At this stage I’m still trying to piece together all that’s happened. What felt like a dream turned out to be reality. Fragments are there. Awaking briefly in the ambulance with a female ambulance officer and an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth. Drift out. Sitting on a hospital bed trying to put a hospital gown on and being told no by the nurses when I tried to put on my singlet underneath. Drift out. My aunt and my brother sitting beside me while I lay on the bed. Drift out. Staggering to the toilet in my groggy state, having to be assisted by a nurse as I was tripping over my feet trying to walk. The nurse remaining in the toilet while I attended to my needs to make sure I didn’t fall over. Her expressing her disapproval as she saw the self harm scars on my thighs. Drift out. Searching my bag for my water bottle in my confused state and being told by the nurse to stop, as there was none in there. I was fading in and out of consciousness. My fourteen year old brother later filled in some of the gaps for me. Like him receiving a call on the landline from St John Ambulance asking for me. Trying to wake me up, which he could not. Being told to turn me on my side and that an ambulance would be there soon. That I awoke when the paramedics arrived but had difficulty walking. That the male ambulance officer asked whether they should bring out the stretcher and the female replied, “Nah, she can walk.” I was surprised to discover I actually walked out of the house, though heavily assisted, and even more surprised to find I cannot remember any of it.
Third time in a period of less than a year ending up at the ED after an overdose. How did it get to this? The options are getting less and less, and more and more dire as it progresses. The first time I was sent home. The second time I was given the option of going home, being admitted to a public hospital or private hospital. This time…I don’t think I was given the choice of going home. I agreed to be admitted to a private hospital. “Do you need to be locked up?” the mental health nurse asked me. And I don’t think he was joking either, as he went on to further explain that to be admitted to a private hospital, you need to be able to keep yourself relatively safe. How did it get to this point, where it is questioned as to whether I need to be ‘locked up’?
My friends, family and relatives, they tell me they’ve been worried, some have been in tears. I don’t understand. And they don’t understand. So while my relatives tell me this, I stare stony faced at them. I can’t, and I don’t want to see the consequences of my actions. I just don’t understand. I don’t care about myself and fail to see the ‘big deal’ of having taken an OD. This is what, my tenth OD now? But to my grandparents and aunts, this is my second, and my having a mental illness is all very new to them.
Dr T came to see me yesterday on a Saturday. I was rather impressed. We talk of the root of my depression and of my family, relatives and past conflicts. I’m reminded of my beginning realisation of how much our childhoods actually impact on our futures. I’ve also been switched back to Lexapro.
Today I still find myself up and down. It’s when I find myself alone with my thoughts that I feel the worst. I’m still flirting with the idea of trying to off myself again once I’m home. Having thoughts of walking out of here, running away. Trying to hang myself or OD somehow, here on the ward. Except, I’m too much of a wuss to do any of those things. Plus I don’t want the threat of being locked up to become a reality. And so I just cry. And want to die. And feel stuck within myself. My nurse this morning made me promise to keep myself safe whilst on her shift. Righto, does that make it okay so long as it’s not on your shift then?
I’ve told my Uni friends I’m in a mental health clinic and have agreed to them visiting me at some point. I’ve never been this open about my mental health issues before. Am I making the right decision? I’m not too sure.
My parents return home from overseas early tomorrow morning. I face this with fear and trepidation. I’m worried, very worried about their reaction and what they will say.
The question going round and round in my mind is, ‘How did it get to this point?’ I’m still getting my head around the idea that I will be in here about a couple of weeks.