K Minus Seroquel

It has been a week since I took 30 200mg tablets of Seroquel – 6g for those of you with my maths skills. I hoped for at least 24 hours unconscious, but I got less than 12. As usual I made sure they were spent in hospital, I’m not stupid enough to let my housemates find me like that. I lost a lot of housemates in my 20s through frequent overdoses, although I think even then I got myself to hospital. Anyway, I digress. Since returning home I haven’t taken any Seroquel, my daily dose was 200mg plus another 200mg if I needed it. I dared not take it on Friday night as the huge dose from the previous night was still very much in my system, same Saturday night. By Sunday I was functioning normally again, no slurred speech, no tremor, I could see and hold a cup of tea without spilling it all over the table. I thought maybe if it’s slowly come out of me I could continue just letting it leave my system and not return to my usual dose. Monday was the first real test, I thought by then the overdose would have worked its way out of me and I’d be running on empty. Well, I got to sleep and I haven’t done anything wild. I am on many other drugs, but Seroquel really controls you.

Since Friday I’ve lost 4kg, I’m hardly ever hungry and I can’t quite explain the feeling, just different. I think being off Seroquel is going to be very good for me. It drastically slows the metabolism and makes you ravenous all the time, hence the 50kg I’ve gained since starting it. Together with my gym visits three times a week I may get back to a size I’m not repulsed by.

I have a lot more to share with you but I’m going to leave it for another post.

Good Evening.

K

One of Two

I have expressed fervently my desire not to go down the deep brain stimulation route but the spectre is looming. I met with my psychiatrist today and again he subtly hinted at it, acknowledging my disgust at the idea but at the same time nudging towards it.

On Wednesday I returned home from a week in hospital during which time I had 10 sessions of TMS, with no obvious result. My anxiety is sky high and mood at about a 3/10. I took my discharge medications to my pharmacy this afternoon, the 89 pills of 10mg Neulactil being a strong pull. I think now I don’t have enough of anything to make for a decent overdose, I’d probably get a few hours sleep out of it but I’d rather have several days unconscious. As I try new and old medications to no avail, 100+ sessions of ECT, and TMS and their effect ceases to mend me I’m travelling closer and closer to the final options of deep brain stimulation or suicide. I’d much rather be dead than have my head opened up and meddled with. Please God, send a gunman into the house as I sleep tonight with a mission to kill me and only me, may he be given a medal for extreme kindness to the mentally ill.

My anxiety wasn’t helped by arriving home to completely different dynamics. I knew our new housemate, A, was moving in but I forgot that with every change in housemates there are changes about the house, however minor. I guess it was just unsettling to come home to the lounge re-arranged, a pot plant in a new spot and new stuff in the bathroom. I like A but it would have been a better transition for me if I was here during the move and her first few days in the house. A good thing is that she’s a student, which means sometimes I’ll have company during the day instead of the complete isolation I usually contend with.

I haven’t done any work on my novel since last year. There are two very different directions I can choose to take it in. I’ve written a prelude and a chapter down one path but I think it’s the other I want to take. Decide K!

That’s all for today, my anxiety is causing dizziness and my brain is struggling to think of anything to interest you.

Good Evening.

Another One

My last overdose was September last year; I couldn't go a whole calendar year without one; that would just be irresponsible! Wednesday night saw my belly greeting a rather small overdose. I took my self to hospital just to avoid scaring my housemates and to stop myself wetting the bed if I ended up unconscious for longer than expected. I think I was out for 17 hours, then they just kept me until I could walk and had a psych assessment. I saw my psychiatrist today, we chatted about it briefly but there were other things I wanted to discuss, like my hopeful misinterpretation from my Mum saying that my illnesses are all my own fault and that Dad wasn't perfect but much better than I remember. My Dr is very good at putting things into perspective and validating my feelings.

I've got two and a half hours to fill in until I see a friend for the night. I'm feeling rotten right now, but at least I have seeing her to look forward to.

