A Letter TO 21-Year-Old Me!!
I previously on this blog did a letter to 18-year-old me when I was 17. I’ve actually succeeded in accomplishing some of my goals (Like yes losing my virginity) . I am also probably now a border line alcoholic so I’ve completed the drinking goal (Damn those cocktails) However some things such as my health improving or going to a music festival have stayed the same if not gotten worse. The answer to that question are things overall better? No there not. They are WAY WORSE!! Anyway, lets begin a letter to 21-year-old me.
- How’s the blog have you reached lets say 300 followers we’ll aim high. That’s 200 followers in two years that’s reachable.
- Have you sat your Higher English yet? Please say yes
- Are you in your own place? If not I feel very sorry for you
- A sinister one but have you killed yourself yet? I hope not you weak piece of shit.
- Are you pregnant I’m not sure if I would be happy or sad for the answer to that?
- Are you working do you finally have a Job ?
- Is the psychosis and low mood any better?
- Are you overall more content?
That’s it folks for my letter to 21 year old me. Please like and follow.
“Why was I always suffering , always browbeaten ,always accused , for ever condemned ? ” – Charlotte Bronte
In this post ide like to touch on my experience of a Scottish psychiatric hospital. I have been in hospital twice. The first time so awful I can barely write about it and the second a more pleasant ride. The first thing to note is there is not much difference from a prison. You get dished out the same food for instense some kind of mash potatoe , and lumpy custard washed down by weak diluten juice. Maybe you would get more freedom you would say ? Nope you are trapped behind locked doors with the only entertainment some badly written detective novel and some worn out game of snakes and ladders. Overall the hospitals are pretty dire and could be used as a method to increase suffering.
In the morning you line up for your medication like queing to be served in Primark. Except a lot more drained and fatigued. You get dished out some yellow anti psycotics and nausating tasting anti depressents and swallow them down heavily with luke warm water. Then you go through to the “lounge” to get your tea and cold toast and settle down to watch a nice channel four drama made Before Christ. At around ten ocklock you slump back to your bay pull the curtains and collapse into a mid morning nap. To wake two hours later feeling like your mouth is some African desert and the only thing you have to quench your thirst is some stale jug of water from the night before.
At this point you pull out your granny pants and leggings and some oversized pink t-shirt which is supposed to make you look sexy but instead just makes you look like a giant marshmallow , and brave the shower. Only to discover the hot water is not working yet make the wise decision to keep quiet convincing yourself a freezing cold shower might just be the cure to bring you out of your deep depression.
The rest of the day is a blure spent doing crosswords very badly and using up all your mobile data watching YouTube videos on pointless items people have bought out of Home Bargains. All this of course is disturbed by patients swearing and shouting in distress and doors beeping as smokers ferry in and out. Then after your evening meal. It hits you. The reason your in there. Thoughts of sucide. It seems that putting yourself in such a vulnerable uncontrollable position of being a patient in a psychiatric ward takes it’s toll on you and makes you just want to end it.. Overcourse you can’t cause your supervised twenty four seven by nurses and your probably too much of a chicken anyway. Then your mum comes in to visit and all is resolved. As you realise no matter how bad your problems are your mum’s always top them.