I know that this post is going to come as some sort of shock when you go over my last blog and read the positivity that was included in there. Well, just before my birthday (maybe a week before, i don't really know), i stopped taking my medication. I didn't think that it would actually be that big of a deal because ive missed a couple of doses here and there before and been find to just pick them back up again. Nope. This was, unfortunately, not going to be the case.
I guess the first real indicator of things beginning to fall was last Friday. That's the first time i verbalised it anyway. I had been quieter over the week after my birthday and could feel the dog on my back but it wasn't quite clinging on. I opened up to my key worker at the end of that week and there was some mention of the crisis team but thats about it. I went home and ended up having a weekend containing the biggest laxative binge since about October/November time. I took 400 between the early hours of Saturday morning, up until Sunday night. And then i took a further two hundred throughout Monday.
The weekend ended with me self harming on Monday and bam. The dog was on and was he hell going to let go now?!
This week has been misty. People sometimes speak of the fog that closes in on Depression but this isn't the case with me. It was like i was stuck under a tonne of sludge and i was trying to work out how the fuck to get my head above the stuff but it wouldn't life. And every time some distraction technique didn't work, i sunk lower and lower. I was terrified.
I saw my boyfriend on Tuesday night and that was nice. He really is lovely and he knew about the self harm but i wasn't going to show him for love nor money. Im ashamed of what i have done and of how quickly i have fallen to this level of...well, despair.
Cutting a long story a bit shorter- Friday was AWFUL. And i mean it was big style shit. I was crying all day; throughout each and every group and in front of everybody. I opened up about how i was feeling and the whole group were crying - telling me about how they can't imagine being without me and stuff. Cue the guilt. I should have kept my mouth shut
After speaking to Jackie, she referred me to the crisis team. I was so skeptical about them because i have been found in car parks before; in states that only belong in an OTT movie. Hurting myself with things that you'd never think of; setting myself on fire; generally hell-bent on self destruction. And they have never helped. My dad once had to call the psych ward himself and BEG them to admit me. BEG THEM. And, id seen them about ten times in that week but it took my dad doing something.
Back to the story-
Friday night was one of the longest, most horrific nights i have had in a long time. I had received no call from the crisis team and had no contact number for them either. Jackie had sent me a flyer earlier in the week with a number for a new helpline based in Sheffield so i called that. I had been walking around the house, counting tablets, googling how effective they'd be during overdose and everything. The lady on the phone was lovely. She really was. She called the crisis team and they soon called me.
The man i spoke to from the crisis team has got to be the most unhelpful guy ive ever spoken to. He had my Insight notes up on the screen and was suggesting things like remembering all of the cooking i have been doing at the day service and listening to cheesy music. Was he being serious? Fucking serious? Did he really think that this would help to lift me from my despair? Idiot. And he was so preoccupied with his fucking computer that there were gaps in conversation where we sat in silent except for a tap-tap-tapping on his end. I was crying and didn't know what the fuck to do and there was this bloke suggesting this crap.
That call finished and i was left to kill some time until the next day. I self harmed.
The next morning, i called Leanne in absolute crisis. She is a friend i have met at the day service and i now honestly consider her to be one of my best friends. She got a taxi and came up to mine to wait with me until the team came and to sit in with me while they were there. What a doll!
We waited and waited. I was convinved that they would do nothing. They would come and they would go. They would suggest a hot bath and tell me to stop being so dramatic. WRONG, again.
They saw the state of me. The state of my face and the pain written across it in a pale light, with bags hanging from my eyes. They told me that they believed that a hospital admission was going to be the answer. When they saw my self harm, i think they were shocked because of how much there was, considering it started on monday. And some of them are particularly bad.
So that's where i am now. I came to the ward yesterday. At first they had said that, if they couldn't find me a bed in Sheffield, i would have to go elsewhere. That was weird. I knew i was bad but i never expected them to think it was as bad as that. I thought i might be making a big hoo-hah about nothing. I guess thats just because i never feel 'ill enough'
Anyway, i came here yesterday and theyve taken everything. I am not even allowed my own lighter. They have to come out, light my cigarette for me and leave. Theyve taken all pills from me, even diet pills.
The worst thing they've taken are my laxatives. They've taken them all. Every single last one of them. And i can't eat without them. Im meant to be working on decreasing them but if i can't take any then i can't eat anything either.
So, here i am, in my room, on Fanta Zero and popping out for the occasional cigarette or ten.
The nurses keep popping their heads round because im on ten bloody minute checks. :(
And i have no shame in admitting i am hungry. Well, a little shame...but y'know-only human and all that...
Someone please make the thoughts stop. Take this away? Its horrible and i don't want to be under the muddy bog anymore...
xxx
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