Not Quite The End

Almost two weeks' ago, Sunday the 4th of September I took 231 Seroquel 100mg tablets (23.1g). I wasn't planning on waking up, but I did. After taking them I sent a message to my doctor, not asking for help, just to thank him for looking after me for 5 + years. He immediately called me, and I answered. I wasn't at home as I didn't want my housemates to find my body, he talked me into telling him where I was, and he called an ambulance. I really did want to die, so I know I shouldn't have answered the call, but I also didn't want to be alone. I spent the next five days in an unconscious / semi-conscious state with lots of hallucinations. I had a few falls because I kept trying to get out of bed when I couldn't really walk due to the drugs and a seizure brought on by the drugs. My arms are looking more normal now, but they were very bruised, and there is a bone in my wrist that was suspected broken in one of the falls, but the X-ray came back fine.

I've been in my usual psychiatric hospital since Saturday; I was very lucky that they were able to get me a private room the morning after discharge from the medical hospital. I just flatly refuse to come into a shared room no matter how urgent it is, it's not therapeutically beneficial having to tip toe around, and I don't like being in complete silence, so I usually have music playing, something that a roommate wouldn't be too fond of. Because I had no medication for the whole five days I was in the medical hospital (I also didn't eat until the Thursday night) there have been some alterations to my usual meds, the biggest being I'm totally off Seroquel, and they halved my Lithium. The Lithium is being returned to its normal dose as of tonight, thankfully! A few years' ago my doctor tried to take me off Lithium and it was a disaster, I went a little wild. At the moment on the lower dose I'm very flat and don't want to do anything at all, I've spent most of today lying on my bed listening to music either staring out the window or at the wall depending on which side I'm lying on.

I've had all the preliminary tests for ECT done, so I can start at the end of next week if my doctor approves it. He's in London at the moment so I won't see him until Wednesday. I like the doctor who's filling in, but it's not the same as having the opinion of someone who knows me so well (and probably saved my life). Usually when I have ECT I'm severely depressed, which you'd think I am at the moment given that less than a fortnight ago I tried to end my life, but it's not quite that despondent feeling I'm experiencing, it's more so just flatness and profound hopelessness; still I think ECT would be beneficial, so I will be asking for it and if he says yes we can go straight ahead.

I sent off an enquiry about getting a therapy dog today. The restrictions on me getting just a regular dog are that I spend so much time in hospital so it's unreasonable to ask my housemates or Mum to look after it for me. Also I'm renting, and though my current landlord would probably approve a dog it would restrict future houses I could apply to rent (ours is being demolished next year). A therapy dog is allowed anywhere, including hospital, and landlords can't say no. I'd benefit from a constant companion, someone to talk to (even if it can't necessarily talk back) and the responsibility of taking it for walks and generally caring for it. My housemate, R would be concerned about the safety of our chickens with a dog, but I think it would be well trained and not likely to eat or chase the chickens.

The Count Stops At 106 Days

106 days out of hospital, the longest I've lasted since this whole debacle started about six years ago. Well, 106 days out of psych hospitals I should say. I've had two ED admissions; one of 24 hours a few weeks ago and I came out yesterday after about 31 hours.  Both times I took an overdose, this time it was a lot more and I mixed it with another medication. In short, I ended up in ICU, unconscious and intubated. My throat and chest hurt from the intubation and I have a large bruise on my chest from where they did a sternal rub on me. I was a little worried about my liver as I turned jaundice for a while, but it seems to be okay now. I've got a room at the clinic tomorrow; I don't know what awaits me there. I didn't see any of this coming, I thought my at-home stint would last a lot longer.

