Being a patient (sanity in numbers)

Hello. My name is Rachel. No, I don't work - I'm recovering from mental illness. Schizoaffective Disorder, actually. Kinda like schizophrenia and manic depression mixed together - the value multi-buy diagnosis of mental health. I am a patient.

I have a choice - I can belong to the group of the patient or, if I can fake it enough, I can join the mentally 'normal'. As a patient I can talk easily to other patients about how crap the system is - my psychiatrist, the ward, the food. I can share (almost honestly) my feelings - admit how hard it is to face the day. I can even describe my visions, voices and bizarre experiences.

As a 'normal' I would stay silent. I know because I did.

When I meet with other patients we often talk glibly of some of our most scary (and frankly ridiculous) scrapes. I recall the time I thought that strawberry yoghurts contained baby aliens. The time I wouldn't shower 'cause I was sure I was under 24hr surveillance. At the time these experiences were almost pant-wettingly terrifying, but somehow they don't seem so bad in retrospect when the person across from you is an alien abductee and your neighbour is a goat.

As a 'normal' I would stay silent for fear of being different. I'd fear their pity, their shocked silence and their fear. Even if I chose to let them into my head (well, the reception area - nothing too deep) I'd be afraid that they'd freak out or wrap me up in fluffy cotton wool.

As a patient among patients I am normal. It's them that are weird - them that pretend everything is ok. Delusional, definitely. Slightly Hypomanic ….. I could recommend a psychiatrist … some medication …. A safe(?) place to stay for a few days!?!

As a patient I feel included. As a patient I feel sane.