A New World

frodo-global

Frodo.global is born!

It has taken a few months, mainly while sectioned, to develop the original website with an old colleague, Tom, and it is now ready!

It took one phone call and many messages to get it to where it is, a completely different idea from my original one too, however I am so pleased with the website.

Frodo.global came to me after I saw the advert for an elderly dog who had been passed on at a rescue place many many times because of her age.

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It saddened me so much I wished I could open a rescue place specifically for the dogs passed over, namely the elderly ones and the disabled ones. How could I fund it? Frodo.global was born.

It didn’t stop there for me though, the idea snowballed into a vision that we can change this world:

the technology is there, the riches are there, it is just a question of putting them together and, while in hospital sectioned in July, a patient came up with the solution, a charity called AWW – Abundance World Wide – and so Frodo.global became the platform for AWW.

The whole thing will be forum based to discuss problems by Country/town/issues with a view to finding solutions. Once solutions are found, another group will make it happen.

The funding will go to enable this and also to pay the people who work on the site and making it happen.

It’s a pretty simple idea, one that can and will work.

The hard work starts for me now to get the site to go viral so the Rich (and possibly famous) buy in to the project. Without their money, it can go nowhere.

Here’s hoping ūüôā

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By newpaz

Love is becoming real

Following up from my previous entries when I had fallen for a Romanian, I felt I’d best report I got conned.

I don’t want to go into details because I would rather forget the whole experience now, although I have contacted the Police to try and recover stuff that was stolen from me and particularly to prevent him from becoming a Police Officer in the UK which he had told me he was studying for – whether this was true or not who knows.

I have now discovered and experiencing Love again though but this time, I will keep it to myself.

I will just say I have met the most amazing guy whilst sectioned [he was sectioned too, similar circumstances as me, ie sectioning wasn’t the best option for him but he got tricked into it] and we are living the most amazing romance despite all the challenges.

I have never been happier, so happy I won’t be writing about it but living the experience to the max ;-).

By newpaz

Letter to a psychiatrist

Dear Dr Agarwalpsychiatrist at Norwich Rollesby Ward, Hellesdon Hospital.

The NHS is underfunded was the comment a staff member made following a “Self Harm” course he had attended after he explained the course was more about shame and guilt than its consequences (hospitalisation).

Shame you were off that day, as I feel you would have benefitted from this course.

The NHS is underfunded because money isn’t spent wisely when it comes to Mental Health.

Yesterday, I read the reports that should have been given to me in good time prior to the Hospital Managers Meeting I was due to attend today Рthey were only given to me  less than 24 hours prior Рand they made interesting reading.

Not only a few (!!) facts were factually incorrect, others only one version of events, and listing all the medication I had been given plus my stay in LSE (Low Sensory Environment) was frankly laughable!

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Enough to convince me I am correct in believing We – the Royal We – ought to concentrate more on psychology than psychiatry.

It wasn’t long ago your profession decided lobotomy was the answer – remember? Shameful all the more. [I have since been told by a staff member lobotomies are on the up again.]

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The worst was you felt I should be sectioned for as long as possible [six months] – shameful again.

Who do you think you are to make such decisions?

I am tired of you people (psychiatrists) you really have no clue what kind of person I amNo Clue.

Treat people’s emotion problems instead of medicating them and you see vast improvements.

Then we can see just how underfunded the NHS really is when it comes to Mental Health.


I had written this letter to Dr Agarwal however, my hearing got postponed and I found myself transferred to PICU (Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit) in Ipswich before I got a chance to finish the letter and give it to him.

[I only stayed in PICU Ipswich 48 hours as they didn’t know why I was sent them and got moved to the Poppy Open Ward in Ipswich still where Dr Jenkins and Dr McCormack were in charge of me. The contents still valid, I thought I would carry on the letter and add a worry I then had with the care provided by those two doctors.]

I now have an extra worry: my income.

I am a home owner see and have been most of my working life.

Currently I own a house in Thetford and I need an income to pay for it: my job.

Work is kindly paying me whilst I have been sectioned for at least six months but since I was sectioned first in July, and we are now November, the six months is soon to expire.

Back in Hellesdon, Norwich, I agreed to take medication so I could be discharged. I even agreed to take the Depot injection to prove I was serious.

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Weeks later, I find myself still sectioned. Why? Apparently because you don’t trust me to carry on with the medication if I am discharged.

I don’t agree with long term medication but I need to go back to work. I want to go back to work.