I don't usually tell my Mum when things like this happen, but since I was unconscious they called her as my next of kin. She was unimpressed, but I wasn't planning on her finding out. I know it seems selfish to do something like this to myself, something that would obviously upset any mother, but I'm really not in control when it happens. I called my DR beforehand and he told me to take a PRN, I took the strongest safe combination I have, it would usually put me to sleep, or close enough, and then I'd wake up two hours later feeling much better. It did nothing at all this time. The stockpile was calling my name and I listened. I had what I thought would be enough (Seroquel 60 100mg tablets - 6 grams and 7 Stilnox) to get a few hours of being unconscious, but it seems I came a little closer to death than expected. I can't even say I won't do it again. It feels bad every time, and when my Mum does find out she gets so panicked, somehow that's not enough to deter me. At least now I know that if 6g can do that the 38g I have left can finish the job if I just stay away from hospitals. I'm not planning on doing that any time soon, it's just a safety net.

Drugs, Hospital, Cognition and Writing

I know the year isn’t so new anymore, but I’m just building up the motivation to write this now…

I ended last year badly, spending the end of November until mid-December in hospital and then after being home for six days I took an overdose of Stilnox, had a night in Emergency, got sectioned and admitted to the public psych ward only to be discharged after about two hours because my psychiatrist arranged for me to have a private admission instead. I then spent 10 days in the private hospital I used to go to, including Christmas day. I was given 12 hours leave for Christmas day, so at least I got to spend it with my Mum and brother. I’ve actually been pretty good since leaving hospital, with the exception of some nightmares and anxiety I’d say things are going well.

So a new year begins and my life remains pretty much the same. Instead of weekly 30-minute appointments with my psychiatrist I’m having twice-weekly 45-minute appointments with the intention of practicing schema therapy during those times. I’m not going to explain what schema therapy is because I don’t have a strong grasp on it my self, if you’re curious a simple Google search will help. I have few childhood memories and these are important for schema work, I’m worried I’m just going to unintentionally make things up. I have a lot of false memories from looking at photos, I look at it and think I remember the moment but I’m just inventing something from what the photo looks like.

I’ve started the painful task of reducing my medication. I’m thinking very slowly and can’t comprehend or remember well; the likely culprits being Neulactil and Stilnox. Last Monday night I took one-and-a-half Stilnox instead of the usual two and kept that up for the whole week. Last night I cut down to just one and had a very interrupted night of rest, still I’ll do it again tonight and see how I go. I’m going to reduce Neulactil too but not until my next hospital admission, last time I tried I became very suicidal very quickly so my DR wants to wait until I’m in a safe environment. I hope by going through the pain of reducing, with an aim to ending the use of these two meds I’ll get back the use of my mind.

I’ve started work on a novel, well just character development so far, and I’m terrified. Even whilst reading I can’t follow a plot. I’m reading Sense and Sensibility for the first time at the moment and I’ve had to look up characters and check how they relate to each other because I forget where they came from and why they matter to the story. If reading is so hard I can’t imagine how I’m going to keep track of the plot of something I’m writing and successfully make it interesting. I guess just keep a lot of notes. I’m working on the characters first. When writing in the past I’ve made solid characters and then kind of thrown them in a situation together to see what happens. My main character in this novel will be alone most of the time but there will be scenes from her past and the future with others in them.

Maybe those of you reading this can ask me when you see me how the writing’s going, and keep me accountable. I’m scared of getting confused by it, of writing something awful and of just giving up when I need something productive to do with my life; I’m not up to working and I’ve studied (a little) writing so why not give it a try.

The Overdose V

It was nothing to fret about dying’s potential over. 54 tablets aren’t going to do that, especially if prompt treatment is sought.

I wasn’t in a terrible mood that day; I had come from an appointment with my psychiatrist, which went well. And I had a therapy class in a few hours. I went into my bedroom and saw the bottle of Clonazepam and something in me just said “take all of them, the lot, now.” I counted them to see how many milligrams I’d be taking – 108. Not that I did anything with that information; I didn’t Google “100mg Clonazepam overdose. I decided I was anxious and should use the pills appropriately and take 3 (a little more than prescribed, but ok) to calm myself down. Only the three pills hit my hand and my mind screamed out “what are you doing, take all of them, you’ve already got them out.” So I did.

