Tag Archives: overdose

Protected: 02:38 – A bit of an explanation

24 Oct

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20:11 – They think you’re crazy and you no longer care

22 Apr

I’ve got some random shizzle to write down, my head is a bit all over the place tonight so this might be a bit jumbled up. I was just reading back over the post I made in the middle of the night wondering if I had taken a small overdose or if it was some sort of a dream. I didn’t think much about it at the time as I seemed to be quite annoyed that I was awake at such an hour. So I took a couple of Diazepam with a few mouthfuls of wine and I dozed back off again until 10am. Earlier, I had a look to see what I’d actually taken. There were three empty strips next to the wine bottle, Diazepam, Zopiclone and Quetiapine. I went to check on my little ‘stash’ of emergency meds and sure enough the spare strips that had been in there were gone. I know it wasn’t a suicide attempt, I know I wasn’t in that frame of mind, I think I just sought peace and peace I got as I worked out I must have slept from around 7pm to 4am then about 5am to 10am. So yes, about 14 hours of peace and it won’t be long before I take tonights medication and hopefully get my head into the right mindset.

Moving on from last night and a couple of hours ago I decided I should force myself to go to the supermarket. I kept my head down and didn’t let anyone have eye contact with me. As I was leaving I could see my Mum coming towards me. This sounds so awful but if I could have somehow hidden I would have, because the first question out her mouth is “how are you?” to which I always reply “I’m fine” and then she has to expand it out a bit with “what have you been up to for the past week?” and I never know how much to tell her.

These days I seem to just tell her everything, people tell me it’s better to be honest with people so they can help you and stuff. So I showed her my tattoo and told her I self harmed again and that the nurse hadn’t been happy with me yesterday for my pentagram carving. So now she knows about this recent A&E trip as well.

She started to say something about how she wishes she could wave a magic wand and make me be able to see that these “voices aren’t real”. Err, yes they are Mum. Sorry but they are. And they control far more than anyone will ever know. They are/He is a part of me now whether I like what is being said or not.

So anyway, I was pretty off with my Mum and started to walk away saying I had to get home, she was looking at me strangely. She said I looked tired. I told her I was.

The thought very briefly ran through my head of ‘what must she think of me?’ but it passed in seconds. Ultimately I know that I am right and yes when I’m stressed out everything comes out as a big mumble jumble but when it’s just me and him our conversations make a lot of sense. So it wasn’t something I stressed over even when I saw her getting back into the car where my Dad was waiting and pointing to her arm as she started talking. Clearly telling him about my cutting.

What must they think?

Who really cares?

So long as I know the truth that’s all that really matters, right? I have another task that I should get started on but right now I’m still psyching myself into the right mindset. The mindset must be just perfect.

11:24 – I’ve been a bad/stupid girl

11 Jan

Yesterday was somewhat fucked up. I went to see CPN woman and told her that I was not listening to a word she was saying, that I was ‘sick to death of her sounding like a broken record’ and that if I wanted to spend the night at the cemetery sitting in wet mud then I could. None of her fucking business what I do. So she starts the “in what way do you want to be with your son?” – in other words was I going to top myself… I told her the truth, that I would decide how I felt when I got there. My mum had arrived by this point and again the pair of them wankered on about me needing a safety plan for that evening. I got too fucked off and just stood up and quietly walked out leaving my Mum and CPN woman sitting there.

I got a text from Mum saying if I wasn’t in contact with her by 5pm or something then she would phone the police herself. What the fuck is so wrong with people that they can’t just leave me to die in peace? OK, I know the answer to that, if I really wanted to die I would take a hell of a lot more pills and not tell a soul. Anyway the text resulted in me going out and buying 30 loose amitriptyline and 15 x 10mg diazepam. I was feeling paranoid as fuck thinking people would be out looking for me.

Came home, took the pills, got my jacket on and bag in my hand. I was all set to go off on my long walk to the cemetery when something made me ring the CPN. I think it was the fear of the police, that they would come to my door and, I don’t know, kick it in or something and I would be caught taking the pills. Ugh I don’t know things still don’t mean a great deal of sense.

I spoke to CPN woman on phone and told her what I’d taken. She said she would either phone an ambulance or my GP and asked me to pick one so I said my GP. But an ambulance turned up and I kept apologising for wasting their time but they were really nice to me. My stats were a bit all over the place for a while but stabled out, the nurses in A&E were a load of bitches who kept making little comments to each other about how much of a “regular” I was in the department. Even the little guy (who looks about 12 but is apparently a doctor) was being a sarcastic cunt with his tone when he said “hello again”.

