a woman’s hormones are usually to blame and it is talked about a lot in the media. It is also a reasonably well known fact that people who have pre-existing mental health conditions or have suffered with their mental health in the past are much more likely to suffer with post natal depression or, the more serious of post natal mental illnesses, post natal psychosis. 

Post natal mental illnesses are often reported about in the news after a mother (and at this point, I shall mention the fathers who suffer from these terrible illnesses who rarely get a look in) has committed a heinous crime. At least once a month, there will be a news report about how a mother who was suffering from either post natal depression or post natal psychosis is standing trial in court. Surely, and I am no legal expert, once the woman has been assessed by a psychiatrist and they’ve determined her diagnosis, she should not be tried for the crime? 

Anyway, there’s a case at Birmingham Crown Court at the moment about a woman named Jaymin ABDULRAHMAN. She is being tried for attempted murder, causing grievous bodily harm with intent and inflicting grievous bodily harm, all of which she denies. ABDULRAHMAN “deliberately” put her six-day-old daughter down a chute at a Wolverhampton block of flats. According to her defence lawyer she was suffering from an “severe form of post natal depression” i.e. post natal psychosis. However, I was listening to the local radio this afternoon who only quoted ABDULRAHMAN saying that she had “lost control of her thoughts”. (Previously, on another station, they had said that she had suffered an episode of Post natal mental illness so I knew that already). I was slightly disgusted actually that rather than reporting that the woman had suffered a psychotic episode as a result of the birth of her baby, they just reported that she had “lost control of her thoughts”. Losing control of your thoughts sounds criminal. Having a psychotic episode as a result of the birth of a baby does not. 

To me, I am struggling to understand why these women get tried if they are found, by a licensed psychiatrist, to be suffering an episode of poor mental health. 

These past few weeks, I’ve been thinking about the implications of me having a baby, say in nine months time. (I’m not pregnant btw!!) To be fair, I’ve never had an experience of perinatal mental health teams. I suspect that I might in the future. I think that, like a lot of areas of mental health provision, it is probably an area that needs to be improved. 

But, how many more babies are going to have to get harmed before this is made a priority? 

You don’t appreciate what you’ve got until it’s gone.

From July 2012-February 2013, I was a CAMHS service user. I saw the consultant psychiatrist 4 times, an assistant psychologist 5 times and the CPN a few times a month. During this time I would also see my GP at her request, sometimes every week or sometimes every 2 weeks. Never more than 2 weeks though. She wanted to keep a very close eye on me.

At the time, I can’t say I was particularly enamored with the care I received from the CAMHS team. In this blog I spoke about how damning the “professionals” could be at times. 

Before I first got seen at the CMHT, I was rather excited. I was looking forward to working towards recovery with a new team of people, fronted by my two GPs who would have fortnightly/weekly contact. The first appointment was very disappointing. I blogged about it here.

Since then, I have met with a psychologist to discuss psychological therapies. This was also a fail of an appointment because thanks to her, no decision was made.

And then there was the overdose episode. I have actually not heard from the CMHT since then, but my GPs have both been more than brilliant at dealing with me and looking after me since then.

Then I found out that there was this professionals meeting about me which was to be attended by one of my GPs, the psychiatrist and the psychologist. This week, I got to find out the outcome of this. And it most certainly was not what I was expecting.

From this week, I am not supposed to be having ANY contact with my GPs (which is impossible because I have physical health issues which need to be sorted out) because apparently they’re “TOO SYMPATHETIC” towards me. Have you ever heard such drivel in your life? Because I certainly haven’t. I don’t think my GPs are in favour of this at all but are not in a position to argue with these so called “specialists”. It is pretty obvious to everybody around me, even those who don’t know the specifics, that I have very close relationships with my GPs and that I trust them with my life.

So now my care is managed in secondary care, rather than primary care. When I found out at my appointment with one of the GPs on Tuesday, I just cried. I have been going to the Drs’ surgery for over two years to be looked after regarding my mental health. How can it just be stopped so abruptly and without asking me what my opinion is??

To make matters worse, with my very important exams coming up in the next couple of weeks, I am going to be needing ALL the support I can get and my GPs were more than happy to see me every week, even twice if necessary to make sure that I was coping properly.

Since the meeting which was on the 9/05, I have not been contacted by the CMHT to let me know about what is going on. I have not got an appointment booked in with anyone which always makes me feel uneasy. I know that I cannot do these exams without any support. My GPs know that.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is that up until the end of January, I was being seen regularly by the CMHT and by my GP(s) and it was working just fine. Now, about six months later, it appears that I’m being seen by no one. And by the way it sounds, I will be chastised if I go to my GP surgery asking for help with my mental health problems. Brilliant isn’t it?

You don’t appreciate what you’ve got until it’s gone; I miss CAMHS & I never thought I’d say that.

