Yesterday I dropped my iphone on the floor and the screen shattered.
“Do you think that’s a sign?”, the psychiatrist asked.
Unsure if this was some sort of trick question to establish if I was delusional, I chose my words carefully.
“Not a sign but it pretty much sums up my life at the moment. My life is in pieces, I’m broken. Everything I touch falls apart”.
I’ve been a patient with this mental health team for around a year, having been transferred from the team I worked with for five years due to moving out of the area. Initially I saw the consultant psychiatrist once a month and then every three months but the combination of mine and the service’s disorganisation means it has been around six months since I last saw a psychiatrist, although I have been seeing my care coordinator. I wasn’t particularly bothered about not seeing…
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