Why I will never seek help from mental health services ever again. I've been stripped of my rights (again)

19^th October 2026Why I regret ever seeking help from mental health services.

Before I get into the nitty-gritty of my currently bizarre situation, I’d like to note that as a former runaway that lived on the streets from 12 years old, experiencing abuse, exploitation and even kidnappings, not once has a mental health worker ever seemed to even contemplate that I experience PTSD or any other trauma-based diagnosis. I have simply being written-off by almost every mental health professional or doctor as deluded, paranoid and even schizophrenic. What I have faced and am still facing today is a huge injustice where the difference of how I get treated to other people becomes more evident by the day.

I am also finding this article very hard to write at the moment because since last October I have been prescribed Aripiprazole which is making my focus very fuzzy and cloudy. Despite me claiming to have experienced stalking as well as much worse and sever situations, none of this has ever been considered to be taken seriously by any of the Mental Health professionals that I have worked with and currently I just feel like some sort of toy to the system to be played with, mocked, discredit and even labelled as dangerous simply for admitting that I would use something in my home to defend myself if need be. I just can’t explain easily how completely written-off and stitched up I’ve been by the system to date. Simply put, I wish I never reached out to the mental health services here in Worcestershire because it has caused me much more distress than any good to my mental wellbeing.

In October 2025, I was involved in a situation that I most likely will never get to fully understand, and although some people may have been attempting to warn me about a much more serious situation, rightly or wrongly I had suspected that I was being targetted by a cult and had left the area that I was living in to try and find a safe place and a crime detective that would listen to my story.

I eventually got to London, and after seeking help from AI chat about what I should do I followed it’s advice and went into what was deemed a safe place with plenty of people. This place was the UCL hospital near Euston Station in London, where I hoped that a detective would come and speak to me.

At this point, admittedly I had been completely off the mark about what was actually happening to me so perhaps it’s fair to admit that too an outsider I could have come across as paranoid, but it’s not like anyone at all has taken any time at all to help me unpack what was actually going on in my life. After a few hours wait inside of the A&E I was subtlety led down into a secure room of the hospital where I then couldn’t leave and spoken to by two mental health psychiatrists at the hospital.

I could already tell early on that the vibes were a little off, but the last thing I had expected was for the male psychiatrist to enter the room I was in along with a large group of security guards to order me an injection. This didn’t quite go as smoothly as they would have liked but having been severely outnumbered I was pinned to the floor and given some injection or other which did indeed give the wobbly legs that they had hoped for in order to keep me easily compliant to the psychiatrists orders.

Oh, and shortly before this happened the psychiatrist asked me the question “And do you have anything at home that you would use as a weapon if anybody did try to invade your home?” in which I replied that there were a few items that I would consider picking up, including a crowbar that I owned. From that moment on, on paper I was now diagnosed as not only a paranoid schizophrenic with severe delusions, but a dangerous one.

Later on that night I was then transferred to Worcester’s Newtown Hospital, specifically it’s secure mental health facility called the Elgar Unit where I was detained under the mental health act. It was my first ever time in a psychiatric secure facility.

Overall, I was there a couple of months, but I remember the shocks well of how I was quickly labelled as a psychotic schizophrenic based on short brief conversations lasting no more than 30 minutes, with zero help at all of unpacking the events that I’d been through which would have taken some time. I even begged constantly to be able to talk with a police detective about it but no one ever came despite me getting through to the police.

The only attention that I would get from the police would be when I went missing after one of my periods of being allowed outside. By that point I felt suffocated from the extremely noisy ward and having to spend a combined time of many hours waiting outside of the staff office door for the many requests I’d needed to make just to have access to basic things that in any other situation I’d most likely take for granted.

West Mercia Police were quick enough to contact me to request me that I’d return to the ward, and even said they’d come and speak with me if I did return, but sure enough when I returned that was the last I’d heard from them and I was immediately stonewalled yet again.

Eventually I was released thanks to a complaint from my mother who had heard my frustrations about life on the ward and how my basic freedoms were taken away by the ward psychiatrists.

A year on from then though, and I’d find myself in almost exactly the same position.

