(this post has been edited a million times)
Hello chaps. Feel I owe you all an explanation. I am, as you can see, alive. This account isn’t that reliable because I was totally out of it. Rob has filled me in a lot of it.
Firstly, thanks for all your comments and concern. Special thanks to Neil and Laura for keeping everyone updated and Cathy for sending an ambulance and Angel, Ed, Miriam, Rob, Dan, Jo, Francesca and Sarah (for hoover lendage, my floor looks class), and my friends have been amazing, though I do expect that some people will be angry at me, an that’s okay and I totally understand. I’m back home already. My blood tests came back clear which surprised me as it was a pretty massive dose. That means no lasting damage although I feel like total crap today! Four hours elapsed before anyone (well, Rob) found me and I was vomiting an awful lot so I think that helped.
So, this is what happened.
I had been depressed for months and suddenly, I got the energy.
I wrote the previous post completely out of my mind, it wasn’t for attention or for help. Luckily my friend Francesca read it and updated Rob. Rob had been planning on going to the pub and I often don’t answer my phone so he would have gone to the pub anyway. Please understand that this wasn’t an attention thing. Hence pulling the phone out of the wall.
As you know, I have been really battling intrusive thoughts recently, along the lines of killing myself, mostly with the pills I had in my shoebox. Like I’ve said, it’s an itch you want to scratch, just to make it stop.
I lost it yesterday. Completely lost it and I couldn’t bear it anymore; couldn’t bear the voice in my head telling me to die, telling me I wouldn’t die if I took the pills, I’d be fine, but die, but take the pills, be fine.
I had handfuls of pills and I took them in quick succession. I was considering getting some alcohol too but I don’t really like the taste of it and I would have been really out of it. I didn’t see any of your comments yesterday.
As I said, I took Lamictal. Most of my Lamictal is 50mg, but there was a lot of 100mg so that was about sixty five pills, or thereabouts, and I took quite a lot more after I wrote the post. 30mg of Risperidone was fifteen, but again I think I took more and the forty Zopiclone was earlier in the day. To be honest, I’m hazy on the doses because I was in a weird place when I wrote that entry. The dose was “a lot”. I vomited most of it and am used to Lamictal an Zopiclone so hence my not being dead. I’ve taken two overdoses in the past but this was the worst.
Pretty much as soon as I wrote the post on my blog I started vomiting, all over the place. Then I collapsed off my chair, smacked my face on the table and onto the floor, where I vomited some more. At this point, my eyesight and co-ordination went and I could barely move, and couldn’t see. I had a few spasms and a mini fit and kept vomiting. I couldn’t stand up, couldn’t really move at all. I did try to phone an ambulance (I was really sick and in a lot of pain) but I’ve pulled the phone out of the wall and had turned off my mobile. My co-ordination was completely gone and I couldn’t see properly, so couldn’t plug the phone in. I started just hitting numbers, none of which were 999. I was crawling about but couldn’t stand up. I started shouting for my mum (who is in Belfast) and I have a slight memory of calling out for my daddy, too, then I think I fell unconscious because it didn’t feel like four hours.
Apparently Neil got through on the phone and I was incoherant and he was shouting at me because I went silent (must have passed out again) and thought I had died. Then he couldn’t get through so I must have knocked the phone out accidentally. That must have been traumatic as fuck for him. I feel awful about it and don’t remember it all (he told me about it). To be honest, I thought I was dying too. I hope Brendan’s family don’t find out.
When I came to, I shouted for Rob but he wasn’t here yet. He had found out from my friend Francesca so he got here quickly after work. I was curled up on the floor so he thought I was dead and was drifting in and out of awakeness. I had woken up a few times to vomit and was still vomiting when he got here. I was out of it so didn’t know what was happening and my clothes and room were covered in sick.
Rob rang an ambulance straight away and was trying to comfort me. They arrived very quickly but I wasn’t really sure what was going on. I kept being sick and they took my clothes off (mortifying! they saw me in the buff) and Rob grabbed new clothes for me to wear. I don’t remember the ambulance journey but I think Rob and the paramedics were jokey to calm me down. I do remember the blonde woman paramedic asking me why I did it, because I was a “beautiful girl”. Don’t know why she thought that since I was covered in puke! I think I was lying down or maybe sitting up so I didn’t choke and I know that they cleaned my face. I remember that she was allergic to cats. When we were going into hospital she said, “This is your fault” (to another paramedic about cats) but I thought that she was referring to me. They had their sirens on.
