A letter of love.
Good evening my dearest darlings,
I'm back in honour of the birthday of our greatest achievements birthday, The NHS is turning 70. I'm here to simply say my thanks.
A quick catch up, Right now I'm sat in my bedroom, (in my pants due to this wonderful climate), next to my favourite flowers, sat upon my new, hand painted vase with all my favourite songs on in the background. I've settled in extremely well in my job. I've met some amazing characters and I've passed my probation. I'm still drinking, albeit more responsibly, I'm still clean and I'm still doing so, so well. Granted, I've not managed to do some of the things I designed, but I've still had the best spring/summer I can remember in such a long time. I've just signed a new tenancy agreement and paid the deposit to jump back into a life that has terrified me for so long. I'm finally at a place where I can somewhat trust myself to be able to survive, and fucking thrive, in my own environment. I feel sort of safe again and for the first time in years, I feel secure.
By divulging this (probably irrelevant) information I don't want to sound at all braggy, I'm hoping people see it more as inspirational, if someone who could spend so long drowning can resurface, then perhaps it is as possible to simply, be okay. So now, my dears, it's time to get to the whole point of this post, my deepest gratitudes to the beautiful folk at the NHS.
I never thought I would reach 23, not once I became noticeably ill. I thought I would be a story, perhaps a fable, the girl people had come across once or twice. Not really there, but there, the story people would share when depression came up in a conversation. In reality, I should have been gone a decade ago but I was saved, by the sheer luck that I was born in the UK. I had access to the national health service, they made my every achievement, every amazing, surprising, wonderful moment be a possibility. It's something I'm not too comfortable sharing in public, mainly out of shame, but a decade ago I wanted to die. I did not want to be a part of this world anymore, I was broken, exhausted and it felt like I was replaying the same bastard day, over and over. I did the deed, I emptied my parents medicine cupboard and watched the world turn hazy. It's still weird to this day to speak about, as if I'm honest, it still feels like some surreal dream.
It's not a comfortable subject, or thought, imagining a 13 year old being so beyond living that she could see death being the preferable solution, I understand. It's unfortunately something that happens far too often, and not all of us are so lucky to still be here to tell the tale, but I for one, know how important it is to recognise how fortuitous I was.
You see, I'm not from a wealthy family, if my parents were to have to pay for my healthcare, although I know they would have, it would have broken the full family. I was fortunate enough to receive the compassionate, welcoming care of the NHS. Now to say I cannot really remember much of my recovery time, nor of my admission to the hospital, I can remember the two nurses (I'm not entirely sure on medical lingo, but I know they accompanied me in the ambulance to Birmingham and admitted me??) I'll be honest, I wish I knew their names, or anything about them personally, to dedicate my thanks, but alas, I was 13 and had taken a lot of pharmaceuticals. They were the two non-related humans, who were probably fucking exhausted after running back and forth, caring for strangers as if they were their own family, who at that moment in time, seemed to be the people who understood me. Who reminded me that I was still important. They sat and talked about whatever hotshot american actor was big at the time and asked me about music and art and what I wanted to do. They weren't the mental health team, they came after, they were just two ordinary girls, who couldn't have been much older than I am now, who's desire it was to simply care for others.
I felt isolated in hospital, I didn't want to tell others why I was in for obvious reasons, I felt alien, odd. I couldn't speak to people, I simply watched the world go by, being as small as possible. Those two, they made me feel okay again. Just that one simple gesture, meant the world to me. I came back to the beautiful folk at Sheffield Children's Hospital with a new life about me, whilst I awaited to recover and be discharged, I started opening up and talking to people, I was me again.
Now I know I was receiving a lot of medical attention during my stay, but the most valuable treatment to me, a confused 13 year old girl, was simply the knowledge that another human, who had no ties to me whatsoever, spent their days caring form me. Without any of the above, I just wouldn't have been here, either I couldn't have dealt with the guilt and succeeded in my initial goal, or my body would have given up. I cannot ever express the full extent of my love, or gratitude for all who work in, and for the NHS. Now, more than ever we need people to acknowledge how blessed we are, and how fucking integral the service is.
Looking back over the past decade, I've had so many beautiful moments. I've fallen in love, I've seen the most beautiful sunsets, I've stayed up for a good few sunrises too. I've watched my family grow whilst I've grown to become a woman I'm somewhat proud of. I often find myself being listened to and respected. I've learnt new skills and created beautiful things. None of this could have happened without the support of our NHS, and I'll never forget the selflessness of the workers.
I'll leave you with the artwork with one of my favourite artists, Pete McKee, a fellow Sheffielder, and a bloody talented chap who also appreciates our blessing of an institution.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you and..
I'm back in honour of the birthday of our greatest achievements birthday, The NHS is turning 70. I'm here to simply say my thanks.