Within a minute I’d decided to call an ambulance. I was home alone and if I caught a taxi I might pass out on the way to the hospital and then both me, and the driver would be in trouble, or the taxi might not even arrive before I’d passed out. I felt guilty using ambulance resources for something self inflicted, but it was the only safe way to get there, and by time we arrived at the hospital I was in need of help getting out.

I was put in Short Stay, totally bypassed the Emergency Department and then there’s a massive blank. I was later told when asking why I hadn’t seen a doctor yet that I had actually seen two. I asked if that happened when I was unconscious but they said I hadn’t lost consciousness, so I don’t know what to make of that chunk of lost time and invisible doctors and the mysterious cannula in my arm. Throughout the night and following day the psychiatric triage nurse came to see me many times. He seemed keen to get rid of me. I had to ask a nurse if I could stay the night since I could hardly walk, my request was granted. And then they kept me until 3pm the following day anyway.

I went home with the knowledge that I’d be admitted to the first available bed in the clinic I frequent so I got to packing. I don’t remember much of those few hours. A friend, D, came over with some dinner for us to share – I’d forgotten she was coming and my housemate had to wake me up. D is great. I think after that I just did the last bits of packing and slept.

In the morning I received a call telling me there was a bed on the elderly ward sharing a room with an 84 year-old woman who would be going home the following day. I said I’d take it. I needed the hospital care; I could still hardly walk.

I kept taking tiny naps in the taxi, but he needed me to tell him the side street the hospital entrance is on, so I couldn’t just sleep until we got here. It was a challenge staying awake in a nice smooth humming taxi whilst drugged to the eyeballs with what I would later learn is a benzodiazepine with one of the longest half-lives.

I’ve been here nine days now, only the last four have I felt more normal. I’m still in the elderly ward, but the morning after my arrival they moved me into a private room. It’s the same as every other room in the hospital except there’s a chair in the shower, which I have to move out of the way. Though I’ll admit for my first shower here I actually needed it as I couldn’t stand long enough to wash my hair and not fall over washing my legs and feet. The sedation from the overdose wore off slowly over a week. My doctor restricted me to the ward to have my meals delivered by the kitchen to the special elderly dining room up here because he didn’t trust me on my feet. I’m still having my breakfasts up here but the last three days I’ve started going down to the main dining room and choosing my food like everyone else, not ticking it off a list a day earlier. During the earlier days when I was quite sedated a friend, R, came to see me and I had to ask her to leave in the end. Usually I love company and I don’t want it to end and I hadn’t seen her for ages but I felt I was about to fall over. D came another day and I was very groggy but better than when she’d come to my house. It’s embarrassing that people have seen me like this. There’s my mum as well, she just ranted on about how selfish I was and the damage I’d done to my organs – untrue according to my doctor.

You may be wondering why I’m still here if the sedation has worn off and I’m safe on my feet again. That’s the suicidal ideation; it’s strong at the moment. My doctor is trying to get me to make a pact not to do it for three months and then after three months hopefully I’ll have made some progress in life and I can commit to another three months. The idea is accepting that in those three month periods there are going to be some very strong urges and times I just can’t cope, but I’ve made this pact that I’m not going to exit and instead work through it with my doctor or other health professional. I haven’t been able to agree to this yet because I see my life being only weeks longer, not months. If I was sent home today I wouldn’t kill my-self but next time the awful crushing feeling came on or I was overtaken by hopelessness I wouldn’t hesitate, providing I had a plan - which at the moment I only have the outlines of.

I have good friends and I’m very grateful for them, three came yesterday and one only just left, I’ve known her since I was 14 and I’ll be 30 in a few weeks. Friends aren’t enough to keep me alive. I need something to make up a life, some purpose and the absence of this pain and the thoughts.

Fright

I know I said I wasn't posting anymore but I feel like I have no outlet without the blog. My parents now know about it thanks to a friend telling my mum, she had my best interests at heart though. So because my parents know about it you can expect me to be a little less candid, I've never been very open with them and I'm not about to start now.

