"Being sectioned"

It was a fun holiday, one to remember, I thought.

I needed the break in the sun. On reflection, I went there badly sleep-deprived and physically exhausted.

I went hypermanic. It felt fun at the time—meeting new people, constantly getting a buzz from speaking with them and hearing their stories. But I returned home having had very little sleep.

I tried to get back to work, but my family were worried. I agreed to take a few weeks off to rest and recover. Then the doctor made an intervention. I was placed under a short-term detention order, lasting up to 28 days.

It was frightening. I checked into the ward, but it was almost impossible to sleep. The dormitory was full of noise and activity—people doing all sorts of things.

I absconded. I took a day trip into the city, saw some sights, and eventually went to sleep at my mother’s. I slept like a baby. In the morning, we called the police to declare I was safe and well. They drove to my mum’s to collect me and transported me two and a half hours back to Leverndale. It felt like a waste of police time.

With 27 days left, I settled into hospital life. After 12 days, I got hold of some earplugs, and for the first time, I could sleep in the hospital—to rest and recover.

The ward was full of interesting people. Some I shared things in common with, many I didn’t, but they all had stories to tell. The staff, too, were caring and kind. They were there to help, and they truly made a difference.

I had access to a world-class psychiatrist three times a week. At first, it felt like an injustice, but eventually, when I gave in, I saw how useful and professional they were. It was reassuring to have that support.

It took the full duration of my detention to get through it, but I learned a lot in the process—about myself, about mental health, and about things I didn’t expect. I learned about Nigeria from the nurses, about social care and poverty, and about shared experiences and hospital culture.

The food and facilities were fine—not Giffnock five-star, but they didn’t need to be.

There were things that could be improved, even with limited resources, but I hold the staff in high regard. They helped me make the most of a bad situation.

It was highly detrimental to my financial situation, being self-employed and detained. No one ever seemed to factor that in. Perhaps that’s something I have to concede was my fault and responsibility. Slowly, slowly, I’ll rebuild to where I was.

And in the process, I’ll remember: healthy body, healthy mind. Mens sana in corpore sano.