Whilst you are debating whether I will carry on with medication, I have been busy making plans on my discharge follow-up with my care coordinator.

I will meet up with a psychologist, Ollie, to resolve some deep rooted issues I have (trust issues mainly), I have also decided to keep serious track of my sleep pattern (I usually sleep four to five hours a night and things go wrong when I consistently drop below three), I will see my GP (General Practitioner) to be prescribed sleeping tablets for occasional use if/when my sleep pattern drops below three hour.

I will take regular retreats away from the Internet (I have an Internet addiction).

I have already spoken to work about what my return to work will look like (phased return, handling the knowledgebase and customer surveys as I am a Service Desk Analyst and this something I enjoy doing).

All I need now is to be discharged, preferably before my work sick pay runs out.

What do you need from me?

Pascale

By newpaz

Letter to My Unborn Child

 

As I write this letter, I find myself sectioned.

Strangely I feel safe here.

The World out there is a bit scary to me currently:

I have had to cut ties with my immediate family; your uncle only thinks about sex; your Grand Mother, who would have so loved you; and your Grand Father.

Your Uncle could be forgiven, for he is disabled except he has disrespected nearly every woman who has come into his life, starting with yours truly when I was about 12 years old.

Your Grand Mother sees nothing wrong with her favourite brother, now deceased, having slept with his daughters when they were children, confusing one to the extent she took her secret to the grave – that she felt so much love for her own father that it ruined her life.

Your Grand Father, well, he is more concerned with money than anything in the world, hardly the role model a Grand Father ought to be…in my humble opinion.

I also have “issues” on the “home” front, surrounded by neighbours I cannot trust, unable to resolve the situation using the usual means (Police).

That situation drove me so crazy I found myself unlawfully sectioned and, unfortunately with little recourse to resolve the situation.

However, as I said, I find myself gratefully sectioned.

Here, I feel I can nurse my Soul back to its loving self. Taking time to care for myself, slowly but surely, rekindling my love for life.

Life that is all around.

It would be hard to explain it to you, however nature is talking to me.

And as long as nature keeps talking to me, I feel safe.

And every time I feel safe, your presence makes itself known to me.

When I get so exhausted of dealing with life, you grow within me.

As I write this, I should have 12 hours (ish) to wait before finding out the truth…are you really there? I will know soon enough.

If you are really there, it would change everything for me.

To levels I can only imagine.

…Nope, I can’t even imagine how much it would change everything for me. The mind, mine, cannot comprehend the level to which my life would change.

I wish, or hope, for one thing only: that you would be born healthy.

Whatever however, I promise you, through thick and thin, rich or poor, you would be the happiest child on earth.

I love you already with all my heart, my unborn child.

Yours, so very loving, mother yet to be be

xxx


Addendum: the test came back negative, I am not pregnant.

 

By newpaz

Letter to Frodo, Beloved Dog – RIP <3

 

I am so sorry Frodo.

I have been so busy trying to decide who or what to blame for your death, from the day I laid my hand on you in your cage when I felt your last breath that I forgot that it was your last breath I felt.

Forgot or rather hide.

I won’t forget about that glass of red wine I drunk at Wendy’s. To give me “Dutch courage” beforehand.

I won’t forget how I was trying to tidy up at work before driving home. How Chris my boss looked at me incredulous that under such circumstances – your certain death – all I could think about was tidying up work.

How could I explain to him your death had a deadline – 2 pm.

2 pm was the appointment the vet had given me to put you to sleep.

Only Wendy, who came with me – for support – witnessed my desperate attempt to save your life.

£2,000 was the price set by the vet on your life.

¬£2,000 I could really have afforded if I hadn’t been so scared.

Scared it wouldn’t be enough.

The vet tried desperately to convince me it was madness. Even then they couldn’t say for sure you could be saved.

My desperate attempts to call your dad Brent in Canada to see if he could go half on that cost. Only realising now it was the middle of the night his end.

I hate myself for caring so much about the environment. I can never forget seeing you shake that time I tied you to that lamp post in Canmore as I was so busy and angrily cleaning up the garbage in that bloody ditch outside that petrol station whose staff commanded me so much for picking other people’s trash.

Did anyone else saw you I wonder and wondered what the hell I was doing – I so want to go back to that spot…so want to.

Maybe that’s where I should go for Christmas…Canmore.

Revisit the road, the spot where it all went wrong for me. Travel down to Waterton where things completely went wrong for me and you.

