That Damn Mental Health System Again

 

I have a close friend, we’ll call him Subject A, who has been f**ked over once more lately. He explains:

“It’s this mental health game bollocks up to its old tricks again, screwing me over as is per usual. This latest escapade has me half-believing that I’ll never get out of the system. It started with me telling them to go and stick their medication up their jacksies and don’t come running to me crying about it. Not in so many words like, I’m not rude. I just casually missed my appointments – and besides, I had other things on the go as well by the way, okay?”

All he did is miss a couple of engagements scheduled to administer his medication. Personally, I wouldn’t take that crap if my life depended on it.

“They recalled me into a secure unit! I lost my liberty for five days and nights in the time it took for them to forcibly deliver the meds. We’re talking a heavy squad here, nine built dudes welding one syringe. Sheer overkill. I don’t see the point in it. I don’t want your stupid drugs, so you’re gunna get nine guys to pin me down and deliver them? What’s fair about that? All directed from a doctor I never even met in my life.”

If I was there I would have knocked them all out and injected the doctor’s temple with his own badass solution.

“I’ve explained the reasons why I can’t have their concoctions but my arguments fall on deaf ears. They just sit there smiling, telling me all the benefits of their drugs.”

Subject A also reported that they been telling all kinds of bare lies about him too.

“It’s true. In October last year I got sectioned for lighting gas canisters in my backyard. One, I don’t have either a) a backyard or b) a gas canister. Two, I wouldn’t light it in my backyard if I knew how to light it. I couldn’t believe it. One morning I’m sat at home drinking whisky enjoying my freedom, the next I’m on a nuthouse ward because of some porky pies about gas canisters. They wrote it down on my papers. I read the lies from the horse’s mouth. The doctors use different strange signatures on these papers, the reasons are barely readable, wow their handwriting, but I confronted him about it when I finally got the chance after weeks and weeks of him being off. He denied it was him bruv!”

I’m sorry, but I’d have knocked somebody out again for that. And it’s here where I’m drawing a line under this report because my friend has to take it somewhere bigger than my blog, like a lawyer’s office for example. He says he has a tribunal coming up anyway, so we’ll wish him the best. Personally, I’m finding it hard even just showcasing his position. If it were up to me, I’d shoot all those doctors in the head and throw them in a covered-up ditch. Their tyrannical system of terminal oppression makes me want to heave.

“I did have a visit on the beach with my girlfriend though,” Subject A adds. “We ate Rowntree’s ice lollies and cornettos.”