Four Years Hasn't Changed Much

I've been out of hospital since Tuesday, I was there for two and a half weeks due to intense suicidal urges. I don't feel like giving a full update right now but I thought I'd share something old. ...

The following was written during a life writing class I took as part of my (unfinished) Masters in Writing and Literature. I stumbled upon it tonight whilst going through my hard drive and thought I'd let it see the light of day.

Senselessness always leaves marks; we’ve all done stupid things that will not be forgotten, not because we can’t purge them from our minds, but rather because we can’t eliminate the evidence. It may be weeks between the forced recollections, maybe just hours it depends where I look whilst on the toilet. It’s not a problem in the shower or getting dressed, I don’t study my body at those times, just get the task at hand over with. But I can’t help but gaze around me, and occasionally at me, while I urinate and defecate. I’m sitting there in a tiny white room with a frosted glass window, a wooden cat shaped toilet roll holder and an out-dated Astor poster to entertain me. Then I glance down at my right thigh and remember that I used to cut it, not a big deal since it’s only been 8 weeks since I last sliced my arm open, but I haven’t cut my leg for months and I forget that I ever did. I feel that my bloodlust is confined to my left arm, but it’s not. The occasional thigh glances remind me of the gash on my torso, the one that I really should have had stitched but let steri-strips suffice. They remind me of the Bolte Bridge incident, the many over-doses, though they are very blotchy memories, also the building incident, the knives, the banning from hospitals. A cascade of memories from a few lines that are usually covered. The fire on that thigh is out, but the smoke remains.

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.

Only Five Stitches

I don't know the train timetable for my local station, and I haven't scouted out the best way to get to a train without actually jumping off the station platform and traumatising everyone on it. I feel like making the trip down there once darkness has EVENTUALLY fallen tonight - fuck you daylight savings!

I had a bad day. Woke around 6 am and just stayed in bed because it is warm there until 8 am when I could stay there no longer. Breakfast, French lesson and then carved up my arm. Appointment with my support worker followed by a lucky to get appointment with a GP at my clinic, but not my GP as she's away. Five stitches, lots of steri-strips and some antibiotic cream on a wound from Saturday and off I went. Lunch. Appointment with my psychologist - that went well - and she's seeing me again on Friday because I need some extra support to make it to Sunday when I go back into the clinic.

I've been exhausted since about 1 pm, and I couldn't sleep when I tried to nap. I'm going to follow hospital timetable and take my meds at 8 pm, which will have me asleep for 9 (hopefully).

I went to church last night and had a lot of trouble with the crowds and having to sit still for so long. I went out to make myself a cup of tea and got roped into serving on supper as there was only one person doing it. I planned on going to the train station afterwards but had a good conversation with one of the ladies in the church. It should have made me feel worse given the content, but it was nice just to have a long conversation with someone. I need that tonight, but absolutely everyone is busy. (sorry if I didn't call or text you and you're a friend, my brain is foggy right now. You can call/text me though)

My eyes hurt, I need to close them.

The End.

Ten

Tonight is my last night in the hospital. I wasn't given much notice; my doctor decided only last night. It might have been a compassionate move to save me from a shared room. When you misbehave in here they can move you for your own safety. I think it's just to be dicks. I told the NUM that if he moved me I'd discharge myself. And if I weren't able to discharge I'd just camp in the hall refusing to go into my new room until they either gave my single room back or let me go home. So the naughty thing. I absconded a little bit. By stealth I got out the door, but then came back after about 30 seconds because the reality of the situation hit me - the police would be at the train station before me, and then I'd be taken to the psych ward I most dread. Not long after my return I needed to calm down, and the best way to do that is by cutting myself, so I smashed a mug in my bathroom and planned to cut my leg with the shards. I've got two pairs of black pants and two pairs of black leggings here, so I'd be able just to let it bleed without needing to patch it up and no one would notice. A nurse came in before I was able to do anything, and very shortly after, my doctor. I probably would have got caught anyway, as what I really want is a long gash from elbow to wrist, sometimes I can just feel what it is I need, and that's it at the moment.

TMS is finished, I was supposed to have 30, but the Dr running the show stopped it at 28 because it was obviously not working. I have been told it could still work, as it can be delayed. I think I'll just see how I feel while I'm at home and if I want to end it I've got a good method now. I'm only home for ten days anyway, Dr wants to do more TMS on the other side of my head - I had it on the left this time, now for the right. Also, he wants to take me off my antidepressant as we both believe it's doing nothing at all. Still leaves me on seven medications though! Ketamine is still a possibility, Dr has sent multiple emails and was going to call someone today. Dr is going away for ten days - one of the reasons for my discharge, and there have to be seven days at home before a new round of TMS - an insurance thing.

So K, how do you feel about returning to the big wide world?
Thanks for asking. I'm looking forward to catching up with certain friends for whom it is nearly impossible to visit me in hospital. I'm looking forward to getting back into the gym and getting my fitness up to a more respectable level; if that brings about some weight loss too, then great, but I think the weight is going to stay put until I'm off Seroquel. I'm looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. The hospital has upgraded to King singles, and I think my mattress is memory foam, so it's been super comfortable, but there's nothing like your own bed - especially when it's nice and big. I should probably use these 10 days of freedom to go to the dentist, there's nothing wrong but I haven't been this year.