(Explain the second sectioning on the ward and after explain the history of the ward)

At home, life was strange. I knew for a long time that I was hacked but the signs were getting more and more evident as time went on. But in the block of small apartments where I live, I would be overhearing conversations from nearby neighbours which seemed to be about kidnapping someone and this person having to ‘pay for what they did’. It wasn’t the first time either though, and shortly before my first spell in psychiatric I had come across so many bizarre signs and events that I started googling everything that I was seeing and the conclusions kept adding up to the fact that I could have been involved in a very serious murder conspiracy which was being well-planned to be covered up. The same was happening again though, and by this point I believe I became more aware of who was involved and their roles. I believe my hitmen were in nearby flats in very close proximity to my own, and after working this out things got very real when one of my suspected hitmen had ordered a huge box of 100 packets of anti-bacterial wipes shortly after I had pieced my suspicions together.

Shortly before my very first sectioning I’d actually dialled 999 on one evening to say that I believed that my life was at risk, but I simply got turned away by the operator who stated that no police were going to turn up and that if I wanted to speak with mental health then I should make my way through the dark country roads at 3am. When I noticed a big red skip turn up on the next morning with no visible sign of items near the bins that would go in them I freaked out and presumed the skip was actually for me. At this point one could wonder if this was actually a state-sponsored hit, who knows ay. At the very least I believe something highly-organised was going on though.

A year later though, and with lots of very bizarre events that happened in between which wouldn;t be so wise for me to discuss, although I didn’t feel safe talking in the flat because over time it felt like I was being listened in on by the eerily quiet flat above me, I made another 999 call with similar claims of which this time it had felt (at the time at least) that I was being taken a little more seriously. Perhaps I’d articulated it better this time, but I didn’t know how big the thing I’ve been involved in was and so going to the police station after all of this had felt pretty unsafe for me at this point. Would I simply be handed over to my to-be killers? Or would they be notified upon my return in order to ensure a swift clean up job? These are the types of things I’ve had to contemplate for a very long time now in order to try and remain alive.

(making my way to brum, burning out and going to a&e)

Recently in October of 2026 I began seeing signs of what I still believe is a kidnap, tirture and murder plot in retaliation to the attempted prosecution and the successful dismissal of former police sergeant Marcus Garvey and police constable Wayne Campbell. (See https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-12367208) I actually believe that I may have seen Marcus Garvey at Bromsgrove station a year prior waiting on the platform before entering a white car parked in the car park when I was trying to flee from my home under similar circumstances, if it was him then he was most certainly following me but I can’t be too sure)

After some days spending all of my money in hotels and backpackers hostels, and still not feeling very safe in the process, it didn’t take long at all before I experienced financial, mental and physical exhaustion. I really didn’t want to return to my flat where I had already spent many many sleepless nights expecting the door to go through, and so after my current mental health worker had advised me to check myself into psychiatric as an informal patient, that’s what I eventually did.

I should have known better really though, and even though my MH worker assured me that I would be an informal patient and not have my freedoms taken away, I am now under a section three with ZERO leave, not even escorted leave with staff. What the heck is actually happening to me?

After just 2 days on the ward as an informal patient and enjoying the basic freedoms of being able to come and go when I needed, on the monday morning after just a short conversation with consultant psychiatrist DR Salvi, who instantly discredited every anxiety that I had expressed, I was then detained under section 3 of the mental health act and given zero unescorted or escorted leave.

After a week on the ward with no psychical way out having been detained inside of it, many of the staff working day-to-day on the ward seemed certain that I would be getting some sort of leave having been reasonably calm for the 9 days or so that I’d been there. “I can’t see why you wouldn’t” many of them would say, but I’d already been through this before and knew not to keep my hopes up.

I can’t knock the staff working daily on the ward here to be honest, the majority of them are lovely, but unfortunatly I’ve just come to learnt that many of these £100k a year plus psychiatrists are just a different breed of people, from a completely different one to the one that I’ve known.

