The last twelve days
Parents, family and close friends may not wish to read this entry. In fact, I wouldn’t blame anyone for not reading this. I just have to write it to get it out of my system.
I took every tablet in the house that I could get my hands on, cut into my wrists with a pair of scissors because the knife I tried to use didn’t work, and then attempted to open the wounds with a saw because the scissors were taking too long. I didn’t feel any pain (the theme to M.A.S.H. comes to mind) but I must have been in some because I blacked out before I could do any major damage.
When I woke up, I called an ambulance. They arrived a few minutes later (the ambulance station is a three minute drive from my house) and took me to the hospital, where I was immediately informed that I couldn’t leave until I had been assessed by a psychiatrist. I nodded when asked if I understood because I was too busy vomiting to actually speak. Then a load of trainee nurses attempted to get some blood out of me, giving me three large and nasty bruises on my arm in the process. To be honest, that was the least of my worries.
My mother and sister rushed down from Durham to see me. Jennifer’s mother arrived before them and stayed with me for most of the day, right into the evening. She was amazing and I really have to thank her for her support. Jennifer came as soon as she could (she was in Scotland with work when she found out). She cried, we argued a little because both of us were upset, then she left.
Jen, my Mother and my sister all then went through my accounts, the files in my office and everything else in the house to work out what had caused me to do this. They found all sorts, every problem I’d been bottling up over the last year came to a head and they set about making a plan to resolve it all. Meanwhile, I spent most of the first day laid in hospital, vomiting and sleeping then doing it all over again.
The next day, they confronted me with all the problems and we had to have A Talk. It was almost like an intervention, only I wasn’t on alcohol or drugs. Instead, I had to explain to them the problems I have been battling against because of my mental illness. Then the psychiatrist finally arrived and I had to explain everything to him as well, going right back to the first time I did massively stupid things like tried to fight crime, believing I was invulnerable to harm.
Yes, you read that right. If anyone wants to know why bipolar people aren’t allowed to serve on juries, read that last sentence again.
Anyway, he eventually confirmed the diagnosis I had been given earlier in the week and said I could go home because although I had made a concerted effort to kill myself (no “cry for help” here), it was clear that my mind was back to functioning normally and I presented no danger to myself of others. Besides, as he put it, I would go “stir crazy” if put on a psych ward for observation because my “intellect requires stimulus” and psych wards are stimulus-free zones in order to maintain calm.
So I went home, where I had to face Jen and my Dad (who I thought was going to be angry with me for scaring Mum and my sister so much but he was actually incredibly kind and understanding). We had Long, Serious Talks and aired all the family history in order to make sense of what has been going on. Then, once plans were in place to sort out the mess I had made, we sat down to talk like a family again.
Now, two weeks later, the wounds are healing nicely but I may end up with some scars. The mental health team visits every few days to make sure I’m doing okay and to let me talk over any problems but I think they are going to reduce their number of visits per week now I’m getting back on my feet. Mum phones almost every night, which still makes me sad because it’s yet more evidence of how much I hurt her, but at least she can tell that I’m doing okay.
As a result, I am getting my life back on track after a year of sheer hell. Stress, illness, moving house, financial worries and general mental illness all conspired to push me over the edge, but my loved ones caught me before I fell too far to be brought back.
I will always be grateful to them for that.
Tags: bipolar, hospital, illness, mental illness, suicide