Could I though Frodo? Could I?

No, I could never – ever. Alberta is out of bounds for me now. For Ever.

I can live with that. I know I can.

By newpaz

Pride: The Home of Thomas Paine

This morning as I woke up at my usual time, albeit a little later than usual – 5 am – I am given time to reflect.

My thoughts drift towards Thomas Paine, whose Home Town I live in – Thetford – and I realise how very little the world has changed since his passing – the man was a hero of sorts, Google will give you a clearer picture of what he stood for, or rather died for: Human Rights.

As I am currently unlawfully sectioned, with no recourse whatsoever, and the more I have complained, the worse my situation has become, to the extent I have no choice but to make this home and make friends with fellow patients who clearly are not so “crazy”, I am grateful for shelter.

I don’t know Thomas Paine much, nor have I read his pamphlets, I just know he was a great man who fought for Human Rights, was exiled from his Home in the UK, escaped death in France by Chance to finish his days in America (The USA) where he died, all the while fighting for Human Rights.

I also know there is a statue in his Home Town of Thetford, with him holding a book upside down.

It is the talk of the town why the book is upside down. Some Folk thinks it’s to get Folk Town talking. I know the answer.

I figured it out a few days ago, before getting unlawfully sectioned again – for the second time in two months.

It isn’t to get Folks to talk, it is so that short individuals like me can see what the book cover says without needing to read upside down!

The book he is holding says “Rights of Man” – Now this is a book I am looking forward to reading when I am finally “Discharged” from here…In the meantime, Thank God for TV!!!

By newpaz

Love…Continued – Interrupted

 

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I mentioned how I have fallen in love in my previous post, I must also explain I hadn’t wanted that type¬†of love (the romantic kind)¬†in my life.

For the past year I have spent a lot of time, nearly all my spare time, rebuilding myself to who I wanted to be, and Love had been strictly prohibited.

As distractions go, Love is the biggest. For romantic love is a time of sharing with just one. All of yourself.

I had fiercely protected my Personal Freedom and had not wanted Love to interfere with this.

When you are in love see, you have a tendency to want to give as much of yourself to someone else, and that includes your time.

My time has been and still is precious to me. When you get to 46 years old you suddenly realise you are mortal and every minute starts to count so much more.

Falling in love means a new interest in your life. An interest that takes over your life, to begin with anyway because Love is addictive.

I still managed to fit in what I needed these past few days but needing to fit New Man added an extra pressure I could have done without.

On Wednesday evening, following a second night at his home, I cracked.

I woke up in his bed at 3 am without a sign of him. I went downstairs for a cigarette and found him there in his bathrobe after his shower, which meant he hadn’t been to bed since he left me there for a shower, talking to his mum and her partner.

I think the look on my face said it all, as he hurried out and back to the bedroom.

Just after I¬†said I was going to leave. I don’t think that went down well.

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These days, when I have an idea/thought in my mind, it happens. And I had decided I wanted to leave because the previous night hadn’t gone so well for me (it is tough sitting amongst people whose language you don’t understand) and I hadn’t appreciated being left alone in bed, no amount of pleading would make a difference.

His mother took over, she wanted to talk to me about it and there would be no escaping.

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An hour or so later, I left, with a lighter heart and extremely grateful for his mum, and her partner, to have seen right through me and got out of me what had gone wrong:

Too much too quickly, no time to get to know each other.

Danny, her partner, said “what she needs is a date”.

Spot on.

See, I know everything there is to know about him, he has shared everything with me these past four days, down to the naughty photos he kept in his phone -which he deleted after I mentioned casually that wasn’t a great thing to know was on the phone of your boyfriend ;-). [When I stated he didn’t have to delete them,¬†they didn’t bother me,¬†he said “yes, yes, for you, anything”,¬†I believe him.]

I know, and love, his mum, her partner 20 odd years younger than her; the guys he shares his house with (all absolutely lovely or lovable); his deaf brother (a sweetheart); have seen photos (and the boobs of) his sister (a glamour model), her husband and her son (they live in Germany); I have seen photos of his ex (stunning!) and know they split because “she likes boys too much; that she was an erotic dancer in a club,¬†and the type of girls whose photos he kept in his phone (big breasted, glamour model types, photos of the girls that go to the club he on occasion does security for); that he is studying to be a Police Officer in the UK; that he loves his (second hand, often broken) gadgets; that he adores his mum; that she left his dad because “he likes other women too much”; that he loves cleaning;

I know he is the main man of the household, the go to person, the one who will sort you out with a job, a Del Boy in the making;

I know he likes driving sporty cars, that he has a Celica off the road currently that I can have first refusal on over his mum, that he wants a black 4X4;

that he loves animals, and his nephew, very much so.