When my ward review came up earlier today, I knew not to expect any breakthrough, however, what I didn’t expect was not only a further denial of any leave whatsoever, even escorted, but from tomorrow I’ll be forced to have a depo injection which means I’ll have a months worth of medication dosed into my body all at once. I’m seriously concerned that if I don’t write this now then I’ll simply be too cabbaged from the drugs to be motivated or clear-headed enough to do anything write now.

I’m certain that many of the staff here believe I’m being treated unfairly, although due to team dynamics I’m not sure if all of them would feel comfortable enough to share their feelings in order to help bring me any sort of justice.

What riles me though, is that there are patients here on informal orders with much worse mental health than my own. One patient in particular self-harms and has to be restrained on a daily basis, gets to attack staff on a daily basis and sometimes even patients (I was almost assaulted by this person a few days ago) and also seems to flash private parts which nobody ever says anything about. This patient seems to have free reign and comes and goes as they like despite the rest of us having to go back inside of our rooms when she kicks off and we can’t even make a drink because she behaves so badly they’ve locked up the drink-making facilities for some days now. Yet myself and other patients have had our basic rights stripped away in an instance. So here’s me yet another week, and likely many more with zero contact with the outside world.

This will certainly be the last time I ever seek help from mental health ever again in my life. On all three occasions that I have gone to seek help I have been framed as a paranoid schizophrenic at every turn despite replying ‘no’ to the questions of whether I hear voices inside of my head ect.

Simply put, I’ve been written off by the state at every turn, and I believe many of the staff here on the ward can clearly see that I don’t display any visible signs of schizophrenia or psychosis, yet this doesn’t seem to matter to consult psychiatrists such as DR Salvi, and also DR Miles who was my consultant psychiatrist from the events last year. The only difference being that DR Miles actually allowed me to have some leave.

I seriously think Worcestershire mental health services needs investigating, and for those that haven’t taken the time to research their shoddy shoddy history, including the shocking history of Newtown Hospitals ‘Elgar Unit’ where I’m now based then I encourage you to do so because I’ve come to learn that this hospital, and even the ward that I’m currently on has faced scandal after scandal, and I believe my case is just one in a long line of patient mistreatments.

Here’s just a few things I know about the hospital.

1. At least two people have died on the ward in the past with investigations and claims of negligence taking place. That’s no discredit to the staff working here at the moment, but it’s just a fact. Even the Elgar Unit’s ‘Holt Ward’ was spoken about in parliament and as far as I currently know the official status of it’s overall quality is still stated as ‘requires improvement’.

2. This hospital is known to be right at the bottom of the ladder in terms of hospital reputation, and with the experiences that I’ve had here, I’m really not surpised

3. Avid researches will find a shocking amount of discoveries regarding patient treatment in this hospital. Again, that’s not disrespect to the staff working on the wards who seem to have to clean up the aftermath from emotionally effected patients coming out of their ward reviews.

I believe the staff here might even be starting to question exactly why I’m being treated differently to other patients and why I’m being treated unfairly. I think everyone can see that I’m being stitched up!

Within a few days I’ll be dosed up to the eyeballs on some injection or other that they’ve now being forced to give me. If you’re wondering the reason then it’s because I’m writing this on a monday, and on Friday I requested a change in my medication because the Aripiprazole simply makes me lose focus on much of my daily actions and cognitive motor skills.

I don’t think writing this article will bring me much help to be honest, but I just want people to know exactly what’s happened to me. I think this might be my last evening being able to write such an article because during the time I’ve been back on the tablet form of Aripiprazole I’ve not being able to focus clearly on any of the things that I enjoy doing such as writing this article.

Anyone wanting to contact me can do at benwestwooduk@gmail.com , and for any professionals reading this and wanting to look into things (I doubt that’s gonna happen) can find me as my legal name – Benjamin Thacker.

If you’ve made it this far then thanks for reading, it’s nice to know that maybe one or two people actually care. Feel free to email me to let me know that you’ve read this, or even to share your own experiences with the psychiatric system, or even this hospital or nearby ones.

With love and soon to be a drooling cabbage.

Ben Westwood.

Any donations towards helping to keep my website up and running and for other things I might need or even enjoy whilst this is happening to me gratefully accepted via paypal at https://paypal.me/benwestwooduk