I’m just massively disappointed with how it’s all turned out.

Recently & Coming Up…

Monday marks the first of my final exams at my school. I have six and I shall finally finish on the 17th June. I’m scared because this really is my last ever chance. 

My life is going to change dramatically over the next few months and to be quite honest; I am scared about it. 

I’m finding it hard to do a lot these days. I seem to be suffering from chronic exhaustion albeit suffering at the same time from terrible insomnia. My concentration is poor. Doesn’t bode well for the next few weeks when I need to be concentrating for hours on end. My GPs are not expecting me to do very well. But they understand and they are very reassuring for me and I truly appreciate their honesty.

Speaking of my GPs, the lovely Dr B (who’s been my GP for years and has looked after me for over two years) was truly wonderful this week and went above and beyond the call of duty and  on her day off went to a meeting all about me with the CMHT… Dr W who I saw earlier in the week said that Dr B wouldn’t do that for many of her patients. I felt touched and honoured and so grateful that someone would do that for me. I shall get the feedback from the meeting on Tuesday when I go and see Dr B. I’m anxious to know what was discussed…. Hopefully a proper treatment plan will be in place. I know that she was going to express her and Dr W’s concerns about how inadequate my experience has been with them so far has been. 

I also got accepted for DSA (Disabled Student’s Allowance) this week. I have to go and have a need’s assessment in the next couple of week which I guess will be similar to an ATOS assessment. Not looking forward to that. I wasn’t 100% sure that I would be accepted for DSA so it was a bit of surprise when the letter came through saying I was eligible. It kind of hit home at that point how poorly I am and how poorly I have been.

I’m in the middle of creating a PSHE lesson to be given out at my school sixth form about mental illness mainly because I’m not impressed by some of the attitudes towards mental illness I’ve seen (on twitter for example) or heard around school. I hope that it will make a difference to at least one person. 

Right that’ll do for now. Hope you’re having a great weekend! 


I just don’t know what to say…

I am so desperate to blog. I love blogging and it offers some sort of relief for me. 

So… If anyone has any suggestions about topics or anything PLEASE SUGGEST THEM TO ME!!! 

Tweet me @CAMHSToAdult or comment on this blog post! 


Liaison Psychiatry & Home Treatment Team.

On Saturday 30th March at noon, I took a paracetamol overdose. It wasn’t a big overdose and I’m not going to go into the circumstances surrounding the overdose because they are not important and that isn’t what this blog is about. 

I had already accessed Duty Psychiatry earlier on in the week when my GP did an urgent referral. I had been unimpressed by the lack of compassion displayed by the mental health nurse and the student mental health nurse even though I was obviously in a mess. I’m not going to go into that into too much detail either. 

At 6pm on Saturday, I decided that I should probably go and get checked out at the hospital. I didn’t want to tell my family what I had done so I text my best friend – who really was the bestest friend EVER on Saturday night – and she came to pick me up at about 8.15. We arrived at the local hospital at 8.40 and I got registered and sat down with my best friend. We chatted for a bit which was nice. I was very agitated but my best friend was doing an amazing job of taking my mind off everything and keeping me occupied. I didn’t tell my family where I was going. I just told them I was going to chill at my best friend’s house. I wish that was the case. At about 9:50, we were finally called into the Majors unit by a staff nurse. She was friendly and offered to call my Mom. I said “NO” immediately. They respected by confidentiality. THANK GOODNESS. 

The staff nurse and doctor (a senior house officer) came and took a brief history from me, did my obs and took some blood. They also had to run an ECG because my blood pressure was really high. Afterwards, they sent me and my best friend to sit in another waiting area whilst they waited for the blood test results to be sent off. I could only talk to mental health teams after I was declared medically fit. They said that it would take an hour for the blood test results to come back. If my paracetamol toxicity was too high, I would have to be admitted and given an antidote. 

We passed the time by playing silly games and watching the countless drunks being brought in by paramedics and police officers. At about midnight, the SHO came back and told me that my blood test results were fine and that we just had to wait now for liaison psychiatry. My local mental health trust have a service called RAID which stands for Rapid Assessment Interphase and Discharge. It’s an award winning service which has received praise from the one and only Minister for Health, Norman Lamb. Well, my experience wasn’t exactly “award winning” in fact –  it wasn’t even half way there. 