I know he lives his life 100 miles an hour, always busy, always something to do, never on time.

I know he would do anything for me.

I have slept in his bed and saw the sunrise from his kitchen window…

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He knows nothing about me. Nothing that tells him much about me.

He knows my house is clean and my husband and I split 5 years ago and he picked up with my best friend and we are not divorced yet because we are doing it DIY (without lawyers) and we have both been lazy getting it done (not sure he understood the last bit).

I have told him I have had two depressions but no details about them.

That my dad has cancer (he has seen a photo of him) and my brother polio (he has seen a photo of him) and I used to be fat (he has seen a photo) and that I have diabetes, yet, he keeps feeding me chips, coffee and sugar.

He knows I have a cat and a new lodger moving in on Saturday, that I am going to Vancouver Saturday for two weeks, that I am not working currently (and he never asked why).

He knows I moved to the UK when he was barely born, 26 years ago because my mum was over controlling.

He knows I want to go to New York for Christmas. (He wants to take me to Romania instead).

He knows I smoke pot and I don’t drink, since last Christmas.

He has seen the inside of my house once and driven my Puma.

He knows I don’t need his help with anything, despite him offering to do everything for me.

To the astute eyes, that is a lot of information which may beg more questioning.

To the person in love’s eyes, it is just information.

It tells him nothing about where I came from and where I am going. He doesn’t seem to care, He Loves Me, he has said he likes me very much, so very much; he tells me constantly.

Well I care. Deeply.

He is not going to escape this quite so easily. He needs to stop caring so very much and learn who I am. Our future depends on it.

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Last night was the HALT; stop and think point for me.

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Luckily his mother noticed and decided to “counsel” me as I had gotten up 3 am to find him in the¬† kitchen with his mum and Danny, her partner, talking.

I said I needed to leave.

It didn’t go down well and he skirted off to bed while I¬†stayed in the kitchen to smoke a cigarette, at first trying to resist attempts from his mum to talk to me about it – she had approached the subject by stating she thought maybe I was scared then maybe my life was very complicated.

I rejected the notion then. Only to wake up this morning and realising she was right.

My life IS complicated. It’s not a put down, it’s the truth. I am not scared though, only of preserving my Personal Freedom.

It is¬†“complicated” because I have big “fights” on my hands.

I want to change the world to be a better place, starting with my world: reforms in Mental Health Care and he needs to understand that is my primary objective, everything else, apart from my wellbeing, is just second to that, including him.

Then he can tell me that He Loves Me, or like me so very very much as often as he wants.

I didn’t know how to explain this to him but this morning came the answer.

Tomorrow night he is staying at mine from work and will stay there when he needs for the next two weeks when¬† I am¬†away in Vancouver¬†(it’s more convenient for his work and then he can borrow my car when needed), I have decided, and texted him, that I would take him to meet my friends at the hospital.

I think that might be sufficient to get him to stop “wanting to marry me” and think what¬†he is getting into.

He also needs to understand I don’t need him. That I will have him in my life as long as it doesn’t interfere with my plans, nor my Personal Freedom – we might have an issue here as apparently he is the jealous kind, he has already showed me signs he won’t be happy if other guys look at me. Which may be a problem as I do like to look after myself these days, and do on occasions get looks.

I also smile a lot and that attracts many connections. He needs to be able to handle that and realise my heart will belong to him and him only, once I have decided he can keep it.

Currently, he has my heart, however it is too early to say for how long.

Falling in love is great fun, except you have to set boundaries, otherwise, it can fuck you up, I have learned that from past experiences and I can tell you assuredly my heart will not be broken again, strong healthy boundaries will assure that.

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By newpaz

Love is in the Air

love sheldon

Something rather unexpected happened this week: I fell in love.

Seriously. Like proper in love.

I met him at the Tip on Saturday. I was there to trash the tons of flat-packed boxes my old lodger for some reason had collected and felt appropriate to leave behind when he packed up and left rather abruptly about the time I was sectioned in hospital (nice timing).

I was a bit “fuming” inside to say the least, a little proud too that this wouldn’t stop me, I could just get deal with whatever I needed to to get my life back on track.

