Content Note: this article contains detailed discussion of mental health conditions and hospitals, as well as brief mention of self-harm.

It was nearing 1am in Addenbrooke’s A&E. The automatic doors slid open and another patient arrived. A young woman, strapped down to a wheelchair, was surrounded by four or five paramedics, nurses and doctors. She was rushed in crying, shouting, thrashing at things that we couldn’t see: “get off me!”, “leave me alone!”. We could still distinctly hear her cries over the general hubbub of the hospital even after she’d been taken into a side room.

“That one’s got a fighting spirit,” joked a man sitting across from me, in a quip designed to ease the tension created by the presence of someone who looked to be mentally ill. Unlike the others around me, I didn’t laugh.

A few minutes later, the woman was wheeled back past us, fully sedated. I’m not sure which version of her I found more upsetting.

“If someone were to push the right buttons, I would end up exactly like that young woman”

While the other patients in the A&E waiting room looked on in a kind of morbid curiosity, I was staring for an entirely different reason. Unbeknownst to the would-be-joker, I had ended up in that waiting room for mental health related reasons. It was the second time that I had been in that exact position this year. I was staring not out of judgement, or a desire to know more. I was staring out of recognition.

Long after the woman had been taken away, I was left with her words, her distress, going round and round in my head. Already in a vulnerable state of mind, I’d sat hunched over, ears covered to drown her out for those few minutes before the sedation kicked in. Once relative quiet was again restored, I realised exactly why I’d felt her cries were so threatening, so unbearable to listen to. They were the exact words that I’ve often thought myself, that I’ve wanted to scream when I’ve been in the throes of my own PTSD-style flashbacks. And I know full well that if someone were to push the right buttons, I would end up exactly like that young woman. Utterly out of control. Unable to distinguish between those trying to harm and those trying to help.

“Each time, I’ve left feeling calmer, more stable, and a thousand times safer than when I walked in to begin with”

Going to hospital for mental health related reasons is never an enjoyable experience, even if I have always received nothing but kindness and sympathy from the nurses and doctors with whom I have come into contact. No-one there has ever judged or questioned what brought me to Addenbrooke’s doors, even if I’ve had some less sensitive responses from college staff. Each time, I’ve left feeling calmer, more stable, and a thousand times safer than when I walked in to begin with. This is both a blessing and a curse: if you were to encounter me the next day you would probably have no idea that anything had happened at all, unless I chose to share with you. And it is this impression of being “on top of things” which is both the most damaging and the most difficult to shed.

Of course, this façade was non-existent each time I entered Addenbrooke’s. Covid-19 has made a trip to hospital an almost unrecognisable experience, as on most occasions no-one is allowed to accompany you, contact with others is limited, and the hospital staff’s faces are as hidden as our own. But the NHS staff’s compassion has not been affected. If anything, I would argue it has increased. They, of all people, have seen how difficult this pandemic is for people from all walks of life. And they understand that if you are already vulnerable, it does not take much to tip you over the edge.

Since this last trip to A&E, I’m more optimistic than the previous times that it will be my last. As I told the doctor as he stitched me up, since returning to Cambridge this term my mood has been on an upward trend. Having a sense of independence, of my own space, and time to spend thinking and reflecting on my past have all been major factors in helping me feel far more in control than I have in a long time; not to mention the seemingly endless support of my college tutor, counsellor and closest friends. That doesn’t mean that I don’t still have dangerous moments. It just means that they’re less common, and that in general I am much better equipped to deal with them and see them through.

“I will recognise the human being that needs caring for, and do my best to help others understand that”

A few years ago, if someone had told me that I would be in this position today, I would not have believed them. I might even have judged my future self, having no idea of the life-changing, scarring events to come. But in an odd way, I am grateful for my struggles with mental health. I know that one day, hopefully soon, I will be through the worst and I will be much stronger because of it. But more importantly, unlike that man in A&E, I know that should I encounter someone like that young woman, someone who clearly needs help and is unable to take care of herself, I will not react with dismissive humour. I will recognise the human being that needs caring for, and do my best to help others understand that. In hindsight, I wish that I’d said something to him to make him realise that his comments and unsubtle ogling weren’t just unkind, but actively damaging to others such as myself. That they had the ring of judgement that we all fear. At that moment, I was in no state to do so. But in the future, I hope I can be that voice for other people.