This is the story of the day I lost it, took an overdose and ended up in hospital - Wednesday 4th December 2013 (written 8th December 2013)
Prior to the event, two days before to be precise I kind of decided that whatever happens on Wednesday night I will do whatever I can to really hurt myself because maybe then the pain will stop. The pain that has tormented me daily for as long as I can remember.
Come Wednesday the whole idea of it just got more and more real. It was the first day in ages that I had enjoyed. I laughed, I smiled and I just didn’t care about anything I just wanted to have a good time. However, this made things worse. A thought echoed through my mind, “what life is it, when the only day you enjoy is the day you plan to die?”
That night, I was forced out of the house with my family as it was my brothers birthday. I tried to get out of it but I couldn’t so I put on a happy face and went a long with it. All the while I was re-planning when I would purposefully hurt myself more than I ever had before. A couple of hours later, I am home but then there is a knock on my bedroom door, my mum “come downstairs in 5 minutes for cake and photos” a family tradition of ours. One I did not participate in on my 16th birthday.
So once again I put on that smile and laughed and sang. They all thought I was okay. Who wouldn’t?
But that is when I lost it, I couldn’t wait any longer so I didn’t stay to eat cake I just ran up the stairs and I frantically found my pills, my bottle of vodka and a blade. And I just started to take the pills, swallowing them with a gulp of vodka. I cut my left and right wrist and I bled. I kept going, more and more pills, more and more alcohol.
The next few hours were a bit of a haze which suddenly spring to the front of my mind every now and then.
I did what I always did when I am sad, I guess my drunken panicked self followed my instinct and I came on here, tumblr. I wrote something which I deleted the next day and my god I regret that so bad. I don’t know what I was doing but I guess it saved me.
My friend Lauren instantly messaged me on facebook and she just talked to me. She tried to clear my mind the best I could at the time and she convinced me to use every last bit of strength I had in me to go to my parents room to say “take me to hospital…”
And I did.
I collapsed on my parents bed whilst saying, “take me to hospital, I need to go to hospital” and they took me.
I just remember struggling to breathe, shaking, being cradled by my mum and ending up in the waiting room. I was fine, well as fine as I could be still hysterical and rocking back and forth when I felt like I was going to collapse so I lowered myself to the floor and just threw up.
I was then whisked into another room and there this crazy looking doctor started talking at me. He asked me questions, questions I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t bare to answer.
They then took blood from me, checked my pulse, my heart rate, my blood pressure and god knows what else. They just kept doing tests and I didn’t know what was going on. While all this was going on my curtain was a little open and I saw this girl and some friends in the opposite room and the girl just looked at me. She looked so confused and sorry. She tried to smile and I don’t think I will ever forget the look of sympathy or whatever it was she gave me, it is like she had been there before.
I think it was a few hours later she wandered past and just popped in to ask if I wanted water, so I said yes. I guess I just wanted some normality for a moment.
People continued to ask me questions, take blood and readings of various pulses, pressures and rates in my body for a few hours. They wouldn’t let me sleep and I was scared but I didn’t want to see my parents.
I remember my parents coming in and just demanding a lot of answers so I just got a nurse to ask them to leave. A doctor then came in and said, “Your paracetamol levels are dangerously high, if this drip doesn’t protect your liver this time tomorrow you will not be going home you will be in the liver ward waiting for a donor. I hope you realise what you have done and never do this again.” This freaked me out a lot. And I swore to myself I would never do do this again, but even now just days later I am having doubts. In the same way after drinking too much you swear you will never get pissed again. I still want the pain to stop and I don’t know how to stop it without going through with a certain plan of death.
At last around 3.30am after being wired up to a machine which apparently saved my life I was taken to the CDU ward to sleep. Which I did not achieve. I wasn’t scared or confused or anything. I just felt too exhausted to sleep.
For the duration of Thursday morning, I just watched. I watched everything around me and noted down observations I made. How the old lady who got blown over in the wind simply loved life and every time she went for a walk a nurse would bring her back and she would praise them for making sure she didn’t get lost and how this place was a maize and how grateful she was. And then there were the nurses, the man who didn’t know what to say. The others who would accidentally approach me and say “Do you need paracetamol are you in pain” and then realise my body cannot handle anymore and would just rest there hand on mine and apologise.
I would count each hour, how many left until I thought I would be going home. I craved reality, school, my bedroom.
I then slept.
I did what I do best and I tried to sleep away the time until someone tried to help me.
Around dinner time I woke up and there was a new nurse who reminded me of Vicky from Geordie Shore and she had one of those accents that you could listen to all day. She was the first nurse who didn’t look at me sympathetically and instead of treating me like a 6 year old she let me sort a few things out for myself. I really liked her.
I slept again, on and off until around 1am when they had to run more tests to find out if I had damaged my liver. Around 2am a nurse tried to explain to me the importance of drinking lots of fluids throughout the day and I just laughed and said “yeah that’s not going to change” and eventually she just let me sleep. She was really nice but 2am is definitely not the time to be lecturing me about why I have a low blood pressure.
I was woken up each hour to get my blood pressure tested and each time I said “have you got my results” in which the reply was always “no”.
So I slept.
I woke around 8am by a nurse who I will never ever forget.
She sat with me and took the time to do each test she had to and just talked to me about normal stuff like her boyfriend and school and it was just nice.
I then had the wait for when I could go as thankfully the triple strong dose of whatever they gave me worked and I was fine physically. To stop my anxiety building up for when I saw the CAMHS psychiatrist I started to read and 200 pages passed before a phone call came saying it was 40 minutes before my mental assessment.
I then spoke to the nurse from earlier and asked about the whole parents sitting in the room thing whilst I spoke with the psychiatrist because there is no way that I could talk in front of them. I have never been able to have that type of relationship with them.
And as usual, my mum got in a massive hissy fit and stormed out crying because “I was pushing her out”. What else does she expect? She has never cared before.
So then the nurse came and sat with me again after speaking with my mum to calm her down and just asked questions about Wednesday night, my family, why I did it. She realised I was alone, my parents weren’t there to fall back on.
I said I didn’t do it to die, just a desperate attempt to stop the pain. Because in reality even if you think you do, who really wants to die. I explained that I have never been close with my parents and I just keep losing it and I am not sure how I have got this far. How I was actually already being referred to CAMHS, and I was meant to be seeing someone about antidepressants in a few weeks. Which made her laugh because I kind of hurried up the few weeks thing to a few hours.
After listening she then said to me, “You have a brain right, a good one. Use it don’t lose it”.
Her words really got to me. She then just looked at me and said, “Don’t you ever lose it again okay, you’re cleverer than that.”
Everything after that moment didn’t matter because I got the attachment to a few words again, like I have in the past. The craving for a person to fall back on when deep down I know I can’t rely on them.
I will carry on though. My anxiety built up again so I just read and read until the psychiatrist came.
Once she did, her my mum and me went to a room with two sofas. Just a 3-way meeting to get basic information like my name and address and family history etc.
There my mum finally told me about her brother who killed himself, little did she know that I already knew.
And then she left and I got to speak to Cass (the psychiatrist) on my own.
She asked me lots of questions, some of which I replied with honesty and others bending the truth. Because who can you trust these days?
Cass helped me more than I thought she would have though and although I don’t agree with some problems of mine she wants to tackle I have a possible future now, Which is more than I did yesterday.
I have choices to make, ultimately life changing ones.
But for now lets just see how it goes.