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Dragon's amazing escape from a psychiatric ward


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hi! it's been ages since i started my own thread. i've been too quiet lately.

well, i've actually been on a psychiatric ward for seven weeks! some major, major heavy shit has been going on in my life - i lost my home, i lost contact with about 90% of all the people in my life (who refuse to speak to me) and if wasn't for my estranged father whom i discovered last year, i would have lost all of my belongings.

i've been shell-shocked. i really, really felt like i lost everything. first i was admitted to east wing - in 2013, when i was 21, i spend just about a year here (yes, that means i was institutionalised when TH was released). and a handful of nurses recognized me after all this time! sadly, after a series of ganging-up attempts from other patients, i requested to be transferred to west wing.

it fucking sucked. these life changes brought out the worst of my social anxieties and paranoia. i felt so incredibly trapped. when i arrived i was, at least, a little bit familiar to east wing. now i didn't even have that. everything was, visually, freakishly similar. but i had waves of fear coming over me, like i would be trapped forever because this place would make me worse and worse and i'd never be fit to leave.

i stopped eating. i never did that before in my life. i went like two days without eating, just from fear of leaving my room or being too depressed to physically eat. after three days, i started to like the feel of it, and i just carried on! in a weird way, it acted as the self-harm i wasn't able to do.

then i lost my mp3 player. you HAVE to have access to your music when you're in places like this. it's been lost or stolen and there are no freaky luke vibert tunes to keep me going.

tonite, after some very careful planning, i managed to escape the unit. by getting hold of my shoes - which are always held in the patient store - and by getting a plastic bag, i would be able to pack some basic stuff like my phone and my wallet. a nurse let me into patient store to look for my mp3 player, and as her back was turned i stealthed my way into my shoes like Mr Bean. she didn't notice i shoved the plastic bag down my crotch.

the plan remained on one last thing - could i get through those doors, right at the end, by running full sanic and busting the fuck through those magnetic locks?

it turns out you can! i highly, highly recommend to anyone that this works like a charm.

now at this point running was almost impossible for me - i spent a week with no food, not even sugary drinks - but i HAD to run. and something in my body made me keep going.

shit, it's getting late. i'm actually gonna post this and then just finish it tomorrow. i had a lucozade and a protein shake while i was out walking, for miles into the night...

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okay i'm fucked if i can sleep.

the nurses on the ward did actually chase me for about half a mile before giving up. i sat at a bus stop and i could. not. fucking breathe. i'm not athletic enough (man boobs) to run a long way, and it's ironic that rapidly losing weight for a week made it even worse.

i knew i had to get out of traffic. the police would try to find me. i stopped to get some essential stuff to drink. then i went right out into a woodland trail that goes for miles.

there was a moment when i stopped to have a sip of lucozade. and it was beautiful. that first taste of sugar changes your brain, fuck me.

as i walked for miles, i didn't really know what i wanted to do. i was free. but what next? what was i running from?

i made the most out of it. i sat down in a field of cows with my shirt off, letting them sniff me. and later on when the sun was setting, i sat in a wheat/barley field and savoured the gold, endless gold.

it got late. i was still out. and then i knew what i wanted to do.

i used to live in assisted living ("semi independent living"). there were fifteen of us and about as many staff. one night in june, i had a major argument with the new manager. he'd slowly been working up his impatience with me, and when he got the chair i guess he wanted me out asap. so this fucking shitweasel phones the police and tells them that during the argument, i picked up a weapon and tried to kill him! it was total bullshit but it became word of god - he called in the co-manager (his own dad) and that was that. the police took me to a&e, then i was put in a psyche ward.

do you know what it's like to live in a place for eight years with good, familiar people you know long-term, and then to have that snapped out of you in one night? while i was on the ward, every single time i phoned the home, they refused to talk to me. we tried phonecalls where the staff would talk on my behalf, and they refused. i was forbidden from talking to any of the friends i had there. they packed up all my stuff and made arrangements for it without telling me. basically, they were determined to make this experience as shitty as possible.

so i walked. and i don't know how i did it even after fasting, but i walked the full seven or eight miles all the way up to this place.

it was home i was looking for, oh my brothers, and it was home that i came to.

