Tag Archives: doctor

00:34 – Just back from A&E

22 Apr

It’s just after midnight and I’ve just got home. I text a friend and asked if they could come to A&E with me. I was hugely anxious and couldn’t stop shaking, I couldn’t even write my name on the form, my friend had to fill it out for me.

The nurse on duty was really nice and the doctor was one I hadn’t seen before. He asked me the 101 questions to determine how crazy I was then once he was satisfied I wasn’t suicidal they took a look at the damage. By this point the blood had soaked through all of the bandages and through my jeans, it was everywhere. Thankfully they kept the curtain round me so my friend didn’t see the actual damage.

It was the worst self harming I have ever done. Including Wednesday’s stitches I now have a total of 24 stitches in which is more than I ever have had in before. The A&E experience was one of the more positive ones, they were non-judgemental and friendly but also professional. I did accidentally almost hit the nurse at one point as she was trying to control the bleeding whilst the doctor was putting the stitches in but he went to put a stitch into a bit that he hadn’t injected with lidocaine and I almost shot off the bed, hands flapping. He was really apologetic though. After being stitched up and cleaned up and dressings and bandages on the doctor could see I was still really anxious and still really shaky. He checked my pulse and then asked to get the machine through that does the pulse, sats and blood pressure. My pulse was 126, BP 153/103 and o2 sats 97. So they could see I was really genuinely very anxious and the doctor went and got me 2mg of Lorazepam. [That same lorazepam that the doctor who stitched me up on Wednesday told me they didn’t give out to people, despite me having had it on multiple occasions there before – so that confirmed he was talking shit].

I was treated really well, gentle and empathic. I have to go back to A&E on Tuesday for a wound check and dressing change, then back on Wednesday back for the last week’s stitches out and these new stitches have to be in for a minimum of 10 days due to the depth of the wounds.

I did tell a little lie to the doctor that my friend was going to stay with me tonight – anything to avoid being kept in hospital – and I am now home alone and the lorazepam combined with all my other nightly meds are all starting to kick in. I’m starting to feel quite drowsy so I think I’ll get a good sleep tonight.

At last I feel regret again. I do feel better for doing it but I wish I hadn’t done it so badly. I regret knowing they are going to be quite nasty scars. But it’s done now. I’ve been to hospital, it was horrible, I felt hugely anxious despite them being really nice to me, I’m ready to sleep but not looking forward to the pain I’m going to be in tomorrow. I can already feel the lidocaine local anaesthetic wearing off and the pain starting.

Do I have any more plans to do it again? No. Not at the moment anyway. Not even if it’s given to me as a command. I am bandaged from ankle to knee on each leg so I’m kind of running out of places to cut as well. I think the urge might finally be out my system.

Goodnight folks x


15:15 – Last appt with Mr Psychiatrist and a trip to A&E

17 Apr

Trigger Warning – graphic talk of self harm in this post

All I have been able to think about for days now is cutting. Cutting, cutting and more cutting. The more I try to distract myself the more graphic the images in my head become. The more I try to ignore, the louder male voice gets and that triggers him to start spewing out vile evil instructions in my head. What hasn’t been helping is the lack of sleep. What also hasn’t been helping is all the pressure I feel that everyone thinks I’m doing so well and coping so well and I am shitting myself that everything is going to fall apart and I am going to let down every person I care about. I’m terrified of being back in that place where you feel so worthless and then can’t even manage to take your own life properly… got to fail at that too just to rub that extra bit of salt into the wounds.

Last night I fell asleep on the sofa around 1am. I quickly woke back up just after 2am as it was freezing. But instead of putting the heating on or getting into bed I just covered myself in a blanket and lay on the sofa thinking about things. Wondering why my life turned out this way. I had a bit of a cry for a while, they were sad tears, tears of all the times in my life where things actually looked like they were going well then ultimately they all fell apart. Why do they all fall apart? Why can’t something nice just remain consistent in my life? I don’t want this life. I wanted to try and better it by doing the part time uni course and not even a year into it and I don’t think I can do it any more. I have no belief in myself whatsoever. I want to run and hide and curl away. I don’t want to speak to anyone. I don’t want anyone to see me… but this morning I had no choice.

Around 6am I was still awake and was starting to feel very anxious and sort of like I wasn’t fully in control. My thoughts felt like they had been taken over, I was so tired I just went with it. The voices told me to cut, told me it would fix things… male voice told me to just “fucking make yourself uglier you fat slag”… again I tried distraction techniques but just got nowhere.

By 8am I was pacing, anxious, heart racing, feeling sick, tired, emotional, feeling really bonkers crazy, seeing flashes of me going outside and just attacking any random object or any random person. THAT IS NOT ME. I DO NOT DO THAT! EVER! I don’t know where all these violent urges are coming from but they are so fucking terrifying. It’s not even as though I’m angry at anyone or about anything… angry with myself that I can’t bounce back to being the fun person I once was once upon a time… but that’s more of a sad angry than a violent one. Needless to say I ended up getting out everything required for self harming – a pack of clean stanley knife blades, a towel, some dressings and sat down cross-legged on the bathroom floor. I made a deal with myself that I could cut once then I would clean it up, cover it up and go no further. But of course that didn’t happen… those little cuts looked too much like scratches… those visuals flashed in front of my eyes again wanting to see gaping wounds… I felt like I couldn’t even do that right. In the end I got a fresh blade from the packet, closed my eyes and just pressed down and dragged it through my skin. It felt like my skin was burning from the pain and I expected to see a much worse wound than what I did see… however it was pretty gaping so I decided it would be OK to stop cutting then. I got myself patched up and tried to stay distracted through til 10.30am when I had to leave to go to my last ever appointment with Mr Psychiatrist.

