“‘Ere! Cheer up, luv. It might never happen!”
“It already has.”
Hospital tomorrow at 10:00. The DS Unit has palmed me off on the SW Centre again, which is hugely disheartening- both units are as bad as each other but at least DSU has actual inpatient facilities and 24 hour service. Every time I have needed help and run to the SWC, which is a mile from my home, they’re closed or won’t let me in or don’t answer the phone. I’m scared. I’m having a full assessment for the millionth time and apparently I’m meeting my new care team and I think LC who is supposed to be my go-to girl but I’ve missed 4 appointments with her because of work but I think she’ll be there and the chief psych doctor whose name I can’t remember or spell or pronounce but I know he’s going to be just like Dr T was which is bad and so they’ll all sit around the table and judge me on ridiculous unrelated things (“You have your nails painted, that’s a good sign”) and they’ll ask the same vile questions that they’ve been asking for years and try to catch me out by quoting me on things that I said when I was 14 and try to make out that I’m a pathological liar and a narcissist and a whore and they’re probably (almost certainly) going to fuck with my medication and diagnose me with something new just because why not and they’ll make me go to BDAS groups (Barnet Drug and Alcohol Services) and I’ll laugh in their faces and then maybe cry and then definitely cry and then run away because I have to get my bloods done in the main building of the hospital at 11:40 and then my hand will be bruised green and purple and then I shall go home and get in bed and maybe drink some wine and read a book and cry.
At least I get the day off work.