I was moved by ambulance to the main hospital because they said the amitriptyline could fuck your heart and I had to be monitored for 24 hours – really I think they knew that after forcing me to drink a full bottle of activated charcoal (the most vile stuff on earth) and putting various needles in and stuff, that I was physically OK. But moving me to the main hospital killed two birds with one stone and made sure I could be both physically and mentally assessed.

Barely slept, only got out for one smoke, asked the doctor this morning if I could sign something to discharge myself. She said she wanted me to see the psychiatric liaison officer to decide if I’m safe to go home or need to be in hospital. Well I must have seen their psych officer at least three times now and every one of them has resulted in a trip to the looney bin. So, I thought fuck that. It was just past 8am this morning and I said I was going out for a fag but took my whole bag with me. I just walked and walked until I finally reached the destination I wanted to be at and even felt calm despite being on public transport that I couldn’t escape from, my agoraphobia did me proud.

I phoned Mum and told her I’d left the hospital, she wasn’t best pleased and started going on about how the police would be out looking for me and all this nonsense. I told her I had already been missing 30 minutes, they knew my phone number and address, they knew which direction I would have been heading in, so I’m sure they could have found me easily enough had they wanted to!

So here I am again, seeing signs, looking for signs, trying to ignore signs. I’m still feeling a bit all over the place but I think that’s mainly the lack of sleep and the adrenalin kicking in at the same time. So I think I’ll go for a snooze then go and see if my GP has been kind enough to write up my prescription. I wonder if I will be put on daily meds now. I don’t think I could handle that, knowing I had to go out every single day.

So yes I’ve been a bad girl or stupid girl whichever you want to call it. I’ve ran away from the hospital so I didn’t have to see the psych liaison officer so I could avoid the possibility of being sectioned. I still have the fucking wristband on and the cannula in my arm. I just couldn’t chance him putting me back in the looney bin, I’m not that bad yet am I? All I want is to see my baby again.

10:38 – And how do you feel today MCBL?

10 Jan

Well I’ve been awake for a few hours and I still feel fucked. I think I got more than a couple of hours sleep but my head aches and I probably only slept one or two hours undisturbed each time. I can feel temptation lurking at the back of my mind, trying to drive me into doing something.

I am supposed to be seeing CPN at 1pm but I really cannot be fucked with listening to all the areas where I didn’t use my crisis plan and what bits I could have used to avoid all of yesterday. Fair enough, she will make some valid points, but equally she isn’t me and doesn’t walk in my shoes. And sometimes things are just too fucking advanced to even know what my crisis plan is.

My little bag remains packed on the floor next to me with 3 tops, 1 pair of pj’s, a pair of jeans and some underwear. I have no money at all but feel the need to be with my angel so the plan of today is to pop in and see what CPN is going to annoy me with then walk to the little one’s stone and sit with him while I take my stash. I genuinely don’t want another person who is at the cemetery paying their respects to be the ones to find me but hopefully by then it will be raining even harder so no one will be around.

How do I feel today? Well, I don’t know what I hope to achieve by doing this. Is it death? Yes quite possibly. Is it the need to be somehow close to my angel? Yes. Is it because I believe the signs? Yes. Have I seen any more signs? Two, one of which is questionable even I can admit. Why the fuck haven’t I just done it all yet? Because part of me is scared. The last time I took a serious OD I was not far from death and I could hear numbers and words that made me know things were getting serious. And I’m scared of going through that again, I’m scared I think I’ve taken enough but haven’t and end up in that horrible trapped place in the middle of life and death.

I really don’t know which way to turn now.


13:05 – Running away from the hospital

2 Nov

I better put a trigger warning here – self harm stuff below.


Yesterday was pretty horrendous for me. I was feeling extremely low with constant noise inside my head, being instructed on what to do next. I managed to distract myself on Monday night on Twitter but then I wrote the post below about wanting to cut my throat…I managed to avoid doing it that night…but then yesterday morning things just got worse and worse. By lunch-time I couldn’t take it anymore and went for the stanley knife box. Standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom and holding the blade against my neck was sending the fucking weirdest of rushes through my body. Fear maybe? I don’t know. All I know is I made one quick cut and watching blood drip down my neck scared the shit out of me. I went for the second cut and my hands were shaking, my head screaming at me to do it but I couldn’t. I was a coward and in anger cut deep and hard, aggressively, on my arm. Then I broke down in tears.