The reason it’s my last appointment is that he is retiring and he explained he didn’t know who would be taking over from him yet but there would be a locum in place for a while until someone permanent takes over. I swear no one with a professional mental health background seems to want to work for our NHS trust, all these permanent positions never seem to get filled for what seems like forever. I told Mr Psychiatrist about self harming this morning and told him that when I left my appointment with him that I would go along to the A&E department and have them check me over. He asked what had led to me cutting and I told him all the shit I rambled about at the start of this post – these feelings of pressure and these horrible horrendous images I keep seeing. He knows it is a coping mechanism of mine and he’s told me a million times it isn’t a helpful one but I think he’s come to realise there is no point in telling me that any more.

We didn’t talk about a lot of things in detail today, I think when he realised I was sitting there with a wound needing medical attention he tried to just whizz through everything as quickly as possible. He said that he still feels that even though male voice is male (and I am female) that the things male voice says to me are things which I actually feel about myself deep down. Almost like it’s my thoughts and beliefs but being heard in a male tone. I kinda see his point but I also know it’s not as simple as that, male voice can come out with things that have never even crossed my mind before. Plus there is a big difference between a voice and a thought (even racing horrible thoughts) and I think you can only know this and understand this if you have actually experienced it.

What else did we talk about… cutting – voices – male voice – pressure – images – violence – lack of support – and a referral which I requested to another psychiatrist, one who specialises in trauma therapy and who told me a couple of years ago that he believed the EMDR treatment could be beneficial to me but at that time I was considered too unwell and too unstable to try it out. Mr Psychiatrist said he didn’t want me working with lots of different people and lots of different approaches (he said this because psychologist is supposed to be coming back at some point over the next few weeks and she is likely to want to do the compassionate mind and mindfulness program with me). However he agreed to write to the other psychiatrist and see if he would be willing to give me an appointment to assess my suitability for EMDR.

Before I left the appointment he asked me what help I was getting through the CMHT (mental health team) at the moment and I told him pretty much none. That I had 3 CPN’s who have all left now and that I was supposed to have lovely social worker as someone to see until psychologist returns back to work but that we’ve only met up once, so that bit isn’t going so great. In fairness I haven’t tried to make a great deal of contact with her but I had hoped we would have been able to stick out the once a fortnight meetings just for a month or two until psychologist returns… but it hasn’t worked out that way. Instead I’ve just been seeing my support worker through rape crisis pretty much on a weekly basis but at least I am actually trying to deal with some of my issues with her – the childhood abuse/the assault/the self harming/the feelings of worthlessness. But she shouldn’t have to deal with all my mentalness stuff as well, that should be someone from the CMHT but it never seems to work out that way.

God this post is getting long…

I said my goodbyes to Mr Psychiatrist and muttered thank you to him for the support he’s given me over the past 4 years or so (even though he’s also been a total wanker to me in that time!) but it’s just what you do isn’t it? Say thanks, smile, make them think they have helped you get a bit better when really what they have done is remove power and control from you, detain you, make you like a human guinea pig with all the varieties of medications they insist will make you better, tell you that even voices are still a product of your own mind, try to make you believe things will get better if you just have good sleep patterns and distract yourself 24/7. But still, I was brought up to be polite and so it was only right to just say thank you to him as I left.

I walked along to the A&E department and thankfully it was two of the nice nurses on, the female charge nurse who has come to a couple of my CPA meetings and a male nurse who is very gentle and non-judgemental. Even though I knew in my head that I had met the male nurse before and knew he was always nice and knew he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me it still felt weird being in a room alone with him. I was in a room alone with Mr Psychiatrist but the whole appointment kept my coat on and sat in the chair pointing the door (always got to have my escape route planned out as soon as I enter a room)… so yeah it had felt safe enough with Mr Psych. And I did feel safe with male nurse but more exposed and vulnerable I guess as the coat had to come off and the shoes off and one leg out of my trousers…. like I couldn’t just jump to my feet and leg it out the door if I wanted to… so that was making me pretty anxious.

He took a look at the wound and decided it definitely needed stitches so he went to get the doctor. It was a doctor I hadn’t seen before and I didn’t like him very much, he had a bit of a patronising tone and I just wanted him to fuck off back out the room. Plus having two men at either side of me while I lay on the trolley bed was making me very very uncomfortable. I asked the doctor if he could please get me some Lorazepam and he said “we don’t keep lorazepam at this hospital” – BULLSHIT!! – I have probably been given a couple of lorazepam on at least 20 occasions from that A&E either for anxiety that’s led to self harm or to get me into the ambulance if they have been moving me to another hospital or the psych hospital. So I asked again if I could have Lorazepam because I needed to calm down and he very firmly said “you cannot have Lorazepam” – argh I hate when I know people are lying to me. Had he said something like they didn’t have any left or something then I would’ve dealt with that, but I knew fine they had it and knew fine that if it was one of the doctors who have seen me before then they would have given it to me asap to calm me down so they could put the stitches in. He said I could have a Diazepam if I wanted (despite me telling him I’ve been on daily prescription Diazepam for years and it does FUCK ALL when I feel as anxious as I did then, but he went and got me one anyway and like a good mental I shut up and took it.