Final thoughts: Don't be surprised to see me with tubi grip on my arm/s. Don't be surprised if I kill myself. Ask me if I want to catch up and I'll probably say yes, the busier I am the better; I've only got 10 days to get through, but that can feel like an eternity.

A World Away (from the TMS machine)

I fear my holiday may be over with 19 days to go before the flight home...

I arrived in London on 7/7/17, had a nice few days there before going to Edinburgh for little over a week, where I had a fabulous time. On arrival to Manchester I got to stay with my Aunt and Uncle in their 1640s farmhouse and play with their Great Dane, Bailey and French bulldog, Oliver. I was there for little over a week before coming to my Grandma's while Mum is alone in Italy. The public transport is more accessible from Grandma's than the farm and I don't have Mum to drive me around; I'll be back at the farm upon Mum's return.

I think I've succeeded in doing something every day. I went into the centre of Manchester yesterday alone, I only got a little bit lost. Today I had lunch with my Grandma, Aunt and cousin at a farm with a cafe and shop attached in Uppermill, it was very picturesque, but since there was a handrail in the way of any shots I would take and it was raining I refrained from photo taking. Tomorrow I'm going to my other Grandmother's, I think it'll take three buses. I'll hang out with her for a little while before my cousin and her daughters come to meet us there, we're then going to buy clothes for one of her daughters. Sadly my grandmother can't come as she is housebound. I wish she would consent to move into a home where she can get the care she so badly needs and some company, but her own room so she can also have privacy. I feel bad just flitting into her life for 5 minutes, seeing how happy the company makes her and then pissing off to the other side of the world.

While I was in Manchester yesterday I bought myself a new watch from Selfridges. I saw it last week with Mum, but she talked me out of buying it because it's Selfridges, therefore it's a humungous rip off; but in the meantime I've seen many similar, and frankly not as nice in other shops for a similar price, none lower, some quite a bit higher. So here it is.

I started this post saying my holiday is over, well, that's because I'm worn out; not from too much activity, from my mood and my need for a TMS boost. I finished TMS on 22/6/17, 36 days' ago. I should be in there now for maintenance. I'm so tired. I've had two naps today, one either side of the family lunch. I'm not at risk of doing this, but my mind keeps telling me to slit my throat and wrists, the throat for suicide, wrists just to see the blood. I'd never do it here, my family would have no idea what to do, if they found out, it may be summer but it's currently 14 degrees and raining so I'm wearing long sleeves. I'm wondering more and more about psychosis, I'm already on two anti psychotics, yet these urges to hurt myself are more like voices, I feel the physical pull but then there's an argument, it only contains my voice, but the other creature pulls me. I can't describe it so I'll stop there.

I've got three days coming up in the North of Wales with my Mum, Aunt and Grandfather. They're going to be pushing me to go on day trips and get angry if I waste the trip - and therefore Mum's money by staying in bed. I just don't know if I can do a whole day anymore.

Free (Just Not For Long)

Well, what to say... I've been out of hospital for exactly a week - well one week and 7 minutes if we're being specific. It's felt liberating, I can walk out the door without asking anyone, get in my car and go wherever I like; after three months' incarceration that's a big deal. It's been a hard week though, usually my household cook for each other, we each pick a night of the week at the start of each week and then cook for everyone on that night. After being catered for (not always badly I might add) for so long I haven't got myself past cooking some pasta with a jar of sauce or scrambling some eggs. S is keen to reinitiate the group cooking, so hopefully we can convince the other two; there's just no motivation for me to cook a more complicated, nutritious meal when it's just me eating.

I'm probably going back into the hospital on Monday for two weeks - it better not be any longer. I've been a bit of a mess and DR thinks it's time to increase my Parnate dose, this was always coming because I'm actually not on the treatment dose, they say that's between 30mg & 40mg, I'm on 20mg right now. I performed some self-harm yesterday and the day before, I'd lasted a few days without doing so because I had no razor blades left and I'd never use a kitchen knife, in the end the urge got ridiculous so I went out and bought a knife, I now know razor blades are better - sharper. So this pretty blunt knife has left me with decorated thigh and wrist but no damage. I already had an appointment with my GP booked before I did this, but when I told her she was furious, I've never seen her like that before; usually she's understanding and tries to comfort me, this time she was saying that it's a poor use of her time to be stitching me up for something I've done to myself and she could be seeing other patients or talking me through things and actually trying to make some progress rather than being in the theatre stitching me up. I'm lucky I didn't need any this time - that knife isn't capable of cutting that deep. She still wants to be my GP, asked to see me for a double appointment next week if I'm not in the clinic; maybe she was just trying a different method - scaring me!

