My eyes open…

Where am i?

Groggy and disorientated! Scared, no…Terrified! Lost! Alone!  Iv’e disappeared into a bottomless pit of desperate pessimism.

I find myself lying on the floor, naked. The room is a mess. The abstract paintings on the wall are askew and there’s glass sprinkled like dangerous confetti all over the carpet. My head is throbbing to unknown injuries and my thoughts are incoherent. I’m having difficulty remembering where i should be and how i got to be here. Is that electricity sparking between the lights? What’s going on?

Where did Vicky go? I needed her and she was here. I spoke to her and the others, Warren? Jackie? John?

I needed help. I needed someone to cling to. I feared for my sanity and existence. But didn’t i want to die? Who’s in charge? Who’s making the decisions? How can i want two different things at the same time?

The number to the Grampians Psychiatric Centre was dialed into my landline.

The psych team that arrived was responsive and helpful. They had a file on my history and surveyed the unit with perceptive knowing looks.

“This house stinks of OCD” whispered the male attendee to his female colleague misdiagnosing my condition.

I heard that. I focused on the word “stink” misunderstood his insight and took offence.

“My house doesn’t fucking smell i fumed” I fumed.

They found the bath full of cold water. A large knife was sitting on the side of the bath. A glass of wine half empty, was perched on the end of the bath. Glad wrap lay floating on the waters surface.

I survived.

“What day did you try and do this Jayne?”

“Monday i think”

“…do you know it’s Wednesday today?”

“Wednesday”

I knew there was time lost. The drugs had caused me to hallucinate. Who was i the last three days? What have i been doing? OMG! What happened to Posh and Becks, and Lulu and Remi? My two cats and two parrotts were still inside the house. The latter still perched in their cages. The former prowled the house in mild starvation.

Through a veil of addled awareness and forlorn crying i was assessed. Physically, I was sore and bruised from falling over and banging my head on various objects. My feet had developed opened wounds from golf ball sized blisters. They claim to have seen these injuries on heroin addicts who have passed out and not been moved for days. Mentally, I was in crisis. They went to discuss my condition between themselves. They returned with a decision to admit me involuntary. They made arrangements for my pets and i was driven away in their white car, dressed in my robe, to the Sunshine Psychiatric Hospital, Australia.