Whenever I feel like I’m finally getting somewhere, another obstacle is thrown in the way.
It’s no secret that I’ve had to fight for every bit of treatment I’ve received — or more accurately, haven’t received. The aftercare system is broken. Unless you hit rock bottom — unless you try to escape your own life — it feels like nothing gets taken seriously.
That’s what happened to me. And still, after all this time, I’m waiting for proper aftercare.
We’re now in July.
I was discharged from hospital in December.
And nothing has changed.
🧩 A System That Isn’t Working
In the time since my discharge, my life has fallen apart.
I’ve lost so much — people, security, stability.
And more than once, I’ve almost lost myself.
It just isn’t good enough. And this isn’t some rare, tragic exception. This is happening all the time. I’m not the only one. We just don’t talk about it.
But I will. I am talking about it. Because if I can’t force the system to change, I’ll be the change.
I’ve made it my mission to make sure nobody is left alone in the ways I was.
📄 The Complaint That Went Nowhere
I made a formal complaint about my treatment.
The response? Not worth the paper it was written on.
I’m not convinced the seriousness of my situation even registered with the people in charge — the people who have the power to actually make a difference.
Let me be clear:
I nearly didn’t receive the response to my complaint because I nearly wasn’t here to read it.
If I had died, would it have sparked a public inquiry? Or just been another case swept under the rug?
🚧 Pushed Back Again
Despite everything, I kept going. I pushed my complaint forward. I started to feel like someone was listening.
But this week, another appointment has been pushed back — this time until September.
That’s nearly a year since I was discharged from hospital.
How is that acceptable?
I’m not asking for the world. I’m asking for support. For treatment. For some kind of follow-through.
And instead, I’m being shown again and again that unless you’re screaming at the top of your lungs, you’re forgotten.
💔 Not About Me — About Us
I mentioned compensation in the follow-up to my complaint.
Not for selfish reasons.
But because I wanted to invest in the charity and platform I’m building — to help others.
I almost didn’t pursue it.
But receiving the news this week… it feels like the final nail in the coffin.
Like everything I feared about the system is being confirmed, again.
🗣️ I’m Not Scared to Speak
I’ve tried to work with mental health services in the NHS.
But it’s getting harder.
I’ve spoken to the press. I’ve told my story. I’ve shared the failures I experienced. I’ve never named the trust. I’ve kept things respectful. Professional.
But that line is getting thinner.
I won’t stay silent forever.
I’m not afraid to be a whistleblower.
I’m not afraid to say exactly what happened to me — and what is still happening to so many others.
🧠 If This Were a Broken Leg…
Here’s the part I will never understand.
If I had broken my leg, I would never have been told:
“Go home, give it time, see if the pain eases with paracetamol.”
So why is it okay when it’s your mind that’s broken?
It’s not.
It never has been.
And it never will be.
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