I had an experience yesterday whilst walking where I felt like my body had produced another and was walking behind me, so my mind was in the front body but all of my energy and my coordination was in the other body walking behind me. I made it to my car and the two merged back into one, I didn't feel right for the rest of the day. Today I feel teary and like spending the day curled up reading Harry Potter and not leaving the house would be good. I have a lunch date though, this is a good thing, it's someone I want to see and it'll get me out of the house.

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.

A Few Words on Trust

Yesterday I awoke feeling like I needed to die. I wasn’t upset about anything, everything just felt wrong.

I argued with myself for a while before giving in and going to a pharmacy to grab a huge box of Seroquel. That box took my collection up to 4. I can get two more off that same script but they have to be 21 days apart.

Knowing that I might have had enough for suicide but only borderline, I instead decided to use just under half a box (40 pills) to make myself unconscious. I’ve taken that exact amount of pills 4 years ago and it had me unconscious for 20 hours in the Emergency Department; this time I went straight there after taking them. I was attended to quickly. Sadly because I got there so fast they were able to give me activated charcoal – awful stuff. They monitored my heart all night as it shot up to 157bpm at one stage. My Lithium levels came back a little low too, so I’ll be talking with my psychiatrist on Friday about that – and also what the hell made me do this –

I appreciate my housemates, they care for me and I should do better for them than a single half-baked message saying, “I’m in ED due to another OD, might be a night or two.” I didn’t even try to soothe her worries, I’m not sure though how I could have at that moment as I could hardly move to pick my phone up. I’d prefer not to tell anyone about these single night trips as they’re always after an OD and it worries people. I want my friends to enjoy my company and not to sigh when they see my name popping up on their phones. I don’t know how to ask for help before doing something stupid. People have jobs, jobs and kids or study. This makes them hard to contact last minute when I may be distressed.

As I just said, I appreciate my housemates, and I trust them enough to tell them when I've done something stupid. But I’ve overdosed 3-4 times while I’ve been living with them and it makes them worry. I don’t know if I can be as blunt as to say “Don’t worry, if I ever do kill my self it will be at xxxxx, you won’t be the ones finding the body." I do wonder if they fear finding me dead, so I want to allay those fears. I will die somewhere quiet with lots of trees and maybe a lake. I have a good place in mind.

My other housemates know of my situation and are not happy – more scared than angry – and I don’t know what to do; a few years ago my two housemates left because if it. I don’t want to get kicked out of here or asked not to join them in the new house. I think we just need to have a frank discussion.

Shocking Title #1

I didn’t think this will be a long one, but it grew. I just wanted to explain how things are at the moment.

I’m in hospital at the moment; I’m on day 15. I was due for an admission next week but I had to come in early because I was extremely depressed, not suicidal, but considering another overdose for the purpose of being unconscious for a while. Sometimes it’s just so unbearable that it seems like a perfectly logical “treatment”. At the same time I was experiencing a kind of delusion (not technically a delusion because I knew it wasn’t true) that my skin wasn’t my own and it needed to be removed. I wanted to take a vegetable peeler and peel off all my skin; I could never actually do that because my pain tolerance is quite low. Along with the skin thing my blood felt wrong, I didn’t feel hot but the best way I could describe it to my doctor was that my blood was on the verge of boiling, again I knew this wasn’t true, it was just the best way I could describe how I was feeling.

So these are the reasons my admission was brought forward, but I’ve also started a new medication, Dexamphetamine. The scheduled admission was to introduce me to that drug, so we’ve brought that forward. At the moment I’m on 7.5mg daily, but tomorrow that will be increased to 10mg. Dex is an ADHD drug, but there is some evidence of it lifting the mood somewhat.

Throughout the admission I’ve had the feelings I was admitted with, along with random, usually short lived suicidal urges and very low mood, which comes in waves. Today was bad, which is why I’m writing. I woke with minor low mood but it worsened very quickly after breakfast. By late morning I was feeling urges to purge (vomit) as a means of self-harm and I asked my nurse for an emesis bag, which she kindly gave me. I don’t think I have ever vomited in a toilet. I dislike the idea of holding my head above somewhere people have defecated and the sinks in these bathrooms would be clogged by vomit. Psych nurses are quite manipulative, she talked me out of using it right then and got me distracted but I kept the bag. I couldn’t eat much lunch but my new friend convinced me to get half a sandwich made and take it to my room incase I got hungry later – I ate it around 4. I then went into a depressive state in which I couldn’t move much and just lay in my bed listening to Triple J. By 5:30 I had binged on confectionary, was feeling suicidal and felt the only way I could get rid of the feeling was by purging, just to kind of remove something from my body. I’m in a shared room and didn’t want my roommate hear me from our bathroom, so I used one of the bathrooms in the hall. I hate the act of purging but I feel so much better afterward. It was close to dinner time and I felt I couldn’t put anything in my body so soon after ridding it but I talked to my nurse about it because I was worried about taking my mountain of medication on a very empty stomach, she convinced me to eat a little, little enough that I still feel empty, but enough that my meds shouldn’t cause any harm.

Right now writing this and having had a little chat to my roommate have helped. It’s also been nice to have a new friend in here. I don’t usually talk to people in hospitals beyond general greetings but we hit it off over breakfast and in art, and it kinda grew from there.