Psychiatric hospital

                 I was admitted to a Private Psychiatric Hospital in England at 9.00am Friday 12th June 1998 and immediately placed on heavy medication and 5 minute observations. In their opinion I was a “High Risk Suicide My room was en-suite but no locks and also my own TV. I had to put my shaving gear with the nurses and was watched every time I shaved. When I asked what was wrong with me they said I was a high risk suicide. Wow …… nobody ever gave me ANY indication I was THAT bad.

                 I was made to eat 3 meals a day. 2 course breakfast and 3 course lunch and dinner. We had tea, coffee and toast and stuff available 24 hours a day. We had “fitness” classes where we touched our toes and other IMHO touchie-feelie exercises and were allowed on an exercise bike for 5 minutes a day. Prior to my hospitalisation I had been swimming in the local baths, before work, 3-4 days a week and every Sunday. So I put on a lot of weight.
                  I soon received a telephone call from my Receptionist that no-one had been to the Practice but I can’t remember what I told her. I heard no more from her and I was forbidden to make a telephone call myself. So now ANOTHER NEW worry had started. My Bank Manager’s superior had wanted to close me down but was prepared to trust the manager’s faith in me. However I had to be in touch every week but now he could get his way …….possibly.
                 I desperately asked for details of what was being done and was told they did not know but had been reassured by Dr A that ALL was being done. However I STILL wanted to know details but I received none
1st, and only, anger management class: I volunteered to talk about my anger first. I had just received that telephone call from my receptionist so was very worried about my career. I kept being interrupted by one patient as I spoke so I told her to “shut up and let me finish”. The Counsellor then threw me out of the class FOR BEING TOO ANGRY. So I became a bit of a cult hero for a day or so with the other inmates…..but no more anger management classes for me.
                I was woken up one afternoon to go to a relaxation class where oddly enough I soon fell asleep again. I was woken up and told to relax. I pointed out that I had been asleep prior to being made to join in and IMHO sleep was probably the best form of relaxation. I ended up getting a “rollicking” and told to try to fit in more.
               I asked about my Practice and was told all was being done. I did mention many times that I WANTED TO KNOW WHAT WAS GOING ON but they just said all was OK. So not much help there just more medication.
              I planted seeds and successfully managed to kill them all by over watering them. A cocaine addict and I made pipes in the Pottery classes and we both got a “rollicking” as we should have made a plate or something. I played table tennis and pool until I could stand it no more .
             I gave “concerts” on my 12 string guitar to the Patients and I watched every game of the 1998 World Cup. The first and last time I have EVER done that. Well there was nothing else to do. I went for supervised walks to the park and fed the ducks. I saw a Patient being slowly destroyed by E.C.T, after she tried to jump onto the M32 motorway apparently, one night. I smoked like idiot which angered me as I had ALMOST given up prior to being “sectioned” I asked about my practice and was told all was OK .
My sister visited me once for a short while and my son was forbidden contact with me by my dearest ex-wife.
Some friends came to visit and took me for lunch to a nearby Tesco and told me my practice was closed. GREAT more worry. They tried to find out more for the second visit but the Health Authority, apparently, would not give details to them.

                                            So now two new worries had arisen and STILL I was not told of developments, despite me asking.
              I was sent home one weekend, I had to call the AA to start my car as the battery was flat. I sped home, doing 100+, and arrived at my empty house looking just the same as the day I left it a few weeks earlier. All the food had gone off and a milk container was “vibrating” and swollen fit to burst on the kitchen table.. I had to be back by Sunday evening but I went shopping for food and got my first taste of the insults from disgruntled patients when one called me a C**T and a few other things at the Tesco’s checkout. My head was in turmoil, I couldn’t sleep,       


                                               I cried a lot and really didn’t want to be on this planet. I just existed.
                On my return they asked how I was so I told them about the patient and his comments and my feelings and the increasing worry about my practice. Oddly enough they told me all was OK as the Doctor had said ALL WAS BEING DONE.
                                         BUT I WANTED TO KNOW EXACTLY WHAT and what the hell was I going back to?
                 Then I was released with weekly outpatient appointments, 90 miles from my home. same old stuff…relaxation and some sessions I did not understand and so switched off. I asked who had paid for my stay, they implied the Health Authority but now I know THAT was NOT true. And I still don’t know, by the way, because I wasn’t given time to evoke the sickness insurances I had diligently paid for since 1975.. Then in 1999 the Consultant wrote this proving that she didn’t know I was to be retired in 1998                      


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