I got seven stitches put in and a little glue and steri-strips on the non-gaping cuts and have to go back in 2 days, so Friday, for a wound check and dressing change. I told male nurse that usually I would be feeling regret pretty much immediately after cutting but today I don’t. I don’t regret it, I don’t care that I’ve got more scars on my body now, I don’t care that the one bit of leg that I had kept scar free is now mutilated as well. He said to me if I felt like cutting again to go up and see them and they would try and get someone to sit and talk to me which I was very grateful for, but I don’t want to talk, I just don’t fucking care about anything. I feel so low and so emotional and so tired and all I want is to have a few hours of feeling normal…whatever the hell that is… and I would much rather not do anything which may leave me having to see that doctor again as I really didn’t like him much at all. It was something about the way he spoke to me… there was an obvious power balance thing going on and he spoke to me the way I speak to best friend’s four year old.


My Mum phoned me as I was leaving the hospital and said my Grandma is staying with them for a couple of days and they were all going out for dinner tonight so she was phoning to ask if I wanted to go. As the restaurant they are going to is directly opposite my flat I couldn’t really say no but I am so tired and am really not in the mood at all to sit through a long meal and listen to all the chitter chatter at the table… plus it’s a kinda posh restaurant and I hate trying to get dressed up when I feel so fucking ugly and awful. However, I love my little Gran and don’t see anywhere near enough of her so I will go. The table is booked for 7pm… ugh that’s less than 3 hours away… I just realised I started writing this at 15:15 and we are now on 16:18 … an hour of ramblings… no wonder this post is going on forever.

And on that note I suppose I had better go and find something to wear tonight. Hope you’re all having a bit of a better day than me xx

19:12 – The lid finally blew… and resulted in a trip to A&E…

17 Jan

[Warning – talk of self harm in this post]


Sorry this might be a bit of a rant and probably a really long post but my head is going crazy and I’m still shaking and crying. Today has been a day from hell and the pressure cooker lid finally blew off. It started off when I got up this morning and there was a letter there for me from the housing association from whom I rent my flat. They sent everyone a letter a couple of weeks ago saying there was evidence of dog fouling in the communal garden area and that they were going through a “process of elimination in order to find out who was responsible”. Out of the 12 flats in my block there are only four dog owners so I threw the letter in the bin and didn’t think any more about it knowing that I wasn’t responsible.

Until I got the letter this morning. The letter says:

Dear MCBL,

After a process of elimination I am led to believe that you are allowing your 2 dogs to foul in the communal areas at [my address]. Please note that dog fouling is an offence and, as a responsible owner, you can be prosecuted. The Dog Fouling Act makes it an offence for a person in charge of a dog who fails to immediately remove the faeces the dog makes guilty of an offence under the Act. The offence carries a fixed penalty fine of £40 rising to £500.

Yours sincerely,

Nasty Housing Association Woman.


I sat there reading it and burst into tears. Why the fuck am I being blamed for it? And it’s most definitely aimed at me as I’m the only person who has 2 dogs. I kept reading those words “process of elimination” and “led to believe you are…” and got so anxious. All I could think was that everyone in all the other flats must have been talking about me. Then I remembered back to a few weeks ago and all I could think about was this little ball thing that had appeared on the ceiling, just next to where the door is that opens into the communal area, I even pointed it out to my Mum and asked her what she thought it was. I said to her that I thought it was a camera spying on who was coming in and out of that door and it made me feel really paranoid every time I had to go past it to put my rubbish out. Mum said that as it was outside an elderly disabled man’s house it was maybe some sort of sensor if he had one of those personal alarm things. She told me I was just being paranoid. So I tried to believe her and then after a few days I noticed it had disappeared again so I just kinda forgot about it.

But when I got the letter today the same question kept going round and round in my mind. What was this “process of elimination” they had used? It couldn’t have been by going round and talking to each resident one by one because they never came to speak to me. And the whole thing feels horribly personal because my dogs are my babies and if anyone says anything bad about them I do get offended (and angry) 😦

So I kept thinking back to that thing on the ceiling and tried typing into google phrases like “ceiling cameras” “ball shaped cameras” etc until I finally found a whole page of what I was looking for. Dome cameras they are apparently called and they look like this:




You can see the camera inside that one but because it was on the ceiling and the ceilings are around 10 feet high it just looked like a little dark ball thing. So now I am convinced that they secretly filmed everyone coming in and out of the communal area for a while and I do use that door quite a lot because it leads to a little path that is a short cut to the shops. Have they been filming me, spying on me, watching me, talking about me? Have I been the person (with dogs) who has come in and out of that door the most? I don’t know. I took some Diazepam because I was getting myself into a real mess and then composed an email to the person who sent me the letter. This is the email that I sent:

Dear [nasty woman who made me cry]

I’ve just received your letter about dog fouling at [my address]. You say in this letter that after a “process of elimination” you believe that I am responsible for allowing my two little dogs to “foul the communal areas”. I am sitting here in tears with anger as quite simply you are putting the blame onto me for something I haven’t even done.

[A ramble about the other dog owning neighbours who could be responsible but it goes on for about 1000 words then ends with…]

I have lived in this flat for over six years and in that time there have been many letters about dog fouling, people dumping rubbish and furniture and stuff and I can assure you that I am well aware of all of the rules. I am an honest person and if I was responsible I would be emailing you just now to apologise and assure you it wouldn’t happen again. But I am not the person responsible and your letter has now made me incredibly anxious that if future dog fouling is discovered then I am going to be the person blamed. You already know from previous emails (when I was making my application for a housing transfer) that I suffer from severe mental health problems and receiving a letter telling me that I’m responsible for something that I could be prosecuted for, has left me in quite an emotional mess.

