Hello SANE readers.

I recently published this blog on my personal blog site (www.rosiebrownfightingstigma.wordpress.com) and it got some really great responses. Some people have said that I have put into words exactly how they were feeling. I thought I'd share it on here too in the hope that I will help even one person.

I hate to admit this, because it isn’t very nice, but I have had a fantasy of being committed to a mental health ward for a long time.

I’ve never known exactly where this want came from, but I am now starting to see that for me the fantasy involves two stages: a sort of self-surrender and a sense of validation. (In advance: this is merely a fantasy, I know that admittance to a ward wouldn’t magically solve my problems, and I know that for some people it isn’t terribly helpful.)

Firstly: self surrender. It would mean giving up responsibility for myself. Somebody would be taking care of me. Somebody would care about my progress. I know that people care now, but in my fantasy the person that cared would also be able to give me practical help. Unfortunately love from my family and friends can only get me so far; they don’t know about medication (and even if they did they couldn’t prescribe it), they don’t know the subtle differences in the various therapies etc etc. At the moment my GP is proving to be incompetant in the area of mental health and my psych is uninspiring, unhelpful and very difficult to get hold of. If I was in a unit then professionals would be available whenever I needed support (in the fantasy of course).

Secondly: a sense of validation. Unfortunately at the moment I feel like I am in a limbo:

Too ill to be ‘normal’ (excuse the use of the word normal). My case is too complex/ severe for a GP to deal with and my psych is finding it very difficult to give me a final diagnosis (swinging between BP and BPD). I am on a waiting list for intensive therapy/ assessment from the Complex Care Team.
Too ‘normal’ to be ill. My case is too ‘tame’/ not an emergency. This means that my psych isn’t terribly interested in my day-to-day well-being. I am not constantly on the verge of suicide. I am managing to continue living a life which vaguely resembles normality. This makes me question the ‘realness’ of what I have. And it makes me feel guilty. So much guilt. Always.
For some reason I believe that if I was admitted to somewhere my illness would be more ‘real’. One isn’t admitted with an imaginary disease.

Currently I am certainly functioning at too high a level to be admitted/ sectioned on the NHS. However it has been suggested that I could go to somewhere like The Priory for a intensive period of therapy/ help. I am not ruling out this option, and it is something I will consider after completing my MA, but perhaps more importantly, I have began to understand why I feel this way. It is because I want someone else to look after me as I have given up on myself and I want to believe that what I have is real. If I can tackle these two things then I might be on the way to recovery. I need to:

Take responsibility for my own happiness and wellbeing.
Accept that my illness is real and isn’t a figment of my imagination.

I have shared these rather personal musings in the hope that it will help someone else, even just one person, make sense of their own feelings (perhaps if they have shared similar fantasies).

Hope everyone is well and if you're interested in reading more of my blogs I blog at http://www.rosiebrownfightingstigma.wordpress.com and tweet at @fighting_stigma

Best wishes everyone x