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it sounds like quite a transcendental and important moment. but hopefully this moment of lucid freedom and unshackling is combined with a responsible and stable capability to find and maintain some sort of restarted life with zero possessions.  you should probably go live with someone who accepts you who is stable and start as soon as possible.  you never know when you're going to collapse from exhaustion in the middle of a road.  its quite concerning

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i spent a long time taking in the atmosphere of this place - this place i could've lived in for so much longer. it's a big, countryside place. you can hear the sheep for miles. i watched the full moon in the sky, which i used to come out and worship during my psychotic rituals. i could hear - even from this distance - the resident who used to shout to himself in the middle of the night. he would argue with his family (thru the voices) for hours on end, in the floor right below me! but i never complained about it. i loved it. there were so many things i loved about this place.

it felt sacred, just staying in the grounds, not wanting to be seen, just being there. i can't tell you what it was like, after so much chaos and so much pining for an ounce of closure.

it was pitch black. i would only ever get one chance to do this in my entire life, and i had to do it now.

the back door was left ajar. just as i expected, the guy who never talks came out for his 30 minute-ly cigarette and didn't shut the door. so i ran full pelt, right inside and right up two flights of stairs, until i found my way back in my room.

and it wasn't my room. it was horrible. everything stripped down, no carpets. my room didn't exist anymore. and i wanted to cry.

the man on night shift tonight chased me up the stairs and leapt into the room. by some miracle, tonight it none other that the kindest and most sensitive staff member there. as i sat on a wooden desk at the back of the room, where my bed used to be, i shouted that i needed to catch my breath. i just wanted to talk. and i needed to catch my breath, for one minute...

and i knew there was a ray of hope. after carrying so many unanswered questions in my soul, maybe i could get something - even one single thing.

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it started off rocky. he was out of mind to see that i had actually came back to the residence, after breaking out of a psyche ward, and broke into my bedroom. you have to remember he thinks i'm some kind of murderer - all of the staff were told that i had to leave because i tried to attack the manager.

things were very heated, but towards the end we calmed down a little bit. i assured him that i only came to talk - that i had been locked up, and they had decided to refuse all of my calls and this was the only possible way to do this, as outlandish as it is.

i asked him if i could speak to my best friend, who i haven't heard a single word from since i left. he was literally in the room next to mine, but i wasn't permitted to speak to him, to say goodbye or anything.

to be honest, he was mainly just desperate to go back downstairs as quickly as he could. he was obviously under a lot of pressure and my arrival was obviously a bolt from the blue. did i get everything i wanted from this final conversation? i don't know. but it'll never happen again and i have to thankful for what i got - just to see him, just to hear the sheep again and watch the beautiful patterns along the banister as i walked downstairs one final, extra, sacred time.

he said we could forget this happened if i could just leave without any more trouble. he didn't call the police. it's an absolute miracle that the manager wasn't the one doing the night shift (he spent years begrudgingly working the night shift before becoming chief). i can't imagine the chaos, the provocation, and the flying accusations that could've ensued had he been present.

so we parted ways, and i got a taxi back to the hospital. the driver stopped half-way for petrol, and i went and bought four more bottles of lucozade from the stand.

i finally feel like i want to eat again. sometimes, crazy adventures like this are the only things that can save me from myself, from my troubles. walking out in the middle of the night strangely doesn't give me anxiety - i become very calm and focused, even when it comes to dangerous situations. whereas being trapped in the safety of this psych unit drives me insane with anxiety.

it's crazy that in order to get better - to move on from this negative spell of deep fear - i had to do the one thing this place of recovery is stopping you from doing. but i feel so much better now, and i really think that once i start eating and get back into some hobbies - get my mp3 player whichever way - things will get better here.


as i've been writing this, you might have noticed that i've mentioned a lot of intense emotional stuff, yet i'm talking pretty casually and i can just feel fine about writing it. i've loved writing this - i know about all the depressions and fears i've had, but i'm okay with being this type of crazy, bipolar person. this is just what i do. sometimes i feel well enough to look at every part of myself and be okay with it.

it's reeeeeeally late now. thank you for your attention, bye.

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How liberating! Hope you get sorted now and it doesn't make things worse from their point of view. If anything, there will be a security review.....

Music is the great healer, hope they respect that

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13 minutes ago, Psychotronic said:

Can someone please make a Robin Williams film out of this?

And to you, all love and good luck.

Robin Williams, died man.

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Good thread, I hope you find the help and peace you seek.

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