I phoned my social worker. I phoned my Mum. This was me in some sort of way trying to follow my crisis plan. Mum came round and I was in floods of tears, nothing was making sense, all I could say to her was that I was a failure, a shit daughter, they would all be better without me being here. All I do is cause stress to everyone. I needed to die and leave them all to live their lives. I needed to be with my baby again.

Social worker turns up not long after and brings a CPN with her. They look at my arm and decide I need to go to a&e. We go to a&e with me saying over and over again that I was coming straight back home afterwards, no hospitals, not this time. I never want to go back up into that place. Been there done it and worn the t-shirt too many times now. So in a&e I’m asked do I want it sutured or glued and steri-stripped. Funnily enough it was starting to hurt like a bastard and I opted for my usual – glue.

But then social worker tells me the doctor wants to speak to me. Alarm bells go off in my head. All I can hear is the voices screaming at me get the fuck out of there, they will section me, then the voices laughing because I was being weak, I was letting them keep me sitting there, I was letting them (all three of them) tell me I had to comply to a safety plan. I didn’t want to comply to anything I just wanted to go home. They said I had too many blades and pills to come home and be safe. They didn’t want me to come home. Social worker saw I was getting worked up and asked if I wanted to go and have a cigarette and calm down. I jumped at the chance and the second I was out the main doors I ran.

It’s funny how unfit I can feel when I’m carrying a week’s worth of shopping up a few flights of stairs but when you know you have to get away, when the voices are egging you on screaming run faster run faster I seemed to have endless energy. I was sweating like mad but I didn’t care I just kept going. I must have covered 3 or 4 miles over the next hour or so, hiding, voices telling me the police would be looking for me, everyone would be looking for me, they would all know I was running, even total strangers. Finally I stopped running and tried to think where I could go. I couldn’t go home, they would find me there. Then I thought of a friend that nobody knew where she lives and went there, grabbing a bottle of wine en-route. She let me hide out in there for a couple of hours and after a couple of glasses of wine I used her phone to call my Mum and let her know I was safe. She told me that social worker had tried to get the police to look for me but they refused because I hadn’t been detained. It was then I knew it was safe to come home.

So I raided the cupboards collecting every item of medication that I could – why am I such a hoarder? – until I had what I considered to be as close to a fatal combination as I could get. Then I started popping the pills whilst crying my eyes out again. Sitting with my photo album on my lap just looking at all my memories and crying and swallowing. The voices telling me I was doing the right thing, my heart telling me I was going to completely destroy my parents if I ended my life. The voices laughing saying no one will even notice I’m gone. I exhausted myself half way through all my pills and through all the tears and just sat back for a moment, trying to get a grip of the situation. All I could see was a perfect window of opportunity, the dogs were at my Mum’s, no one would find me, this was my chance just to do it and be at peace once and for all. But I kept seeing my Mum’s face in my head and everything went so fucked up.

I cried myself to sleep.

I did speak to social worker late last night. She said she was going to get me an appt to see Mr Psychiatrist today but I told her there was no point as I would be dead. She said she was going to trust me that I wouldn’t be dead because deep down she knows I don’t want to die. I’m not sure that’s true. If I have to live like this then yes I definitely want to end my life but it’s the pain and suffering I would cause others (this is my rational mind talking now) that stops me going too far. If I could live voice-free and build a life for myself again then yes, of course I want to live. But it’s been so many years now, too many years of feeling this way and nothing ever changes for long. Everything I try I fail at or screw up.

It’s now past 1pm and I haven’t heard from social worker about any appointments even though she said she’d phone in the morning. Maybe she thinks I am dead. I wish I was because I feel dreadful, I’ve vomited a couple of times this morning and just feel extremely anxious at the moment because I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I am a disgusting mess, it’s now Wednesday and I haven’t showered since Saturday. I can’t find the energy nor see the point to being clean, being disgusting and filthy is how the voices want me to remain because it’s what I deserve. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, I’m definitely not phoning them because I am convinced if I see Mr Psychiatrist they are going to section me but equally I have ran out of medication and am supposed to be increasing my Olanzapine dose today. The voices are out of control and sending me out of control. I want to cut, I want to pop every remaining pill but my anxiety is so bad I’m shaking at the thought of it.

What happens now? I have no idea.

