"Neglectful"
My time at Woodbourne Priory was a heart-wrenching journey—one that exposed the systemic failures of the mental health care system. While a handful of staff members offered me hope and humanity, their kindness was the exception, not the rule.
While there were staff members who truly cared, it became evident that not everyone shared the same commitment to patient well-being. I began to notice a troubling pattern: some staff seemed to view their roles as nothing more than jobs—a paycheck rather than a calling. Their lack of empathy and detachment made me feel more like a burden than a human being in need of care. It was disheartening to realize that the very professionals entrusted with supporting vulnerable individuals were, in some cases, indifferent to their suffering.
Without warning or explanation, I was informed that I was being transferred to another hospital. I remember seeing the transport team outside my bedroom and feeling immediate panic. I was given no opportunity to process this decision, to ask questions, or to understand why this was happening. The staff offered no communication or reassurance. I was simply told, “You’re being transferred.” It was as though my feelings, my relationships with the staff I trusted, and my fragile sense of security were irrelevant. I was devastated.
Worse still, my family—my greatest source of support—was kept completely in the dark. Earlier that day, my father had tried to arrange a visit and was told there were no available times. Legally, as my next of kin, he should have been informed about my transfer, but the staff chose not to communicate this critical information. Instead of involving my father, as they were obligated to do, they proceeded with the transfer without his knowledge or consent. Just hours later, I was physically restrained and forcibly removed from the environment where I had begun to feel somewhat safe.
When I resisted the transfer out of confusion and fear, I was physically restrained. This experience was not only traumatic but deeply humiliating. I was already unwell and recovering physically, yet my protests were met with force rather than compassion. I was restrained, dragged to the transport vehicle, and left with bruises on my arms and wrists—physical reminders of the emotional pain I endured that day.
During this ordeal, I pleaded for help. I begged, through tears, for someone to comfort me, to explain what was happening, or to show a shred of kindness. Instead, I was met with cold indifference. The ward manager, a figure I had trusted, stood and watched as I struggled. Worse still, he smiled—not a reassuring or understanding smile, but a cruel, mocking grin that made me feel utterly dehumanized. He even assisted the transport team in forcing me into the van. In that moment, I felt like nothing. I felt abandoned, humiliated, and powerless.
I left Woodbourne feeling betrayed, abandoned, and more broken than when I arrived. I hope that by sharing my story, I can shine a light on these failures and push for the changes that are so desperately needed. No one deserves to be treated the way I was, and it is my hope that my experience can serve as a catalyst for accountability and reform.