Well the SHO said that somebody from the RAID team would be down to see me in about 10-15 minutes. By this time it was about 12:10. The liaison nurse from RAID didn’t come until well after 1am. We were sitting in this waiting room, I was getting more and more agitated and we were both getting exceedingly tired. We talked about the clocks going back and how, for the first time in our lives (however for the wrong reason) we would be seeing the clocks going forward and a whole hour of our lives would just disappear like that. I remember seeing a man at the nurses’ station who I reckoned could be the liaison nurse but he was spending a VERY LONG TIME chatting up the pretty nurses who were all VERY BUSY DOING OTHER IMPORTANT THINGS. Finally, at 1.30am (I remember the time now as he wrote it down on his hand as we begun the conversation), we sat down in a private interview room (which I imagine is the “bad news room”.) to have a chat about what brought me to A&E that night. So we started and as I explained what had been going on (& what had happened during the week for me to get an Urgent referral to the CMHT) he was very unsympathetic and rude… kind of tutting at me. I was not impressed at all. Then he said (and these are his exact words) “You don’t seem like you have a mental illness” and I’m just sitting there, opposite him like…. I took a paracetamol overdose 12 hours ago… my best friend sitting in the waiting room wouldn’t do that, she doesn’t have a mental health condition. She probably thinks I’m crazy because she had NO CLUE what was going on in my brain before today but I certainly didn’t need the liaison psychiatric nurse saying that I was basically attention seeking and didn’t have a mental health condition after all. Wait till my GP hears about this. She’s going to be astounded that somebody could be so insensitive. Especially when it’s in his job specification to be a sensitive person as you will be dealing with vulnerable adults & children. And I was feeling vulnerable. It was the middle of the night, I had tried to take my own life and I was very agitated and upset about the whole situation. When I told him about the circumstances which had made me take the paracetamol he responded with “I think that’s very unlikely” about symptoms that I was having. Not nice. At all. I spoke to him for about an hour. He came to the conclusion that I needed to be seen by the Home Treatment Team because I was “probably just going to go home and do it again”. So off I went, back to my best friend who was waiting patiently in the waiting room for me. Both our phones had run out of charge. My dad was expecting me home from my best friends house at about 11pm. Oops. The time change had happened so it now made it half 3 in the morning. Now we just had to wait for the Home Treatment Team to arrive at the hospital. 

When they finally arrived, I was never introduced to them. In fact, the only person who I was introduced to through the whole night was the liaison nurse. That was the only good thing about him! I have a feeling one was a psychiatrist and the other a nurse. Their phones kept ringing when they were talking to me. The lady (who I think was the psychiatrist) kept asking me lots of questions and the man (who was a nurse I think) kept tutting and shaking his head at the woman asking me questions. They obviously had no clue what each other were doing. I was speaking to them for about 30 minutes and then they told me to go and sit back in the waiting room whilst they discussed me with a consultant and then they would come back and tell me to go home. As I was leaving, the man asked the woman if she was Section 12 Approved and I could feel my eyes widen… Was I really sectionable. From what I told them in that room, I wouldn’t really have been surprised but even though I was so agitated and obviously suicidal, I still had Mental Capacity. I would have chosen to go to hospital voluntarily if that was what they had suggested. So back to the dreaded waiting room I went, not knowing if I was going to be sectioned or not. My best friend was fed up… Really very tired. We had been in A&E for over 6 hours. About 10 minutes later, the original liaison nurse came and told us that I should have gone home when I’d finished talking to the  Home Treatment Team. I said to him that they told me to wait here while they spoke to someone else and then they would tell me what the plan was and then tell me to go home. He just said “Go home”. My friend thought he wasn’t very nice either so I was glad I wasn’t on my own. We finally left the hospital at about 4.15am. 

I had no idea what to expect from the Home Treatment Team. No one ever told me that they would call me to check that I was okay. But they did. Lots and lots yesterday. And I kept unintentionally missing their calls… 

I finally spoke to someone from there this afternoon. They shall refer my case back to the CMHT tomorrow. Well woopdedoo to that. I cannot wait. 


The main problems of my experience were: 

  • waiting around for hours and no one checking whether I was okay. In fact, once I was declared medically fit, the medical staff didn’t really care any more. This grated with my best friend as well – she was unimpressed that they didn’t check on me.
  • the unprofessionalism of the liaison psychiatry nurse. Yeah, he wasn’t nice. At all. I’m sorry but after suffering with my mental health for over 2 years and then having to go to an A&E department because I’d overdosed on paracetamol (which is probably one of the worst ways to die) and THEN he had the nerve to tell me that he didn’t think I really had a mental illness and that I was just attention seeking. Brilliant. I shall remember those words for the rest of my life. 
  • The lack of communication between the liaison nurse and the HTT. The HTT told me to wait and they’d come and tell me to go home but the liaison nurse told me to go home before they’d come out of the room. Therefore I had no idea what was going to happen to me from then on. They obviously had to have a plan in place. It was just a shame that I wasn’t made aware of it. 

To look on the positive side of things, my medical care was almost exemplary. The nurse was lovely, the SHO was okay too. And now my best friend, who I cannot stress enough, really was the bestest that night, knows just how poorly I am. 


I just wanted to say a big THANK YOU to all my lovely Twitter followers who were all so lovely over the weekend… You all really made a big difference!!