Isn't crisis supposed to be short term?

So this time last week I was in the crisis house, affectionately named 'Haven'. It was calm and peaceful and I had no responsibilities and even avoided the TV all night. I sat and read my book and messaged my heart out to William and friends. I made noodles and a cup of tea.

I breathed.

The next morning I woke up panicked. I wanted to leave, I had to get out. I met Gary on the way to the kitchen and he was so drugged up I couldn't understand what he was saying to me - he had been comprehensible the night before in the reading room.

So I ran. I booked a taxi and ran. I got home in full-blown panic mode convinced that the crisis team were coming back to get me.

Needless to say my escape did not go down well with the staff at Haven, but crisis team reminded me that I wasn't under section so could have left any time I wanted. Maybe my distressed, panic-stricken self could have been told that one earlier!

I didn't get on well with the Doctor they sent, she commented on how low my anti-depressant level was and how I needed anti-anxiety medication - then crushed me with a comment of 'oh well never mind'...

So since then I have been on daily visits. Trying to get meds adjusted. Trying to stop crying.

I'm told that I look better - I've showered and done my nails and everything. But I still want to hurt myself. Still feel I shouldn't be here.

But hey, I'm alive - right?