The ‘Team’ Are Meeting

As I type from my desk at work, the majestical and mystery ‘team’ are deliberating my immediate future.

This team, whom 90% have never spoke to me let alone seen my face, are deciding whether I spend Christmas inside a psychiatric ward because of ‘suicidal and homicidal feelings’. This, of course, the day after I was refused psychotherapy. Aside from this speaking volumes of the general approach to mental health, I now face the happiest time of year in one of the most negative places on earth, miles away from home. Miles away, because they have closed the hospital in Luton due to ‘service improvement’. Twisting the knife again.

I’ve asked on numerous occasions how many times I need to be stabbed for this to be an emergency. Yet when they start to become concerned, their first thoughts are seclusion and responsibility-dodging.

All I want is to be treated like a person, not a name on a file that can be passed around and has no emotional attributes. I’ll let you know the outcome of the meeting, but my girlfriend, parents, friends, i.e. the people I love with all my bloody heart will have to be told first.

God knows if I will loose this job too.

Edit: My thoughts on this in a spontaneous poem.


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