So off to the Tip I went, not the best of moods and a car filled with cardboard boxes.

It was quite early and there were not too many people there. A chap in a bright orange jacket comes towards me. I am expecting the worse.

My previous trip to the tip a year or so previous hadn’t been a pleasant experience see, we, I was with my lodger,¬†and people around us, kept being told off for putting the wrong thing in the wrong place as we couldn’t make out what needed to go where.

So I park by what looked like the cardboard bin and this bright orange safety jacket man comes towards me. I gear myself to be told off, put my best smile on and asked if it was ok to dump my car content (of boxes and some packaging material) into that bin.

He smiles back and says to me in, a broken English accent,¬†“today everything is allooowed!!” as he walked towards my car and proceeded to open¬†the car¬†door to help me.

Wow, how nice!

He then tells me to open the boot so he can take the boxes from there. I tell him the boot is broken, still with a winning smile. Pretty much the smile I wear all the time these days.

He says, “no I will repair, no prrroblem”, asking for the car keys.

I tell him it is broken, but hand him the keys. I know how men work ūüėČ

He climbs through the back seats and plays with it whilst I carry on dumping the boxes (there were a ton I kid you not, bit freaky actually why he had kept so many boxes!).

Moments later he comes out and says, “It isss broooken”

I laugh “Yeah I know, I told you” with a wink (and it should have continued to read “I told you but typical guy, you wouldn’t listen!”, however I am wised up¬†this days ;-)”.

He says “take ¬£5 [car thing jargon]¬†and it is repaired”.

I look at him with a bigger smile (I had meant to get this looked at see), “I pay you ¬£15 and you repair it for me?”

And numbers were exchanged to arrange repairs.

He phones me something like 5 times after that that day to arrange when to repair it (I think we had settled on the following Saturday, speaking and understanding each other was quite tricky see).

Sunday, more crap for the tip, so off I go again.

I park up, do what I need and decide to pop to the shop they have (of course). I find a couple of prints and a candle holder, and hear him in the shop, talking to someone he is about to help.

“He is so nice and helpful” I¬†remember thinking.

I don’t want to disturb him as he is busy so I go back to my car with my purchases (¬£3 in total).

As I open the door I hear: “He-llo!” (he says it funny) and turn around to see him beaming at me. I think “wow he is a bit of alright”, that orange outfitting actually quite fitting (he has tanned¬†skin).

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We have a chat and I end up offering to bring him coffee during his lunch break the following day.

That never happened.

Instead, we fell in love.

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By newpaz

#TimeToChange – Revisited

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When I first suffered from mental health issues in the UK, back over two years ago, I joined the campaign “Time To Change” because I felt it was important to talk about mental illness to end the stigma, which is the group’s main mission.

When I checked out the website and the blogs though, I was fairly quickly put off.

I saw stories of people telling us how well they are coping with their mental health “illness”, some were “bipolar”, some had anxiety disorders – ALL seemed defined by their “illness” – that really put me off because at the time, and still to this day, I didn’t believe I was, or had, whatever term is PC these days, “Bipolar”.

I am sure to have spoken about this somewhere in this blog previously, but my diagnosis came five years ago, an hour after speaking to a psychiatrist, in full psychosis mode – although I had no clue I was as it was my first -, drugged on to the eyeball – from medication I was given the previous night when I was taken in/sectioned although again I had no clue I had been sectioned, to make me sleep.

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Some four months after a very good friend of mine had killed someone, about three months after my husband had left me and about two months and 29 days after finding out he fancied my best friend instead and about two months after quitting alcohol and pot straight after over 20 years of abuse.

You could say I had had a lot going on in a short period of time that may have affected my stability somehow.

Oh and to top it all, I was literally homeless then too. My husband wanted me out of the house and the house I needed to move back to in a different country wasn’t vacated. In between houses and in between countries. In between life would summarise it well.

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The psychiatrist who examined me – I have yet to file my complaint against him and mark my words I will – asked me a very simple question:

“Do you know why you are here?”

The floodgate to my repressed emotions opened: I started to tell him all about the crap that had happened to me, since I was a child. I felt I had limited time to fit it all in so I was talking 12 to the dozen, ie, extremely fast. [I have since realised that what I do when I get excited and/or feel I have limited time to make an impression.]

After the hour, I sat back and relaxed, fully expecting some answers. How do I deal with this trauma, or this other one, how do I move on from this event or this other one – type of answers.

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His? “Clearly you have Bipolar”.

