I’d really, really like to shave my armpits. It’s amazing how fast that hair grows. I can deal with the spidery legs, but the armpits make me feel grim.
I noticed this because I had a bath tonight. I had a bath because the shower in my room doesn’t work and can’t be fixed for several days. This morning I tried to have a wash in the basin. It has no plug (not sure what the safety concern is there) and as I ran water it became apparent that the previous occupant of this room had used it as an ash tray. All these soggy dog ends floated up into the sink and made me want to throw up. The staff said they couldn’t do anything about it, so I had to fish all that skank out myself with my fingers and try not to vomit.
So I asked permission to use the communal bath and a nurse unlocked it for me. I was actually enjoying getting clean after about 4 unwashed days. It was somewhat spoiled when I noted this big smear of blood and hair stuck to the outside of the tub.
Conclusion: It is just gross here. Everything is grotty and dirty. Now that I am sobering up, I am noticing it more and more. There are blood stains on my duvet. The skirting board has blood on it. The inside of the toilet is yellowy brown. The furniture in the lounge has all kinds of filthy, crusty marks. It’s just vile.
Here’s a photo of the sofa I sat on earlier this evening:
And they wonder why I don’t want to eat the food.
Anyway, aside from the hygiene, there is no therapy either. Everything is geared towards people who are not functioning at all. The agenda includes cooking classes, talks about mouth health (i.e. Why you should brush your teeth) and how to look for a job. I’m not sure why I am here, apart from to be kept physically safe from myself. It’s not a healing environment.
Today I was asked to fill in a questionnaire about what I need as a care plan. Here’s a pic:
It seemed so pointless. There is not really any actual therapy. Not one person has checked in with me and asked how I am. I tried to end my life on Wednesday, and haven’t had a chance to talk about that with a single person. I think if you’re not kicking off or starting a fight in here then they just leave you to it. I feel very ignored and unimportant. Nobody from the staff is interested in how I am. That’s fair enough, they have to prioritise. But I could really do with someone to help me process this. I wish I could talk it through with J, but I think it’s unlikely I am going to see her while I’m in here. That feels tough.
Here’s a short but entertaining anecdote from today. There’s the standard ‘guy that looks like Jesus’ here. You know every psych ward has one, they have long hair and beards, no shoes and exclusively wear hospital pyjamas that fall down all the time. This one got chatting to me this morning, and told me he understands how tough it must be for me to be transgender and part of the older generation (I’m neither). He then congratulated me on my homosexuality and recommended I listen to The Cure if I want to feel better.
I’m going to sign off now. A nurse has just got disproportionately annoyed with me because I don’t want any toast. FML.