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.