Recently I started seeing a new doctor. He seemed nice enough and it was only short term as my psychiatrist didn’t have admitting rights to the hospital. This meant that control of my health was given to someone who saw me for five minutes twice a week instead of the doctor I’d seen for years and built trust with. But I was there because I didn’t know what to do anymore. Everything I’d tried hadn’t helped, and it all got more serious than I could deal with at home. I thought I’d be admitted to the hospital for two or maybe three weeks. Perhaps for a medication change or something. Instead, it turned into six months and counting. 

I previously experienced emotional abuse by psychiatrists when I was in the hospital as a teenager. Those experiences left me scarred, and it was nearly a decade until I tried seeing a psychiatrist again. I knew I needed the help, so I asked my friend to come with me, to help me verify how the interactions went. I’d become vulnerable after doing Electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) and had lost a lot of my knowledge of my medical history and what my medications do, so I had to learn to trust myself and others again by verifying what had happened because I now did not know when to advocate for myself. 

I never disclosed my history. The psychiatrist probably attributed it to what would later be diagnosed as general anxiety and social anxiety. During COVID, when everything turned to Telehealth, I tried to see her by myself. I was terrified, but her behaviour didn’t change despite my friend being absent. Even after years, I was scared to trust her, but she still felt safe. 

That sense of safety was the reason I listened to her and went to the hospital. The first doctor worked closely with her, so the feeling of safety was maintained. The second doctor however was more independent. Without my previous knowledge, I didn’t know much about what medications I took anymore. Medication changes would happen every week or two and it was overwhelming. I needed to find the line as to how to take care of myself and juggle informed consent without forcing the depressive episode and anxiety to worsen. I had to say to myself that the line can change and none of it is wrong. Sometimes it’s letting someone more trained to make the decisions I didn’t know how to make and then asking what actions I needed in order to be comfortable with their decisions (such as not being given the side effects list). 

I’m learning to trust, and then verify. For now, that looks like letting the doctor prescribe things, and if I have questions I’ll ask them or the nurses. It’s also acknowledging that this will, and is allowed to, change and be fluid, such as when I’m discharged. Trust is a long journey, and we get there in our own ways and it can look very different for different people. None of it is wrong. But part of consent is being informed. Not Dr Google but working with your team to find appropriate resources that match the stage you’re at. 

About the author

Ferris Knight is a queer and disabled writer, producer and advocate from Melbourne, Australia represented by Champion Health Agency. Ferris mainly writes about their lived experiences with mental and physical health conditions, as well as queer politics, poetry and fiction. They have also worked with organisations such as Arts Access Victoria, The Dax Centre and Women with Disabilities Victoria. In 2019 they produced their first Melbourne Fringe Festival show LEtGO of Stigma, walking 80 metres across Lego to talk about living with hidden pain and the resilience of those with mental illnesses. In 2020 they were a part of the anthology Closet Cases: Queers on What We Wear from Et Alia Press, writing about sexual harassment.