I'm back in hospital having more ECT, this time I'll be having maintenance which means that once a week to once a fortnight I'll go to the hospital for one session, it will be done as an outpatient so I don't have to stay over once a week or anything.

I'm having a tough time at the moment, both of my housemates decided to move out, my overdose is at least partly responsible, I scared them off. No one wants to come home to a corpse and I think that's what concerns them. So basically I totally fucked up by taking that last overdose. I don't think I'll take another one for the purpose of being unconscious. There are other reasons to do it, but I don't feel that way at the moment. Because of this situation I'm pretty depressed and I have the classic borderline hollowness, it's like being filled with air with nails floating around inside you and occasionally one of those nails pierces an organ or bangs into the abdominal wall causing a sharp pain. There is not one positive emotion in me, I suppose I have to take ownership of the borderline label since I embody it. I can't get in to DBT until January so I'm stuck being a crazy borderline until then.

If you can please visit me, we can go down the street to a nice cafe, it doesn't need to be a boring hospital visit. I get pretty lonely, there's one girl who talks to me in passing and L is there but she wants some space. So visitors would be grand.

Shared Care

I made it through Monday night all by my self, but the same can't be said for yesterday. I cut my arm and took a reasonable sized overdose, sadly it wasn't enough for me to lose consciousness but it did sedate me and make the afternoon / night fly. I may have drifted off, but the nurses said nothing about it. I don't remember blood being taken, which apparently they did, so maybe I did drift off. Mum has forced me to stay with them for a couple of days until I'm back on my feet, probably a good idea since I'm not walking too straight or breathing very well.

I saw my psychiatrist this afternoon, he'd received a report from the hospital I went to detailing what I'd taken and my psych assessment; he's decided it's time for me to have a case manager, I'm not yet sure what this will involve, they were supposed to contact me this afternoon but haven't. But basically my psych wants my care to be shared between him, the case manager, my psychologist and my outreach worker, oh and he wants me to do DBT which I'm more than a little disappointed about, I thought we'd got past the borderline diagnosis. He's also decided to stop prescribing PRN medications (medications I take when I need them) since they're the ones I abuse, this will make life very tough when I do really need them and will in turn increase my self harm, not a wise move.

I am Woman Hear me Cry

I'm just hanging on at the moment, today has been a big one. I had my psychiatrist appointment at 10, he decided to keep me out of hospital if possible but I'm seeing him again on Wednesday - he's too expensive to see that often - and he's referred me to the women's mental health service because he suspects there's some hormonal shit going on. The women's mental health service actually looks good, I went to their website today to see what to expect; they are a team of two female psychiatrists who do a consult of an hour minimum and try to get to the bottom of why you have these problems and then write a big meaty letter back to your referring doctor offering suggestions, basically they're a specialised second opinion service. I got back from my appointment to find L packing, she's now back in hospital after a rapid decline in her own mental state in the last couple of weeks but especially in the last few days. I'm not so self centered that I think it's my fault, I just hope me being home from hospital hasn't put undue stress on her, I've only been out five days and now she's gone.

I don't know what to do with myself tonight, I want to behave and not worry people and leave my body alone but I have enough meds for an overdose and they are shouting my name. I also have sharps and the temptation is there to use them. I need more friends who I'm comfortable asking to come over and hang at a moments notice. If anyone wants to come over tonight you're very welcome we can watch a DVD and eat chocolate.

Rattle and Dice

Well here I am, awake at 6:43am. I actually woke at 4 something, tried getting back to sleep, tried Ulysses - I'm not actually reading that to force sleep, I want to read it - and now I'm drinking rooibos and vanilla tea and recovering from brushing Rico (the dog), I couldn't find the muzzle so it had to be done very carefully.