I’m sorry this email is so long but I want to know (a) how you reached the decision that I was responsible (b) if there is further dog fouling in the future will I automatically be blamed? and (c) how do I prove to you that I am not the person responsible for this?

Thank you,

So now I wait to see if she writes back and tells me they put up a hidden camera and have been watching me. I didn’t mention anything about the possible camera in my email to her because I want to see what reason they come back with to tell me how they reached the decision that I am responsible for this. I don’t think they have done anything wrong by putting a camera up to monitor who was coming in and out of that area, but it didn’t look like a camera and there was no warning notice about CCTV being used, and it was in my opinion a camera that was disguised. Again, they are probably allowed to do this as they own the building, but wouldn’t anyone who suffers from paranoia probably start freaking out a bit if they thought they had been being filmed without knowing?

So basically that was the final straw. I sent the email then kept looking at the letter over and over getting more and more wound up that everyone is talking about me behind my back; about how desperately I wanted to move out of here then became too anxious about it all and decided to redecorate to try and make this feel like some sort of home again and just as things were starting to settle a tiny little bit, here I am feeling terrified to walk out my front door in case I bump into any of my neighbours and I keep thinking what if they have all been told that they are holding me responsible for it…

By the time it got to about 3pm I was just a mess. I kept bursting into tears, cuddling my little dogs and telling them that they were still my babies even if nasty housing woman is saying bad things about them, the paranoid thoughts that they have been filming me and talking about me were spinning round and round and round…and… I just lost it.

Before I knew what I was doing I had a blade in my hand and had carved deep angry cuts into my skin. There was blood everywhere and two of the cuts were very deep and gaping open wide. I knew it had gone too far and I was going to need stitches so I just kept cutting and cutting until I finally dropped the blade, sat back and burst into tears again.

I tied a bandage around the wounds and the reality of what I’d just done began to set in. I knew that if I went up to A&E around 4pm then there would be a good chance they would phone the mental health team and I didn’t want to see any CPN’s or anything. So I waited until almost 5pm when the mental health team close and then went to the hospital. I couldn’t stop shaking as I went into A&E, scared of which nurses/doctors would be on shift yet desperately hoping it would be one of the nurses who knows me and would just treat the wound and let me go.

A man who I haven’t seen before (he turned out to be the doctor on shift) asked me to fill out a form then he took me through to the treatment room with a nurse. I have met the nurse a couple of times before and she has always been really nice and non-judgemental. The doctor was asking me what I’d done to myself to have ended up with cuts on my leg and I completely froze with anxiety. I didn’t know where to look and just wanted to run out of the door. The nurse asked me if I’d self harmed and I nodded and stared at the floor feeling so ashamed of myself. She asked me to lie up on the bed and let her have a look. I couldn’t even look as I exposed inch by inch of flesh with words written all over me with a knife… and then we got to the bandage and out the corner of my eye I watched the doctor’s face change as he saw the two worst wounds. He kept asking me questions and I just couldn’t answer him. He said he was going to phone the mental health team even though I shook my head and said no when he asked if that would be OK. But he came back five minutes later to say nobody was answering the phone at the mental health team so they left a voicemail or something instead.

He started cleaning me up and the nurse went out the room. He said he wanted to have a little chat with me whilst he stitched me up. This consisted of him asking a lot of questions and me staring at the floor and not answering. I only opened my mouth when I heard the “assessment questions” starting – “do you feel better now you’ve cut? Are you going to do it again? Do we need to keep you here to keep an eye on you? Are you feeling like you want to end your life?” etc etc etc… I shook my head and said no, I wouldn’t do it again tonight. The nurse came back and gave me 2 mg Lorazepam to calm me down a bit, even though the doctor kept saying that 2 mg would “knock me out”… Erm… No… They calm the anxiety a lot better than Diazepam but don’t make me sleepy. Anyway he gave me an appointment card to go back up to A&E on Saturday for a wound check and dressing change and then the stitches will come out in 7-10 days. He wished me good luck and reminded me I could go up there and see them if I began to feel like hurting myself again. I tried my hardest to force a little smile and say thank you.

From there it was just me and the nurse. She put some glue and steri-strips on the cuts that weren’t bad enough to need stitched and she talked and talked and talked. Maybe the doctor asked her to because I wouldn’t speak to him or maybe she was just trying to be nice. I don’t know. But I sat there in silence and she kept asking me how I was feeling, what I was going to do when I got home, was there anyone I could go and spend some time with, was there anything they could do for me and after me not replying to any of that she gave me a kinda sympathetic smile and said that she knew that I wasn’t OK and asked me if I’d like to just sit and have a chat to her. I said thank you but I’d be fine.

Then when I had all my clothes back on and was about to leave she said “are you 100% sure you don’t want a chat?” and out of nowhere my mouth opened and the words started coming out… the letter… the paranoia… the voices… the dogs and how they are my babies… the pressure cooker… the disappointment people would feel if they found out I’d cut again after all this time of not doing it… this time of year just being really hard as the weeks lead up to my little man’s anniversary…

It all poured out but quietly and with very little eye contact. Standing staring at my feet and just rambling on to her. It was only for a few minutes but then I started thinking “what the fuck am I doing?! don’t tell her about all the head crazies… just get out of here!” and so I went from rambling quietly to leaving the hospital in a bit of a hurry.