Hospital Diary 1 of 10 (from 7th September)

25 Sep

I know whilst I was in the looney bin recently that I uploaded some short posts here and there, but I had my notebook in with me and used it as my blog. So here are the few posts I wrote in there; starting from when I went in, and finishing on the day I came home. Some of them are pretty long… but I’m sure you’re all used to that with me anyway! Yeah just remember they are written back to front so I am still alive!


So my net is down and my phoneline has been cut off and now my mobile as well. Just as well we still have such things as pen and paper! It’s just as well that I get some of my benefits money tomorrow so I can sort them all out. That is, of course, if there is another tomorrow. Yep the suicidal feelings are back and I can’t take these severe low moods. I thought taking a break from blogging would make me force myself to do more in my days and give me less time to dwell on the huge urge I currently have to off myself. 

Part of me want’s to go up to my little one’s stone and end my life there, with him. I feel awful to say that. How completely selfish and unnecessary of me. I also feel bad because I borrowed some money off my mum saying it was for sensible things like dinner and (not so sensible) cigarettes. Really, I bought blues. 10mg Diazepam. Valium. Whatever name you want to call them. I bought 15 of them and took seven of them over the course of last night, then as soon as I got up today I called him for another 15. So now I have 23 of the street bought ones to accompany my tiny prescribed dose tonight. I know they don’t kill you, in fact I can’t find one report anywhere that says diazepam was the main cause of someone’s death. It’s a break that I need. A break from myself.

I think I feel even worse because I felt as though my social worker (she called earlier) and when she was speaking there was just something in her tone that made me think that she no longer wants to work with me or has given up. I got angry because it takes me so long to build up a new therapeutic relationship with someone and my head felt crazy and I thought she was the right person to turn to but now there is talk of me having a CPN again and I don’t think I want that.

It really doesn’t matter anyway because I don’t intend on being here tomorrow. I’ve truly had enough. I cannot express how much of a failure I am and I just can’t go on feeling this way any longer. I don’t want to do it at home purely on the off chance that someone sees me or something like that. Then again I don’t suppose anyone would go into panic mode for at least a week of not hearing from me as they know how much of an unsociable bastard I am. Then I go back to thinking about doing it at the cemetery but then I wouldn’t want some grieving individual, visiting their loved one, and then finding my disgusting body. No I couldn’t do it to someone… and then I have to do it, so I’m stuck right now.

The final choice is taking as much medication as I can get my hands on and driving to the middle of nowhere, leave the car and go hide in some woodland and do it there. I’m sure I’d find somewhere that felt like the ‘right’ place to do it. So the plan at the moment is to take three blues (leaving myself 20) so I can get a little sleep and then tomorrow: 20x10mg diazepam, 8 sominex/promethazine, and a strip of 200mg quetiapine that I accidentally got more of than I needed a few weeks back. So that’s another 2800mg of seroquel/quetiapine/whatever we’re calling it at the moment. Definitely not a suicide attempt despite the suicidal feelings, just a VERY long sleep and break needed from life. The one good thing that I have noticed is that the over the counter sominex are also an anti-emetic so I shouldn’t waste any of the tablets by throwing up.

Surely you can’t make a proper plan anyway without including all the tiny details. And yet whilst it’s not a suicide plan as such I find myself wanting to write here that if anyone ever reads this then they need to know these aren’t just fleeting thoughts that I can hit the ‘switch off’ button on. God how I wish I could. The only one place I want to be is Heaven, in the place where I know my baby is, to join him and watch down over you all and smiling the biggest smile you would have ever seen ‘cos my baby would be safe in my arms, just where he should be. I might not have been able to give him love on Earth but I sure as hell can do it in Heaven. Thinking about being with him makes me feel warm inside and it’s not that I feel cold when I think of the people I do have here on Earth. Don’t get me wrong I love my parents so so much, and my brother, and my Grandma and cousins and aunts and uncles and my best friend and my two ‘adopted’ nephews. Of course I’d miss them all. I love every single one of them in their own way and I know everyone mentioned loves me back in their own way. Sorry people but on further thought I think my two little dogs have to be up there near the top of lists of loves!  It is them really who keep me alive more than anyone or anything else. 

Maybe I’m greedy or selfish but all of that love I’ve just mentioned, even when combined, still doesn’t match the love I feel for my little angel son. Maybe that’s the one way my parents might understand – the love they have for me, the way a parent says they would die for their kids – but in reality can I cause them so much pain? I’ve been writing about this same stuff for almost two years now and still haven’t came to the correct answer for me.

