Seething self-hatred. I did it again.

I am full of guilt and self-loathing because, yet again, I couldn’t resist the urge to ‘act out’. I feel like a total f**king moron; a self-obsessed, pathetic failure. There are so many people who go through struggles in life without resorting to the kind of melodramatics I displayed on Tuesday.

My new meds are not working. I’ve been on the Brintellix for five weeks now, and all I’ve felt are side effects. I have noticed that, if anything, my mood has become generally worse and less stable. My self-destructive thoughts have increased and my behaviour has got more impulsive. I have no inclination to take better care of myself, I’ve not gained any of the motivation my psychiatrist assured me I would get from being on this drug.

A lot of painful stuff came up in therapy on Tuesday. I’m not sure what was really happening for me, other than a lot of sadness and loneliness. I cried a little bit, which doesn’t happen very often. And I did get some comfort from being with J while those feelings were around. I feel like that’s the only time I am not completely frightened of my feelings; when I’m with J I have this confidence that she can somehow keep me safe from what I feel.

But then I had the same problem I always have when therapy takes me to an especially vulnerable or painful place; I can’t cope with those feelings when I leave. I’ve taken an overdose straight after therapy before, because I just couldn’t tolerate the force of what had come up in a session. Even though J gets me talking about ‘here and now’ stuff before I walk home, the emotional stuff doesn’t close down that easily.

This is what happened on Tuesday. I’d been having suicidal thoughts for a few days. I brought this up during the session, but maybe I didn’t make it clear enough that it wasn’t just a passing thought. I wasn’t merely fantasising – I was planning. I didn’t tell J that. But I did talk about why I was thinking about death again. I suppose I talk about it so often that there is no way for J to tell whether I am at risk or not.

When the session finished, I left J’s and walked around for a while, making different plans in my head. I decided I would buy something good to drink and head to a secluded place to down it and all the pills I had in my pocket. As I walked into the supermarket, I realised that this plan could very likely succeed. I realised I didn’t want the certainty of it. I also didn’t want the police out looking for me, which is what’s happened the past when I’ve gone missing. It is incredibly embarrassing.

I talked myself down and went home, but I’d already had a fair bit to drink and had taken a few Lorazepam. So when I got home, my judgement was impaired. I knew I should call out, but I was too ashamed. I even dialled the Samaritans, but couldn’t bring myself to say anything. When my wife got home, I was in bed, crying and could only tell her I wanted to die.

Then, when she went to call the mental health crisis team (what I’ve been told we should do in this sort of scenario) I did something really shitty. I took a load of Quetiapine that I had beside the bed. So while she was desperately begging an unsympathetic call handler to help her keep me safe, I was in the other room doing exactly what she was most scared of. I can’t forgive myself for that.

The crisis team were as crap as they always are. They wouldn’t send anyone to the house, but said we had to go to a support centre called the ‘safe haven’ to get help. Apparently there would be a CPN there who could assess me. So accessing help in this kind of crisis relies on a person being able to get up and out of the house and make their way to one of these places. It requires walking into a strange place full of strange people and declaring that you want to kill yourself. I can’t believe that anyone thinks this is acceptable.

The walk in centre was a shithole of a place. Low ceilings, low lighting, tatty furniture and a lot of drug addicts hanging around. Don’t get me wrong, the drug addicts were nice enough, but they seemed to be there for more of a social event than to get urgent care. They were rowdy, laughing and joking together. They all knew each other.

It was likely the effect of the drugs I had overdosed on, but I felt utterly paranoid. It seemed like everyone was staring at me and talking about me. I felt like I had no control at all over what was happening. I couldn’t stand up. I couldn’t stay conscious for more than about 5 seconds at a time. When people spoke to me, I could hear them but I couldn’t respond. My words just came out as slurred noises. It was so frightening.

On top of that, my body was having some kind of response to the medication and I was having these horrible muscle spasms. My wife repeatedly asked the staff if we should stay to see the CPN or go to the hospital. They all said I would receive better care if we stayed for a psychiatric assessment. Eventually, we saw the nurse. He quickly realised there was no point trying to ask me anything. I was getting increasingly distressed by my physical symptoms and the fact that I couldn’t make myself understood, and he sent us straight to the hospital.

I felt traumatised when I got home. Despite being inebriated, I could remember it all, and in particular the sense of helplessness. I had a fitful sleep, because I kept dreaming about what had happened, waking with the relief that it was just a dream, only to notice the ECG stickers on my body and the needle marks from the hospital. It happened every time I fell asleep, and each time evoked panic, relief and then dread. Dread at the realisation I had done it again. Dread that the horrible dream was real.

It’s hard to move on from this. It was hard to see J on Wednesday and confess that it had happened again. It’s hard that my wife is so worried about me and is scared for me to be alone. It’s hard to feel as though I have broken her trust and let her down. I know hating myself isn’t useful, but I just can’t help it right now.

Photo: Carolyn Saxby, Creative Commons.


9 Comments Add yours

  1. Just the fact that you were bold enough to share this with others who may be going through similar mental trauma makes me hope that you forgive yourself soon for something that you know is not your fault. Thank you for your willingness to share what you go through without pulling any punches. It’s important.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Laura says:

      Thank you for that. I do know on some level that it isn’t my fault. I just can’t help the deep sense of shame and guilt. It’s like a heavy dread and the thought of not knowing myself. It’s good to have the chance to be open about it here.


  2. bethanyk says:

    When meds I take make things worse and make symptoms worse and make my reactions worse then I reconsider them. Just sharing my experience. When I have had this happen or I get manic, I know this is just not the right med for me.
    I’m so sorry you are feeling so badly.
    I’ve been working on putting the hate where it really belongs. At the feet of others. They may not take it back, what they have dished out and they may not even know I have layed it back at their feet but I’ve been going person to person and visualizing putting it back on them. I don’t want it any more. Thinking of you and hoping your day gets better


    1. Laura says:

      I’m really glad you’re giving back the hate. Maybe I am not ready to let mine go yet. I don’t know. I am seeing my Dr on Tuesday and will be discussing the meds with him then. I’m just scared that another change of drugs will destabilise me further and result in more of the harmful behaviour. It’s hard to know what to do. Thank you for your kind thoughts x


      1. bethanyk says:

        I’m so sorry you are going through this. I hope your Dr will have some thoughts.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. I’m so sorry to hear that things have got to this point again for you. It sucks that this medication hasn’t lived up to the expectations of your doctor (and let’s be clear here, it is the medication which has failed, and not you) and that there is so much uncertainty about the best way to manage your current symptoms.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Laura says:

      Thank you. The guess work in psychiatry is so frustrating. I am really nervous about seeing my Doctor on Tuesday. It’s difficult to be open minded about what he’s going to come up with next.


  4. Kat Jayne says:

    Thank you for being brave and vulnerable and sharing this. My thoughts are with you and your wife. Just one day at a time, just one day at a time.

    Liked by 1 person

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