How do I feel now that the lid has finally blown and I’ve given myself another few scars to hate? I don’t know. That’s the honest answer. In one way I feel a little calmer but that could well be the Lorazepam, I still feel extremely paranoid and the head crazies are coming out with all sorts of random quotes but I’m trying really really hard to ignore them and just hope that my head can quieten down enough so that I can get through this evening with no further damage. To be honest I just feel both scared and relieved. Relieved that the lid finally blew and I got the huge urges to self harm out of my system… but scared that I’m now going to start sliding towards the slippery slope again… scared that I’m losing control… scared that I am so adamant that no one will find out about this except from my GP and CPN…

Sorry, this was one very long ramble, guess I had a lot to get off my chest. It’s now almost 7 pm and I’m going to try and just watch TV or something for a couple of hours then take my medication early and then lie down in a dark room until I finally sleep.

I hope tomorrow will be a better day but I will no doubt receive an email back from the housing association woman and regardless of what it says I know seeing the words of why she believes I am responsible are sure to upset me again.

I don’t know what else to say…

[/end of rant]


19:28 – A bit of an explanation

25 Aug

I wrote this post recently and said there may come a time I would expand on it and explain it better: https://mycrazybipolarlife.wordpress.com/2012/08/17/1814-a-very-sick-dissociated-girl/ just now feels like the right time to do that as it contributes a lot towards why my head is so fucked up today.

I met the guy a couple of times who I went on a couple of dates with. I liked him more than he liked me. On the Thursday (out of some sort of rebound?) I think I went online and think I asked a guy to come and meet me. I say think, because I can’t remember a damn thing about it. I can’t even remember the asking to meet him, or the meeting him bit which is even more bloody confusing. What I do know is that I was extremely sick that night, violently vomiting, nose bleeding, crying, scared and confused. Trying to walk the dogs and being sick outside, an old man asking me if I needed help. Me freaking out at him to get away from me.

What I didn’t tell you is that on the Friday when I went to see my CPN and I told her all about the memory loss and flashbacks I was getting she was concerned that I had somehow been spiked with drugs. I didn’t want to mention anything about it on here or to my family or friends in case they thought I had willingly taken the drugs. After seeing my CPN I went to a&e. They did a urine drug screening and it tested positive for a drug called PCP which is odourless, can be put in someone’s drink, and is fastly becoming a date rape type of drug. It also causes memory loss.

I kept having flashbacks on the Friday of being in the passenger seat of a car with a man with grey hair and a very Northern Scottish accent. He was forcing me to perform sexual acts on him in the flashbacks and then he had me pinned down on the car seat whilst he took my bottom half of clothes off and then tried/succeeded? to rape me. The doctor at the hospital examined me and he gave me the morning after pill, he found a lot of blood in my urine. He encouraged me to involve the police, I said I didn’t want to, I just wanted to try and forget about it and move on. They made an appointment for me for this Tuesday coming to go and have a full sexual health screening done. You see, I stupidly dabbled with a little bit of another drug very soon before this all happened, and I didn’t want my friends or family to know I had touched anything again. So I thought it was best that I kept it all to myself and told no one other than my CPN and the doctor and nurse at a&e. Like I said in that previous post I was also treated for second degree burns, which I’m not sure if I did by myself from being so out of it that I let cigarettes go out on me or what.

All week I have been taking these antibiotics knowing deep down that it wasn’t due to a kidney or urine infection in the way I told people. It was caused by severe irritation to my cervix/bladder because of what that mystery guy did to me. I finally broke down today and couldn’t take the flashbacks any longer, I wanted to talk to my Mum but she was at work so I went to my parents house and broke down and told my Dad everything.

He asked me if I wanted him to come with me to the police and make a statement. He said the police would be able to look at the history of my laptop and see if a conversation took place somewhere where I arranged to meet someone. (My laptop automatically deletes it’s history, cookies etc when I close it down). There are no messages or strange numbers on my phone from that day. That’s why I was so sure I dissociated it all. But when they told me there was this PCP drug in my urine that’s when I knew I didn’t.

I am sort of glad in a way that I can’t remember it in full because the flashbacks are traumatic enough. The little glimpses and bits of memory I do have are sickeningly horrible. Someone took advantage of me, invaded me, gave me an infection, spiked me, drugged me and made me perform sexual acts on them.

Should I go to the police? That was a question I went over and over with my Dad. I don’t want to. My Dad said if I had decided I definitely wasn’t going to involve them then somehow I need to put it all behind me and move on, focusing on the positive things I have coming up in my life like my uni course. Can I just forget it? That’s what I’m really struggling with. It’s all making me feel so fragile, so confused, so messed up. It’s making me want to hurt myself. It’s making me not want to be here any more. I was abused as a child, why would someone do that to me again? Why can’t I remember who he was? What would possess someone to do that to me?

I’m never going to get the answers unless I do go to the police but I have firmly made up my mind that I don’t want to do that. There wasn’t much time between me willingly dabbling with a drug and that happening, there was like 12-24 hours in it. All I know is I feel completely violated and am shitting myself about what the sexual health screening is going to show. This guy could have given me anything, God if he is willing to spike a drink and drug someone to have sex with them who knows if he also has something horrible like HIV that he could have passed on to me.

So this is why my head is so screwed up at the moment. I still haven’t told my best friend as there just hasn’t been the right opportunity where I’ve felt like talking about it. But my CPN, the hospital doctor and now my parents all know and I don’t feel quite so alone in it all. I know trying to hurt myself or kill myself is not the right answer even though it is so natural/so much of a habit to lash out and hurt myself when I feel so mixed up and confused.

So that’s my bit of an explanation from the previous post. I hope my head settles down over the next few days and I can do as my Dad suggested and somehow forget about it all. I don’t know if I can, but I can try. I know deep down I don’t want to walk the path of psych hospitals or suicide attempts. I want to live but not with a fucked up head. Hopefully now I’ve got it all out I can start to feel better. A while ago I was considering becoming a volunteer for the rape crisis centre and I know the woman who runs it, I’m thinking that I might go and see her on Tuesday after the sexual health screening and talk it all out with her.

