[Buttons.]

Arriving at the hospital my parents and I stepped out of the car. I lit a cigarette instantly, focussing hard on the fiery glow, unsure of when I would next be able to satisfy the addiction. In paradox I also breathed the fresh air deep into my lungs, unsure of when I would next be experiencing this sense of freedom. Of basic liberty. Of choice over where to stand, which way to go, what to eat, when to sleep.

Slowly we made our way up the path towards the unit, falsely jovial. We arrived and buzzed to be let in. Once inside we huddled together on chairs in a warm but clinical waiting room, holding hand in hand, a three link chain, the three musketeers. My mind wandered back to 6 years previously, skipping the intervening years of wellness and relative normality to my first stay in a psychiatric unit, at the age of 14. How we all sat in a narrow corridor in a similar manner to the present, waiting as though for an executioner to deliver the final blow.

Pulling myself with a strong tug back to the present however, I tried to harness the knowledge of how different this situation was. Yes I was ill, but I was an adult now and as a family unit we couldn't have been stronger. I squeezed both my parents hands. They squeezed back, reassuring, as we sat in purgatory.

Soon we were invited to follow a female staff member, my personal belongings held tight in our arms as we followed her through one locked door and then another. Once we arrived on the ward the woman respectfully requested with a not so disguised directive that I hand my belongings into the office to be searched before they were returned to me.

My stomach squirmed but having hardened myself to this possibility I did not object, also handing over my lighters as jovially as possible. I managed to rescue my phone from these proceedings and followed the woman into the ward, reassured to have my connection to the rest of humanity resting lightly in my pocket.

My parents and I, as previously discussed, parted ways fairly shortly after this, with warm embraces and promises of visits and contact by phone when I was ready.

Once they were gone a female staff member introduced herself and gave me a whistle stop tour of the unit. She then led me into a room which I was told was the female lounge but which for the moment would be where herself and the doctor present would conduct my admission.

Presently the doctor arrived, a pleasant woman with a warm Lithuanian accent. Although they probed and prodded I felt strangely comfortable and calmed by the proceedings, having carried them out frequently as a student psychiatric nurse the questions and forms were so familiar that it was almost soothing, although once again I felt a sharp jab at my pride at being on the receiving end of these questions.

After the interview I was taken for the physical part of the initial assessment. Again I found the blood pressure and other standard tests almost soothing because I understood the data gained and the equipment was so familiar. Then the doctor requested to see my previous self harm wounds.

Uncomfortably, with help from the two members of staff I unravelled the bandages, for the first time feeling naked and raw, despite the fact that they were in reality only viewing my limbs. The doctor examined and redressed my wounds, commenting on when stitches and steri strips would have to be removed and suchlike.

I felt frozen, like my very soul had been lain bear on that table, despite their compassion and respect for my dignity. Self harm has always been to me, and I believe always be, a very private, primal concept and something it takes a lot of courage to share with others.

Due to my usual high blood pressure and tachychardia (abnormally fast heart rate) the doctor, like most others, wished to listen to my heart. Although I had no objection to this, because of passed abuse I was still very sensitive to removing or adjusting clothing and the doctor despite being pleasant was unclear as to what I had to adjust/remove.

I became irrationally frightened and began to shake, to my mind I was vulnerable, in a strange place with strangers who I was still unsure whether I could trust. Now I was unsure of what this woman wanted me to expose, my learning difficulties in the areas of processing information exacerbating the situation. Thankfully the nurse in the room came to my rescue. Sensing my distress she explained slowly and simply what exactly I needed to do. The examination proceeded with no further problems.