“Huh? What the hell? What? Huh?” were my first thoughts (my mind was pretty foggy don’t forget too).

My seconds were “Cool, so what is Bipolar then?”.

He wasn’t interested in replying, he had his diagnosis which gave him the green light to prescribe any old shit he felt like (and he did).

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So off I went on the internet finding out all I could about this “new” me.

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This was my very first experience of a psychosis. Since then I have had five psychosis and two depressions, fitting in nicely with the diagnosis (to be diagnosed you need two episodes of depression and at last three psychosis, although that may have changed since).

That psychiatrist was clearly a clairvoyant.

Anyway, back on the subject at hand, I eventually started to realise “The Truth” and decided I wasn’t bipolar. Too late though obviously, with my five psychosis, it will never wash.

My two depressions I am not too worried about because the first was due to going back to the UK to an empty house, two suitcases and a savings account in my name. Nothing else.

No income, no car, no insurance, no friends, no anything else. No dog too to start with, then a few weeks later a dog whose health had started deteriorating since the split, becoming more and more blind (and a liability).

No life in effect.

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The second was when I was signed off work for six months to a psychosis where I was sectioned,and realising I was getting no income from work sick pay (I hadn’t been permanent long enough, despite having worked there as a temp¬†nearly three¬†years), my driving licence had been suspended (making me stuck at home with no money), and I was suffering from a massive heartbreak (from a relationship that could be best described as friends with benefits and feelings).

I dare anyone to try either situations for size and tell me if they don’t suffer from some kind of depression too ;-).

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Time to Change being mainly focussed on the illness, I felt the site wasn’t for me. I wasn’t about to go brandishing banners saying “Bipolar rocks”.

Mental illness sucks – big time.

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Just go and visit a mental health ward and tell me what you think.

Just for the record, and in case this isn’t clear, those people in there are your siblings, or parents, or relative, or friend, or workmate. NORMAL people.

You may see them rock back and forth against a wall, or on the floor doing weird shit, crying in a corner somewhere, away from everyone. They might be unable to sit still or they might be staring at you blankly because they are unable to focus on what you are saying.

Worst of all, you may see their arms all stitched up after they cut themselves.

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The biggest tragedy of all is that one day,

you might not ever see them again.

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So no, I will not say having a mental illness rocks.

It sucks, it sucks big time – it can very well fuck up your life enough that you have no choice but live with it, because no-one wants you like that, no-one truly understands what you are going through – and most just shy away for fear of making things worse.

That’s what living with a label does for you.

I am Pascale, not a label.

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When a quarter of the youth suffers from mental health issues, we can no longer call it a label. More a way of life – and that is scary.

Whilst on the ward, and this is where I saw each and every behaviour I mentioned above by the way, I saw a display dedicated to Time To Change.

It seems Time To Change is changing in the right direction for me. I now really want to get involved: #lets-end-the-labelling.

The name of the people I mentioned I met above are:

Pam (So sorry I saw you where still “in position” when I came to visit),

Ray (so sorry you had a heart attack),

Lee (sorry I missed you my last visit, looking forward to catching up),

Simon (I saw one of your carers on the way to the hospital, I mentioned how much 70s music brings you back to earth, she seemed to take it in),

Pascale (crying in private is the best way to be if you don’t want to be diagnosed as being too emotional when you are sad, the happiness though, spread that shit everywhere ;-)),

Andrew (I will save you I promise),

Matty (crazy adorable monkey despite all, I will send you a post card from Canada),

Jo (I want to experience your candle massages!),

Amanda (Amanda, the state of your arms the day I was discharged will forever be engraved in my mind, I love you so much girl!),

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Lisa (oh Lisa, I won’t forget you I promise),

Harvey (A great reminder of my friend Wade, thank you, I love you despite your toughness ;-)),

Trish (Sista’, sorry I missed you my last visit, hope you enjoy the CD I brought in for you),

Ema (so shocked to see you back in after we were both discharged last week!),

Yvonne (I can’t wait for you to get better to help me with the website),

Bill (missed you my last visit, hope you were discharged rather than hiding in your room),

Glen (so glad I caught you, you were amazing with enabling me to release the pressure),

John with an H, (you were out sorry I missed you),

Andrea (sorry I missed you, hope you keep spreading those wonderful hugs),

Emma (so glad I caught you, can’t wait to meet you in the outside world),

Roger – one day I will show you, it’s not about money or heritage, it’s about Love.

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