So there we go, that’s why my head is so fucked up, that’s why I keep thinking it would be better for me just to end it all, but if I do that… he wins. He’s won anyway by me not reporting it to the police but he’d win even more if I took my own life over it all. The fact that best friend has been spending so much time with her other friend has just made me feel even more alone with my thoughts. I am contemplating going to the a&e tonight and asking for a couple of Lorazepam but I can’t keep doing that every time my head goes crazy. Instead I’m going to try my best to spend some time with my Mum and then tomorrow and Monday my Dad is coming to finish all the painting in my flat.

Onwards and upwards… somehow… right?

18:14 – A very sick dissociated girl

17 Aug

I was so ill yesterday I can’t even put it into words. I had a massive dissociative episode. I don’t really feel like writing on here how or why it came about but it was extremely unpleasant and left me very very confused.

I have flashbacks today of vomiting a lot, blood pouring into the toilet and realising it was coming out my nose, trying to walk the dogs in the dark and vomiting violently into the bushes, an old man asking if I was OK and freaking out screaming at him to get away from me.

I saw my CPN this morning and told her about it. I also ended up with two second degree burns on my stomach where I had obviously been smoking and thought I had an ashtray sitting on me but had just sat them on my top, burning through my top and through my skin. CPN advised me to go to a&e and tell them what happened. I went to a&e and was in there for hours. They did urine tests, found blood in my urine, the doctor came and did all my obs which were ok, I was just so confused and could remember hardly any of yesterday just these horrible flashbacks of being so unwell.

The doc put me on a course of antibiotics for the blood in my urine. The nurse treated the burns on my stomach. They were quite concerned I had dissociated to such an intense level and was experiencing such horrible flashbacks. I was put on an ECG machine to check my heart was beating OK and the doctor checked me over externally to see if I had done myself any other damage. Thankfully I hadn’t.

It is a real shame it happened because I had a really good day on Wednesday, I met up with best friend and we went a drive away to the middle of nowhere to a little village for some fresh seafood in a lovely restaurant right on the quietest prettiest little beach. We also went to visit her Aunt and to the cemetery out there where her Grandpa is buried.

This is the view from the restaurant:

I was supposed to be going out tonight with the girls but I can’t really afford to and I’m also still feeling very sensitive from yesterday. Also I am on anti-biotics so drinking wouldn’t be the best of ideas.

I’m a very mixed up and confused girl today. I can’t believe it was all my head, there were other factors involved that I shall perhaps go into more detail about another day but for now I just want to sleep and sleep til I feel back to myself again.

20:52 – Craziness ‘on hold’

4 Aug

After my last post I knew I couldn’t carry on feeling so unstable. It was getting far too dangerous and far too likely that I was going to act on the thoughts. So I phoned the out of hours doctors and told them that my mood has been very low for the past couple of days and I knew it was heading to a place I didn’t want to go to. The person on the phone was really nice and understanding and said I had done the right thing by phoning them for help rather than hurting myself and phoning with an emergency. They made an appointment for me for 8.10pm to see the out of hours doctor at the local a&e.

It was a male doctor I’ve not seen before, I explained the situation to him and he was a bit concerned that I was coming home alone and that if my mood carried on getting lower there would be no one here to stop me acting on it. I tried my best to reassure him that if I could just calm down then I would be OK. I just needed the racing thoughts and extreme anxiety to calm down.

He checked my blood pressure and pulse, both of which were sky high and he agreed to give me some Lorazepam. So he gave me 2mg at the hospital, 2mg to take at bedtime and a spare 2mg in case I need them during the night or something. He was actually very nice and said to come back straight away if I felt like the medicine wasn’t doing enough to help me rather than hurt myself.

So I’ve had my Quetiapine, Citalopram, Diazepam and Lorazepam. Everything is still racing but ever so slightly slower now enabling me to write all this down. Hopefully in the next half an hour or so I will be able to breathe normally again and my heart won’t feel like it’s about to jump out my chest and I’ll be able to think straight again.

For the moment my craziness is on hold, I hope and pray it calms down soon, I can’t handle much more of feeling this way.

13:33 – Yet another trip to a&e

13 May

Yesterday was a bit crazy. After I finished writing my post and having watched that video I mentioned my head went off on one. I kept asking Lucifer to help me, everything was making me feel crazy, I kept replaying the video in my head and was so disturbed by it. Then came the flashes of my little man. Then my head was getting all mixed up seeing my little one being the one beaten by that sick bitch woman in the video.

I asked Lucifer for help and he told me to take the pain for the innocent baby. I didn’t know how to. I didn’t want that baby to hurt even though I was aware that the tragic event had already happened, I thought that somehow I could reverse it. To try and distract myself from all the racing thoughts and ideas I logged onto my blog facebook. Within a couple of minutes a little chat box popped up from someone I’d never spoken to before. The conversation went like this:

Them – Hi, i read your blog, how are you?

Me – Hi I’m not that great right now but thanks for reading my ramblings!

Them – The reason you don’t feel good is that you let Satan into your soul. You need to get Satan out of your body.

Me – It’s Lucifer, not Satan. He helps me.

Them – I want you to do as I say right now. Get down on your hands and knees and shout out to God. He will hear you. Beg and pray to him to take Satan out of your body and soul.

