I read the report. It was even worse than I’d imagined. Full of untruths. Peppered with irrelevant information, things that had zero to do with my health, extra points that stack up against me. “Direct quotes” that make me a monster, things I would never say, in a voice that isn’t mine. Omissions, tactically spared to help them save face. Assumptions that rubbed salt in they wounds they caused me. Not to mention the abundance of poor grammar, spelling mistakes, and names of people I’ve never met or spoken to.
The report tells an entirely different story to what actually occurred. A one-sided coin. Their poor (and illegal) treatment of me, which I thought would fill at least a page, was summarised in four words: “had to restrain her.” Although I have a copy of this report, knowing it’s vital evidence should I wish to make a complaint, I can never use it as such. It only serves to make me look bad.
I am ashamed that my doctor, psychiatrist and care worker have read it. It’s so awful I can’t/won’t even show it to my brother or partner because I don’t want them to read it and think it’s gospel. Hostile. Drunk. Aggressive. Uncooperative. Hysterical. Promiscuous. Unmanageable. Psychotic. Violent. Loud. I wasn’t any of those things. I was frightened and vulnerable and wanted to die.
All of the nasty things they said and did to me: omitted entirely. It’s my word against theirs, and I have no words, only these and these. And who would you believe? Their diagnosis, despite not having been assessed, despite not having been seen by a doctor: “depression manic psychotic psychosis.” Incorrect. Was found unconscious in the street with hypothermia after eating 70 tablets of a medicine I’m no longer prescribed since overdosing on it in 2017. Was half-dead, not manic. This report, their words, will be on my record forever.
Strangely enough, the worst bit of the whole report was this sentence: “father deceased, mother ??” To see it in black and white: father deceased. father deceased. father deceased. mother ?? there, on the page, my origin story, the causes of so much of my pain, the reasons why I am here, perhaps the reasons why I got so sick in the first place. Maybe that’s the only part worth reading. Maybe that’s all you need to explain me away. Highlight it. It’s important. Forget the rest. But, of course, they won’t. I can’t forget either.
Treacle Heart 
I once did my Master’s in Clinical Psychology but didn’t complete because I was diagnosed with Bipolar Depression half way through. The authoritarian psychiatric health care system is a tragedy. It’s so sad that you had to go through this. I wish they’d abolish institutionalizing and labeling sufferers one day and treat mental health problems like a common cold. I’ve been through some harrowing experiences in institutions and have had the worst psychiatrists treating me, but I’m shaken reading this.
Diagnoses are supposed to be just that: diagnostic. Not punishments. Thanks for stopping by Nitin, I appreciate your readership, as always xx
Powerful and disturbing as always. Forever your reader.
<3
I’m so sorry this has happened to you. I don’t want to over comment again but I do know a little about badly worded reports and how helpless they can make you feel, so in turn, I feel for you. X
Your comments are always greatly appreciated. Much love xx
Great work. As always. I read your work and I always feel challenged…to be better. To write better. To not let another day pass without putting something on page. Thanks for posting
Thank you J, let us keep writing – sometimes it feels like writing is all we have xx
Well said. Thank you
You are talented. You are you. You are much more than a report.
Thank you, S-P-F <3
My pleasure. I do not know if the piece was fiction or not. However, I know one thing: your talent mesmerizes me.
Sadly it’s not fiction but real life. Your kind words mean a lot to me, truly xx
Hugs to you xox
I think you’re so much more than “just that”. So very much more.
Oh Tara, thank you, you lovely human <3
You’re the lovely one!