Where did Chief go?

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Let's get this straight. This is NOT a picnic. It is an acute NHS Psychiatric Ward in the capital of one the most major citys in the World.

I have been here on this ward for almost six weeks, following almost eight weeks in a Prison. Different. This very morning a patient did the [full monty]stripped naked and started walking around the ward before breakfast!

I see myself as a mere actor on this ward - in Shakespeare's words 'strutting on stage' - as such I am playing Jack Nickleson's role in 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' and to be quite frank, at this moment in time I am seriously looking for the Chief with his pillow!

The constant broken sleep, shouting, banging, screaming, slamming, crying, mayhem, chaos, drama, stresses and petty squabbles distresses me. Almost beyond my more than ample capacity. I am teetering on the brink of insanity without any hope of return. After all this noise and confusion, Just the mere tip toe of a professional ballerina would be likely to push me over the edge! Even a month of 24hr days filled with British Quaker meetings could not satisfy the silence, peace and serenity which I now crave!

My cup of 'Milk of human kindness' has been dragged from my hands and been smashed. The milk is scattered all over the floor and I am left exhausted with no hope of a release date from this psychiatric hospital because I am on a Section 37 [A court section]. I can't cope with one more communal mealtime or drink time, never mind sharing the communal bathroom or loo.

I'm done. Finished. I am almost at breaking point. And Yes, I think I will insist on No Group Psychotherapy. In fact, I'm cured...give me the dotted lines and I'll sign. I'll take full responsibility for myself. I'm not coming back and by the way if all else fails... Where did Chief Go?