I think I was lying down or maybe sitting up so I didn’t choke and I know that they cleaned my face. There were straps on my arm and stomach which I think is why my ribs hurt. I feel like I’ve been beaten up. Rob explained to them and the doctors that I had severe manic depression, that I wasn’t thinking straight, that I’d been having intrusive thoughts and that my moods are largely beyond my control. I’m just sick. If I wasn’t sick, I wouldn’t have done it. I sometimes don’t take it seriously and make too many jokes and drink when I shouldn’t but I’ve realised it is a life or death thing and I need to get well. When I’m not experiencing severe mood swings (beyond hypomania, beyond depression) I am not like that, I’m a naturally giggly, enthusiastic person which is why this illness is so devastating to me. It is the illness, it is not me. Sometimes it takes over and it is terrifying for and for Rob. It doesn’t mean that I don’t do everything I can to get better but I really underestimated how unwell I was.
I don’t remember being admitted but I did get a bed straight away. I was out of it. They didn’t pump my stomach because it had been a while since I had taken the pills so they were absorbed by then. I had a mad craving for a Snickers. After a few hours they said I could eat but I threw up straight away and had been throwing up since I was admitted. They took my blood and I was hooked up to a drip thing and blood pressure thing and a heart monitor.
Angel and Ed, two of my friends, came pretty much straight away, but I don’t remember much of Ed being there as I was still out of it. Angel was brilliant and stayed the whole time, stroking my hair, helping me stand up when I had to (I was very, very dizzy and would have fallen over otherwise) and she stayed with us until two in the morning.
My friends came and visited too. Again, I’m a bit foggy on the details but was very embarrased, lying in the hospital be feeling like a dick for what I’d done. I was so grateful, though. They offered-and did- clean the flat so Rob didn’t have to face it. It was probably one of the most lovely things anyone has ever done for me, and they did it for Rob, too. They didn’t go to the pub (kinda ruined their night, there) and they all went as a group, with Sarah lending a hoover. I guess all my paranoia that people didn’t like me was wrong. Neil and Laura rang too from Belfast. I’m not sure how people knew I was in the hospital because as far as I know, Rob didn’t tell them. Today I got a new keyboard and phone because they were a write off from sick. I’m a bit pissed at the expense! Could have spent it on new clothes as I ruined my hoodie! Arf. Or barf in this case.
The doctors and psychiatrist came. I am foggy on that, too, but I did bullshit a bit because I was desperate to get out of there. I had pretty much vomited my body weight but couldn’t keep water down and managed to chuck up outside.
Another psychiatrist had to be called but I saw him much later. I asked Angel to leave the room because I was quite embarrassed. Rob’s used to my mentals, though. Again I bullshitted (not really about my mental state. I told him I was seeing someone. I just needed to get out of there) a little bit, especially when it came to food and eating. I don’t know if you know this but I haven’t been eating properly (lost my appetite due to Effexor) and I have a laxative addiction that replaced vomiting bulimia, which I’m trying to kick (thank god I didn’t, er, evacuate when I was sick). I wasn’t sure what day it was (and wasn’t thinking straight) so I said I was seeing my CPN today when I had actually missed my appointment yesterday).
He said he wasn’t going to admit me to hospital but said that I should be with the Crisis Team and asked Rob to look after me. I told him that I saw my CPN every week, which is true.
They let me go, although I was unsteady and foggy and also exhausted. Ed had come back with Rob’s keys and lent us enough money to get a taxi. We got home, had a fag, had some water and fell asleep. The place was completely clean, even the bathroom and kitchen. I nearly cried. I can’t believe they did for us and put so much effort in, I don’t know how I can repay then. “Thank you” doesn’t do it justice.
I had a very fitful sleep and Rob didn’t really sleep at all. I didn’t chuck up again but felt very, very sick and disorientated. Today I feel a better, have got my balance back and am keeping water and bland food down. I am still quite foggy, bruised and for some reason, in quite a lot of pain over my body. Rob is napping on the sofa.
Anyway, this post may sound quite robotic but it’s because I am still a bit out of it. I’m not sure if I would have survived if I’d drank because I would’ve passed out quickly and probably choked on my vomit. But vomiting my body weight probably saved me.
Effexor is bad for me.
More than anything, I just feel daft! I feel absolutely fucking awful for what I put them and Rob though. I’m not sure how to face people but I’ve had overwhelming support and love from my friends and this blog, so really, really thank you so much. And thank you Anna for dropping fags off! Sorry we weren’t in, had gone get a replacement phone and keyboard.
Anyway, so that’s it. Hopefully the nausea, dizziness and pain will go away and I’ll be back to my old self again. Rob is with me, so I’m safe. I have no more extra medication and I’m on weekly prescriptions.
Hilariously, this happened near my two year anniversary of leaving the mental hospital. I can’t get the bracelet off my wrist, nor find the scissors. I hope at least posting this on this blog might help people realise the reality of it and not do it themselves.
The crappiest thing about yesterday is that I lost the eBay auction for the camera that broke on me. I miss it so much! Ah well, I couldn’t afford it anyway.
(rest assured I will be making jokes about this)