I'm seeing my doctor in a few hours and I don't expect him to be dancing around the room with joy upon hearing what I've got to say. My hobbies of the last few days have consisted of not sleeping, staring at walls, yelling at Rico, snapping at my mum and eating very little due to complete loss of appetite and feeling unwell. I was going to take a small overdose yesterday (it's all I have) but then mum called wanting to go out for lunch (Rico had mine). I went to church zoned out for most of it and then went across the road to Safeway to buy some sharps and dressings, then God showed up in the form of two of my closest friends (they're married to each other) from church. I bumped into them at the register and before I had time to hide the contents of my basket I'd been found out. They were gracious enough not to say anything there and instead invited me over for dinner; I accepted, it seemed like a better offer than going home and slicing up my arm, plus I like them. We hung out for a couple of hours, talked about my failed admission and they gently raised the razors issue. I should have agreed to leave them there, but I was in the mindset of needing just to have them in my possession. They prayed for me, God got lots of prayers about me yesterday because a bunch of people met up before church to pray for me too. I know it may seem like it doesn't work but I'd say bumping into those two last night was an answer to prayer for my safety and I'm yet to see the results of their prayers.

My friends drove me home because my vision had gone very blurry, once here I got ready for bed and intended to go straight there, the razors got in the way (sorry friends) I went a little overboard but nothing requiring stitches. I then got a few hours sleep and have now given up on the idea. If this continues I might teach myself Latin, I wouldn't know where to begin, but it would open up a whole literary world to me. I'm furious that I'm too dumb to read Ulysses (James Joyce's this is), well it's not that I'm too dumb, I just haven't had the right education. If my school English teacher were reading this she would say that I couldn't even get a firm grasp of English let alone Latin. My old school teaches it now, too late for me but I'm glad they saw the need for it.

I don't know what else to write, I seem to be angering people with my posts lately and I fear I've overlooked something with this one which will cause someone greif. I'm sorry but please remember what I've got to work with at the moment, a severely depressed, sleep deprived and hungry (although not feeling it, but I must be) body

Flowers From God

God gave me some flowers yesterday, they're lovely. You may think he can't do that but he can through other people. Last week the woman who was praying with me had a vision of God giving me some flowers, so she bought be a bunch and gave them to me - well not in person, I left church early last night so a friend dropped them around on her way home. They came just at the right time; I left church because I was feeling really down and out of place and was home alone thinking of taking all my pills when there's a knock at the door and sweet smelling flowers shoved (not literally) in my face. Today I got through with my mum taking me out for lunch and walking and bathing Rico; tonight has been spent watching House, Dance Moms (trash, but addictive) and The Simpsons. I'm waiting for my sleeping pills to kick in so I can be rid of another day but it's been over an hour. Tomorrow I'll be able to speak to the person replacing my Dr for the week and hopefully something can be done to stop this downward spiral before it gets out of hand

Daddy

So I took the valium and a few other things, not all of it, just enough to warrant a trip to ED and monitoring for six hours; as a result I'm going back to hospital in the morning (Sunday) instead of Monday. I feel really shit and to add to it my dad suggested that I took the pills to give my self a higher chance of having TMS, ummm no! I took them to escape for a while and it didn't work

Mac Valium Monday

This is the first post written from my lovely macbook pro which I got for my birthday in December, I've not used it much because I haven't been around 'real' internet connections long enough to install everything needed to make it go, eg - open office. I'm still using chrome as my web browser, so I guess I've still got a way to go before I leave PC land, well I've got a long way to go, this thing confuses me, I get lost and then I remember that mac's are easy and whatever I need should be in front of me and there it is!

Tonight has been pretty crappy in my head, I found my dad's valium stash – not that it was hidden, I just went looking for it and to my delight the box is full. I only have to behave until Monday morning when I'm readmitted, I don't know what to do until then though, everything's boring, I just want to die, it's tempting to take the valium and the drugs I have stashed so I can sleep until Monday, it wouldn't be a lethal dose, just a strong one.

I lost a kilo this week, it doesn't make up for the 500 I've gained over the last two years, but at least it's in the right direction, it was hard work and I have to keep it up for 30 more kilos, one lesson learned is that no matter how hot it is outside a milkshake is a poor substitute for coffee.