Me – If God is the right person for me to follow and believe in then it will happen when the time is right. Look I don’t know you and right now my head is a bit of a mess, I just came on here to play some games and get distracted for a while, I don’t really want to have this conversation right now if that’s OK?

Them – I saw what you wrote on your diary to satan. You got it wrong SATAN IS A PILE OF BURNING HUMAN FLESH HE HAS NO SOUL!!!!!!!!!

Me – So does that make me a pile of burning human flesh with no soul as well?

Them – Yes EXACTLY right. But you can change it if you beg GOD to come and save you.

Me – Logged off.

Then the thoughts all become blurred and mixed, racing and crazy. Have I to take the pain for the innocent baby in the video? Have I to prove that Lucifer is anything but a pile of burning human flesh? How do I do that? Well if Lucifer or Satan as she called him was inside me and I was a pile of burning flesh as well then Lucifer proposed to me that I would have no bones.

So there I was, pretty mixed up and confused. I have already told the psychiatrist that I believe Lucifer can live inside me but I don’t know how many times I have said this – he doesn’t distress me anything like the way Patty used to. He does make sense a lot of the time.

Anyway the end result was that – just to check – I cut one of my knuckles open quite badly. Until I could see the tip of the bone. I sat and stared at the mess on my hand for an hour or so and then I was satisfied that I was not a pile of burning flesh. I put a bandage around it as it was bleeding quite a lot and another couple of hours passed. Then my male friend came down and asked what happened to my hand. I told him the truth that I knew it sounded crazy but I had to check I had bones inside me. Well at least a/1/singular bone. He asked if I wanted to go to a&e and I said no, I wanted to watch the Britain’s Got Talent Final to see if my favourite act – Pudsey the dog – won. He did!! I was most happy!

After it finished my friend asked to see if the bleeding had stopped so we took the bandage off my hand. It didn’t look too bad with my fingers straightened out but as soon as I clenched my fist you could see the very tip of the bone come to the surface. Even though it had been about 4 hours since I had done it I was getting slightly worried because it was really really sore at the wound site but at the bit between my fingers it was totally numb with a very slight pins and needles feeling. I was worried I’d cut a nerve. So about 10pm we went up to a&e.

It was one of the bitch nurses who was on but the female doctor who isn’t too bad was also on. We had to sit and wait for about half an hour as another patient was being treated. I asked if I could just have a dressing pad so I didn’t waste their time but she said to fill out my details on the form and take a seat.

When she took me into a treatment room my male friend said he was going outside for a smoke so it was just me and her. I was going to say I’d punched something in anger but she has patched me up enough times so I just told the truth. She asked me if I was going to go searching for any other bones once I’d got back home and I told her I was satisfied now that Lucifer had been telling me the truth.

She said, in a quite snippy tone, “well if you do go searching wait until tomorrow to come back, I want a nice quiet night shift” – and that’s why I call her a bitchy nurse because I don’t think there has been one time I have seen her where she hasn’t made some little snide comment whilst treating my wound. It’s weird how different all the nurses are, the nice male nurse says things like “remember we are here 24 hours a day if you get distressed during the night” but other ones like her just don’t get it at all.

She then asked me what my “diagnosis” is and I said Bipolar Disorder and apparently Psychosis but I doubt the latter one. She took a note of the meds I was on and then stood up. So as I had been patched up and said thank you as I always do, I also stood up to leave. She asked me to sit back down for a moment and she left the room. About ten minutes passed and I was getting to that point in my head where I was saying to myself ‘she’s getting two more minutes and then I’m leaving, I’ve been patched up, what am I waiting for?’ And then there was a knock at the door and in comes the female doctor.

“Hello MCBL” she says, “it’s been a good few weeks since I last saw you, would you like to tell me why you cut your knuckle open?”

I tell her why. She asks if I have ever been detained under the mental health act which immediately put me in full alert/panic mode. I said yes, I have been detained as an emergency for 72 hours and have been detained on two 28 day ones. I told her I have been in the psych hospital too many times and then ask her why she is asking about that kind of stuff. She says if I carry on “with this type of behaviour” then I am likely to end up detained again. I tell her that won’t happen, I am adamant that I will not set foot in the looney bin again. She says she hopes this will be the case as well but is worried about me.

I was starting to get a bit anxious and agitated at the talk of the psych hospital so she went out the room for a few minutes and came back with two Lorazepam tablets and some water. I took them and she gave me another two in an envelope for when I got home. She asked if my friend was going to stay the night with me and I lied and said yes. He did come back here and stay til midnight when I was going to bed so it wasn’t too much of a lie. The doc asked if I’d seen the psychiatrist lately and I said yes last week. She asked what was happening with my medication and I told her the Quetiapine (Seroquel) had to be increased by 50mg a week instead of a fortnight. She asked if I had increased it and I said I hadn’t had a chance to go and see my GP yet but would be seeing her before Wednesday as I’m on the last few days of my prescription. She asked several times if I was going to hurt myself again when I got home and I said no, I just wanted to sleep, I was exhausted. The 2mg of Lorazepam began to relax me a little and she said I could go home but urged me again to make sure I saw my GP asap.

So I finally left with my hand cleaned and dressed, a couple of extra Lorazepam and came home with male friend. We sat and watched some shit on the TV and I took my medication (at the increased Quetiapine dose). Not long after midnight I was getting really sleepy so male friend went home and I curled up on the sofa, put a deep relaxation track on iTunes and quickly fell asleep. I managed to stay asleep right through until 11am, the best sleep I’ve had for a while.

I’ve got a semi calm yet semi crazy head on. My thoughts are racing but not distressing. I don’t know what my plans are for today, I think some rest could be good but I can’t see that happening.

