E can't say thank you because she is on a ward where staff are determined to silence her by any means necessary. I can't say thank you enough because that only conveys a certain level of gratitude.
Before and shortly after E was detained, I trusted the ward staff and I trusted her brother, who both alerted me to concerns of E's mental health from what I thought was a place of genuine care. But when I asked for empathy towards E, for a form of support that did not hinge on hostility and authority, they insulted, belittled, and gaslit me, accusing me of everything from causing an alleged manic episode to not being her partner and not even knowing her.
For weeks, I honestly wondered if they were right. Perhaps I had made up the known symptoms of bipolar disorder, of PTSD, of mental health conditions and how to respond to them respectfully. Perhaps I had indeed led her to this ward over the course of the year. Suddenly, dinners, dates, our days and nights together felt like a poison I had fed to E myself. Memories I was once fond of became a mountain of evidence in which I had committed the maliciously wicked, delusional, and seriously dense act of falling in love with a woman, as someone who was born a woman myself.
I fell ill. I could not breathe properly for a month.
When I began to tell others about this, I was surprised. Compassion poured from the mouths of everyone from friends to strangers. I only informed my manager at work of this situation to give reason as to why I would be flexi-working, and he provided endless guides, resources, and journalists to help. Solicitors I called expecting to charge for every word responded with shock and empathy, sometimes spending weeks just to show me every law that was being broken by the Eden PICU staff and what could be done about it. Case workers wondered if I myself was delusional. What sort of care unit would declare a person so unwell that they cannot be seen by their partner and must be subject to the wishes of abusive relatives? But as I showed them evidence, the disbelief would turn to dismay. Total strangers felt more sorry for us than I did. I felt incredibly guilty. Who was I to them? Who was E to them? How could a brief description bloat into this massive bubble of violations? Why did they care when they had their own lives? What had I done to deserve their support?
So if I'm being honest, "thank you for supporting E" rings incredibly hollow. Everyone involved has done so much more than just that.
Thank you for reminding me that neither queerness nor mental health conditions justify abuse.
Thank you for giving me the time to visit the ward when I fell behind critical deadlines.
Thank you for providing links, references, contacts, publications, forms, services, and guides.
Thank you for explaining entire laws, policies, and procedures to me over and over again.
Thank you for not calling us insane or stupid or evil.
Thank you for feeding us when we had nothing to eat.
Thank you for letting me grieve beside you.
Thank you for shielding me from the humiliation of puking in public because I had eaten one meal a day for a week.
Thank you for praying for me even though I am bitter about religion.
Thank you for believing in me when I did not believe in myself.
Thank you for encouraging me even though I am a coward.
Thank you for calling and emailing me back based on nothing but a plea.
Thank you for calling the ward even though we ended things on such a sour note.
Thank you for listening to me tell you the same tragic tale over and over again.
Thank you for offering places to stay and to rest.
Thank you for building a site to decentralise information even though I had no idea what to tell you.
Thank you for respecting and trusting E.
Thank you for your faith in E.
Thank you for visiting this site.
Thank you.