I'm going to take Rico for a walk now, there's no valium out there...

Rob Me

Shit! I just found 67 valium; I can’t throw them out, does anyone want to come and do it for me? It’s not a lethal dose, but not a small one either. Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!

The Non-Dragon Story

Some clarification for my dear readers; I didn’t want to go into the details on here until I’d spoken to a couple of friends in person. On Friday I took too much oxazepam, and made three cuts on my wrist, one hitting a vein, I passed out in the hospital waiting room and woke up eight hours later in ED. On Monday I cut my wrist again, opening the same vein, it bled a lot more and scared the crap out of me (I think that’s a good thing) but I worry that I’ll do it again because it didn’t hurt at all and it bled so fast. My GP asked me to start taking Lovan again; I’m currently on the lowest dose – that won’t last. I have to throw away the rest of my sedatives, I almost took the rest tonight but resisted because I’ll lose my friends, I hate being a woman, stupid hormones are responsible for tonight’s mood.

A note for random internet folk who comment on the blog, don’t leave your initial because I’ll think you are trying to make yourself known to me, but not everyone else, then when you leave a nasty comment I’ll think my friends with that initial are responsible – it gets messy.

Memory Loss

Another night in ED; I don't remember any of it...

Circadin

I got the last appointment with my GP last night, I’m probably not who she would like to be her final patient for the day – I tend to take a lot of time. She got the honour of explaining nerve damage to me and advising where to avoid cutting, she wrote a silly list of reasons not to take another overdose, and put my arm back together – how on earth am I supposed to keep it dry for a week! I’m going to have a big scar, this makes me sad because I don’t like scars, I just want the temporary sight of flesh and blood, not a lifelong reminder that I’m nuts. I mentioned the overdose – I’m extremely tempted to do it again, which is insane; I hated it, I felt disgusting for a week and it’s very embarrassing calling an ambulance for yourself, yet when I woke up I felt completely different to when I fell asleep, 20 hours had passed and I was a new girl. If I do it again I have two friends who may not speak to me again because I’d be a bad influence on them and I suppose you don’t want to be close to someone who might die. If I do it again, and I wake up I won’t be able to tell anyone. I can’t live without these two friends, they get me, they make time for me and they both really like me – it’s hard for me to believe anyone really likes me, they’re just putting up with me because I’m there. I don’t want to take the overdose and I don’t want to lie, hopefully that’s enough to stop me being impulsive. My GP was playing with the idea of another admission but I was adamant that I’m not going back to my local hospital and definitely not to the other one with the awful psych triage nurse. I hope the new psychiatrist accepts me as a patient, then I have a private hospital I can get into easily; it’s not the most glamorous one around, but at least they have cleaners, the place isn’t falling apart and there are plenty of therapy groups. I understand my current psychiatrists non-admission policy, I can see myself giving up completely and becoming even more of a ghost with a long admission; I’ve already lost most hope of getting better, maybe life would pass quicker and easier if I was contained and highly drugged; but I haven’t lost all hope for recovery, I haven’t killed myself yet, the glimmer of hope and fear of consequences have kept me here. Something has to change; I can’t carry on like this.

I have a new drug – Circadin – to help me sleep, it’s just a massive dose of melatonin in slow release form but hopefully it will start to work, it didn’t do the job last night, three hours sleep and annoyingly realistic dreams, it took me until 2pm this afternoon to work out that several events were in fact dreamt, it’s amusing but very annoying at the same time.

I got a HD for my monologue, sadly he gave me the percentage as well, and so instead of just being happy to have a good grade I was a little sad about the extra 17% I didn’t get. I am thrilled to get that mark for one hour’s work, I just need to remember that I didn’t put in the effort and I still did well. The lecturer explained that I would have done much better if I’d included a little more information about the second character. I’ve never had a perfect score at uni, I wonder if I can manage it on the next task.