When that little life is so cruelly snatched away from someone, instinct tells you that you need someone to blame, your body and mind tell you that something is very wrong indeed, and there is just this huge empty void left in that place that makes you feel warm, happy and content. I need to fill that void and no job or hobby or even another baby will fill that hole. Yes, it was slightly easier when I was with the ex; having the distraction of the wedding and a new house did help life partly mould itself into some sort of shape that I could cope with. People had hope. No, I will rephrase that. *I* had hope. People will still say there is hope now, but that’s their hope not mine. I don’t have any. They cling to another hope that I will find some hope of my own. 

To those who know me: Shit, what do I do if this overdose thing actually works? I’d need to put the dogs in another room, I couldn’t let them see me die. I know this is going to hurt people but I’m so so sorry, it’s the only cloud with the silver lining that I can find. Look at it like this, I live so you don’t have to hurt. Living to me is just existing until I reach an acceptable age to off myself. All I can say is make sure I am cremated. I want you to have some of my ashes if that’s what you would like. I’d like some to be buried in next to the little one and some sprinkled over both our resting places. Maybe you could carry a tiny bottle’s worth in your bag and when you find somewhere one day that makes you think I would love it then just sprinkle me right there, right then. You will know when it’s right. 

Oh and if possible could you put a little plaque next to the little one’s stone with “mother and son together again” written on it. 

Shit this really is starting to sound like I’m thinking of every eventuality, this was meant to be a fill in blog post and it’s been 8 notebook pages so far! I think I will be writing them all one at a time! I’m just trying to explain but maybe I’m trying to explain the unexplainable. I’m trying to paint the picture of my life from my eyes, of inside my head as it’s the only place I can come to a definite conclusion. 

Last year when I was in the looney bin I made a promise to my parents that I would never commit suicide and put them through the same pain that I feel. How can I say that I want to die to be in another land with my son and somehow use that line of ‘a mother’s love’ to justify it all? But my parents are hopeful people – the are the optimists and I am the pessimist – but you know that’s how my life has taught me to be. People ask me about things that could happen in the future – ‘don’t you want to meet a nice man? maybe have that little cottage with it’s little garden that you dream of? maybe one day you will be well enough to complete one of these courses that you start and then drop out of?’

It’s all about their hope, everyone else’s, but not mine.

And yes, I know people will say shit like ‘oh she was just turning 30, what a waste of a young life, blah de blah’ but you know something, in these 30 years I feel as though I have lived so many more years than what I have. Oh wait, another person’s question – ‘she needed a distraction, don’t you think?’ – after all, distraction is the key and all that jazz. 

Black and white thinking. All or nothing. Extremes. 

Pretending to be happy whilst constantly thinking about dying. Voices running through my head every second which I’m awake, reminding me of my failure status. My one and only dream would be to one day find a miracle lady who would surrogate for me and give me what I just can’t give myself. When I was pregnant my parents brought down a pine swinging crib, it was mine when I was a baby and still in perfect condition. It sat there all ready for my little one, everything was so perfect. Now my only ‘real’ hope is that one day I will meet a surrogate who can bring some of my dreams to life. I watched a program on surrogacy recently and one of the women even used her own egg’s because she was so desperate to give this couple a baby of their own. Would that happen for me one day? 

How will I know if I don’t stick around? I guess I won’t. But what I do know is this: if I *do* go, then I’ve gone with a smile on my face.

Bye for now all xxx

P.S. I did (at some point after writing this) end up taking all of the pills and ending up in hospital.

(Next entry will be the one I wrote on Sunday 11th September around 3pm in the hospital – I’ll write it up later)

10:50 – looney bin

10 Sep

Well guys I know I said I was having a break from blogging but stuff has happened so thought I’d fill you in. Wednesday I was taking diazepam throughout the day – not with the intention to off myself – just for some peace. Thursday I was a mess, a big mess. I bought diazepam took 30x10mg and a box of 8 promethazine. Social worker told parents to go to my flat. I was then taken to local hospital then ambulanced to main hospital. Had psych liaison assessment then was ambulanced 3 hours to where I am now – the looney bin. Not sectioned as yet, that awaits me on Monday morning. So that’s where I’m at, who knows how long for this time round. Very very upset and extremely anxious. Want out of here and fast.

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Protected: 16:32 – overdose #2 that did fuck all

15 May

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Protected: 15:32 – overdose that did fuck all

14 May

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Protected: 11.20 Overdosed last night

12 Dec

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