A quick catch up, Right now I'm sat in my bedroom, (in my pants due to this wonderful climate), next to my favourite flowers, sat upon my new, hand painted vase with all my favourite songs on in the background. I've settled in extremely well in my job. I've met some amazing characters and I've passed my probation. I'm still drinking, albeit more responsibly, I'm still clean and I'm still doing so, so well. Granted, I've not managed to do some of the things I designed, but I've still had the best spring/summer I can remember in such a long time. I've just signed a new tenancy agreement and paid the deposit to jump back into a life that has terrified me for so long. I'm finally at a place where I can somewhat trust myself to be able to survive, and fucking thrive, in my own environment. I feel sort of safe again and for the first time in years, I feel secure.
By divulging this (probably irrelevant) information I don't want to sound at all braggy, I'm hoping people see it more as inspirational, if someone who could spend so long drowning can resurface, then perhaps it is as possible to simply, be okay. So now, my dears, it's time to get to the whole point of this post, my deepest gratitudes to the beautiful folk at the NHS.
I never thought I would reach 23, not once I became noticeably ill. I thought I would be a story, perhaps a fable, the girl people had come across once or twice. Not really there, but there, the story people would share when depression came up in a conversation. In reality, I should have been gone a decade ago but I was saved, by the sheer luck that I was born in the UK. I had access to the national health service, they made my every achievement, every amazing, surprising, wonderful moment be a possibility. It's something I'm not too comfortable sharing in public, mainly out of shame, but a decade ago I wanted to die. I did not want to be a part of this world anymore, I was broken, exhausted and it felt like I was replaying the same bastard day, over and over. I did the deed, I emptied my parents medicine cupboard and watched the world turn hazy. It's still weird to this day to speak about, as if I'm honest, it still feels like some surreal dream.
It's not a comfortable subject, or thought, imagining a 13 year old being so beyond living that she could see death being the preferable solution, I understand. It's unfortunately something that happens far too often, and not all of us are so lucky to still be here to tell the tale, but I for one, know how important it is to recognise how fortuitous I was.
You see, I'm not from a wealthy family, if my parents were to have to pay for my healthcare, although I know they would have, it would have broken the full family. I was fortunate enough to receive the compassionate, welcoming care of the NHS. Now to say I cannot really remember much of my recovery time, nor of my admission to the hospital, I can remember the two nurses (I'm not entirely sure on medical lingo, but I know they accompanied me in the ambulance to Birmingham and admitted me??) I'll be honest, I wish I knew their names, or anything about them personally, to dedicate my thanks, but alas, I was 13 and had taken a lot of pharmaceuticals. They were the two non-related humans, who were probably fucking exhausted after running back and forth, caring for strangers as if they were their own family, who at that moment in time, seemed to be the people who understood me. Who reminded me that I was still important. They sat and talked about whatever hotshot american actor was big at the time and asked me about music and art and what I wanted to do. They weren't the mental health team, they came after, they were just two ordinary girls, who couldn't have been much older than I am now, who's desire it was to simply care for others.
I felt isolated in hospital, I didn't want to tell others why I was in for obvious reasons, I felt alien, odd. I couldn't speak to people, I simply watched the world go by, being as small as possible. Those two, they made me feel okay again. Just that one simple gesture, meant the world to me. I came back to the beautiful folk at Sheffield Children's Hospital with a new life about me, whilst I awaited to recover and be discharged, I started opening up and talking to people, I was me again.
Now I know I was receiving a lot of medical attention during my stay, but the most valuable treatment to me, a confused 13 year old girl, was simply the knowledge that another human, who had no ties to me whatsoever, spent their days caring form me. Without any of the above, I just wouldn't have been here, either I couldn't have dealt with the guilt and succeeded in my initial goal, or my body would have given up. I cannot ever express the full extent of my love, or gratitude for all who work in, and for the NHS. Now, more than ever we need people to acknowledge how blessed we are, and how fucking integral the service is.
Looking back over the past decade, I've had so many beautiful moments. I've fallen in love, I've seen the most beautiful sunsets, I've stayed up for a good few sunrises too. I've watched my family grow whilst I've grown to become a woman I'm somewhat proud of. I often find myself being listened to and respected. I've learnt new skills and created beautiful things. None of this could have happened without the support of our NHS, and I'll never forget the selflessness of the workers.
I'll leave you with the artwork with one of my favourite artists, Pete McKee, a fellow Sheffielder, and a bloody talented chap who also appreciates our blessing of an institution.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you and..
God bless, the NHS.
P.S, you didn't really think I was gonna go without leaving one did you?? This is a heads up that I'm planning to be back with you all, my angels, more often. I have a big move to get on with and some settling in (and sunbathing) to get done, then I shall be mostly all yours. I can not thank you enough for sticking by me and my rambling ways. Take it easy all, you are the most precious beings.
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