Deep breath and relaxxx.

21:53 – So today went something like this…

17 Apr


I woke up and seemed to be in a pretty irritable mood. Everything was annoying me and making me restless. I took my morning medication then took the dogs a walk. By 11am my head was off in crazy land, repetitive commands and remarks from Satan, just driving me mad. So I took 10mg of Diazepam to see if that would help. It didn’t.

By 1pm I was sitting here with all equipment necessary to self harm. I needed to get the ‘crisis’ feeling out of me. One hard sharp scratch and that would be it (I made this agreement with myself beforehand). I actually cut twice but one really was just a scratch. By 2pm I am still feeling crazy but have bandaged up my arm. Then I remembered the addictions nurse was coming at 2pm and I started to feel slightly better as I’d have someone to spill all my shit out to. It got to 2.30pm and she still wasn’t here so I phoned her. It is tomorrow she is coming[!]

She said I sounded down and asked if everything was OK. I told her I’d cut myself earlier but it was nothing deep or to worry about. Then she starts saying that if I don’t go and get medical attention to it then she will phone an ambulance because I didn’t seem to know what I was going to do next. I told her that a trip to A&E would just be wasting their time and I could deal with the wound at home. She still didn’t seem happy with this and so I finally agreed I would phone my mum and get her to take me to A&E.

Well I didn’t bother to phone my Mum because I knew it was fairly superficial and I’d just be patched up and sent on my way. It was one of the nice nurses who was on, a male one, he always helps lighten the mood. So I apologised to him but told him I hadn’t wanted an ambulance phoned over it. He was nice to me and chatted a bit. He looked at the wound and said it was actually pretty deep but he’d do his best to close it with glue and steri-strips then bandage it tight. His method seems to have worked 🙂

So just as I go to leave and say thank you he asks me if I could go back to the waiting room as he wanted me to chat to the doctor. I asked him if it was so he could do his “am I going to off myself” type of questions. He confirmed this was the case. I couldn’t be fucked with being asked if I was going to cut again tonight, if I was feeling suicidal, if I was a danger to myself. So instead of walking back to the waiting room I just left the hospital and came home. The second I walked in the door I took another 10mg Diazepam, that was 3 or 4 hours ago.

But nothing calmed down.

I acquired some Zopiclone from someone and took 2 x 7.5mg tablets around 7pm. By 8pm I was getting more crazy and less calm so I took 20mg Diazepam and 15mg Zopiclone. Just before I started writing this, about 9.30pm I was feeling a teensy bit calmer but the urges to self harm started up again. I battled with those thoughts for half an hour before completely giving up, going back to my little stash and taking the same as at 8pm.

So if my maths is correct, over the course of the day I have now taken: 60mg of Diazepam and 45mg of Zopiclone. I just want to knock myself out, not die. I just want today to be over. But no medication seems to want to help me dose off and the thoughts of cutting myself to shreds only seem to be getting louder. I just need it all to switch off for now. I still have a fair few pills stashed away but will try and give it a good hour before taking anything else. Clearly nothing wants to get rid of Satan and he fucking loves it, he knows I will go to crazy lengths to satisfy him.

p.s. It has now been 12 days since my CPA meeting and as I suspected all the plans and ideas on how to help me/see me/support me, were all just words on a piece of paper. I’ve heard from no one but the addictions nurse.

23:59 – Back from the hospital

23 Mar

I should maybe put a trigger warning on this post.

I self harmed tonight. Pretty badly. After I did it I realised I had no dressings of any kind and really couldn’t face A&E… my head was spinning and I was somewhat in shock at the extent of the injury I’d inflicted upon myself. Thanks to some helpful folks on Twitter I used some sanitary towels stuck around my leg to try and calm things down. But it continued to get worse and reluctantly I phoned a taxi and went to A&E.

The second I walked through the automatic sliding doors the anxiety that came over me took my breath away. I could feel myself both shaking and sweating and struggled to say the words “I’ve got a cut on my leg”. Thankfully it is before pub closing time so the A&E was very quiet and I got seen straight away. I mumbled something about it being a while since I was last there for self harm reasons and how I thought it needed a little bit of glue. When she took the sanitary towels dressing off she took one look at it and told me I needed stitches. It seemed to look even worse under her big light.

The nurse was trying to be so nice I have to give her credit where credit is due, she did her best to try and talk to me about what’s been going on lately but all I could mutter was that the voices were taking over everything. She was encouraging me to seek help on Monday, clearly my shakiness and sweating and inability to look at her was causing some concern. She sent the doctor in to see me whilst the local anaesthetic was taking effect. I mumbled the same to the doctor that the voices had just got too much tonight. They both asked me several times if I was likely to do it again tonight and I shook my head. Inside my head the voices were laughing that I was under the possession and control of the devil and I would do what he wanted, not what I wanted.

The nurse asked me to go back in on Sunday night when she starts at 9pm so she could check the stitches and see how long they should be left in for. And also to see how I was doing. I did my best to smile, muttered thank you to her for stitching me up, declined her offer of phoning me a taxi home as I needed fresh air before I passed out I was sweating so badly with anxiety.

So now I am home, the lidocaine is wearing off and the stitches are starting to sting a little. My head is very noisy so I have just taken my medication with the hope things will calm down so maybe I can get some sleep. I’m going to take the dogs a quick walk now before the numb stuff wears off completely.

There is a command being repeated over and over in my head. It’s making me quite scared that I backed down to the commands and self harmed, I don’t want  to be commanded into doing anything else 😦