Self-harm, suicidal and seizures, oh my…

Really, really shitty few days.

Seem to be having a mixed episode. This presents as not being able to sleep or concentrate at all, with the extra bonus of intense depression. W00t. Factor in several dozen seizures a day and I am struggling. Greatly.

Felt very unsafe these past few days. My partner was catching up with me on a walk yesterday and I almost jumped in front of a van. I wasn’t even really thinking about it, it was an impulsive urge that almost just happened.

I broke today. I couldn’t cope with the self hatred going round and round in my head. So I cried and cried and then I self-harmed. I think it’s only maybe the third time I’ve self-harmed this year.

Very grateful to my partner. Don’t deserve him, am an awful human.

Let’s hope tomorrow is a better day.


All the good stuff…

Wow these last few weeks have been tough.

Here are a few things that have happened:

  1. I told my parents I no longer wanted any contact or relationship with them – this is after years of despicable treatment and misery, so it’s a great thing, but it was stressful!
  2. I’ve started having seizures more often, and have been having 1-15 seizures a day…this sucks and means I’m tired and miserable
  3. My mood has been very very low, and the past few days I was battling some intense suicidal thoughts

I’ve lost a lot of days recently to a foggy, confused and sluggish brain. Seizure fun. Some days it will be about 10pm before I feel like myself and my head clears. The other day for example I couldn’t remember anything we had done all day, at all. I even forgot an entire dog walk we did.

Yesterday I had ZERO SEIZURES which was nice, although it was a tough day emotionally.

The suicidal drive is falling, today I’m doing better than I have in a long time.

Swings and roundabouts…or seizures and depression 😛



Hit me like a ton of bricks.

I can’t live anymore, I don’t deserve to live anymore, this isn’t a life.

I’m screaming and crying on the inside, but on the outside I can’t even talk. I look bored if anything. Gog asks me something; I shrug or shake my head. I can’t talk or let out any emotion, because I’ll break into a million pieces.

I think this is why nobody understands when I’m really ill, because I don’t show it…I’m not sat here in tears, or screaming…I’m blank. Closed off. In the past I’ve told social workers I feel desperate and suicidal, but they saw someone who looked okay and judged me on that.

I wish people understood.

I sat staring at a suicide prevention online chat for over an hour tonight, trying to work up the courage to talk to someone…I don’t deserve to talk to someone, I’d be wasting their time…I finally hit the ‘chat to someone’ button, but all the trained volunteers were busy. I suck at talking to people anyway.

Gog’s here so I’m not in danger, unless I planned and timed it all very well, but I don’t think he’ll leave me alone anyway now. He knows I feel pretty damn bad.

I’m just too tired to talk. I physically can’t get the words out.

I’m extremely depressed. I’m anxious. I have this burning self-hatred and I feel like I’m drowning…I’m not good enough to live. I’m not good enough to talk to Gog. I don’t love him enough. I don’t tell him he’s good enough. It’s my fault things go wrong; it was my fault our puppy hurt her leg. I deserve to feel like this. I don’t deserve help. I’m a lazy, selfish, horrible bitch. I am disgusting.

I’m being worn down. I’ve been worn down.

This blog is so eloquent and I’m such a mess, I don’t understand it. I feel like this blog reads how I look on the outside.

I’m not in danger, that’s not the worry here. I wish it was the worry, I wish I could act on this…not knowing how long this is going to last is possibly the worst thing.


I’m a fucking idiot

**trigs for suicide and overdose stuff**

Whenever I’m having a hard time, it feels like my brain’s solution to make things better is to make everything worse…

It’s been like this for as long as I can remember – when I was at Primary school I remember (accidentally) banging my head and going to the dinner lady in tears, who sent me away because there was no mark…I then decided to bang my head repeatedly until it was bleeding, and go back and insist my head hurt.

When my parents used to yell about how lazy and disgusting I was, I would cut the word ‘ugly’ onto my arm so I could never forget what I was.

Any times I’m badly psychotic and having warped thoughts, or if we’ve just found out we have no money because I spent it all whilst manic, my brain leaps to suicide as a solution to all problems.

I am a fucking moron.

Yesterday was a really tough day – I mean I’m in a low episode, so of course every day’s a slog, but yesterday was really bad.

The icing on the cake was when our puppy flipped out in her crate after she’d been doing so well with crate training, and I fell off the deep end.

I became somewhat hysterical, I was full of panic and rage, and I lost touch with reality…my brain was also speeding at 100mph even though I’m nowhere near manic.

I ended up overdosing when my partner took our puppy to the toilet, and because I knew I didn’t have long I was chugging whatever I could…it was by no means a suicide attempt, more an ‘I need to cope somehow I feel absolutely terrible, quick overdose!’

My brain thought it would be a really good idea.

I didn’t take enough that we thought I needed hospital, but I’m annoyed because I haven’t had a substantial overdose in years…it’s something I’ve been trying so hard to avoid and I’ve done everything I can not to do it.

When I feel that intensely bad, and especially when I’ve lost touch with reality, I don’t have any coping mechanisms.

Listening to music, reading, walking, colouring and playing video games are all fine when I feel ‘pretty bad but not terrible’…but when I’m at my worst, they don’t touch the sides. In fact a lot of them make me feel angrier or lonelier.

And that’s when I struggle.

I struggle not to swallow pills, or self-harm, or break my wrist…and the worst thing is, if I fight off the urges and manage not to follow any of them, I know I’ll end up feeling suicidal and battling a suicide attempt instead. So I just don’t know what to do.

My damn brain 😦

First of all it fucks things up with these stupid mood swings, and then it fucks me up by insisting that in order to make this situation better, all I need to do is make it worse….



Hello old friend

**self-harm triggers, nothing graphic but treat yourselves gently**

Another really shit day today.

Had a moment on a walk with our youngest dog where I just tilted my head back, looked through the trees at the blue sky, and just enjoyed it. Gog asked what I was doing, and I said “Right now I feel like I’m actually enjoying this, so I’m making sure to remember it because I know it won’t last”.

It didn’t last, but it was nice right then, right there.

I self-harmed for the first time in a long time today, the last time I self-harmed was probably over a year ago.

I first self-harmed when I was about nine years old, and between ten and twenty I self-harmed fairly regularly…from banging my head against walls to cutting myself to breaking bones, I used it as a coping mechanism. Self-harm has never been an addictive or worrying behaviour for me, rather it’s a tool that – if I need it – I will use.

After about twenty I just didn’t seem to do it as much, maybe because around that age I started dating Gog…he’s a legend 🙂

I’ve never been particularly worried about my self-harm, and neither has Gog. He was scared by it at first, but over the years we’ve come to accept it for what it is – it’s helped us through some very tricky times.

Today I was filled with anger, alongside the low mood. I was literally trembling with rage, and I was getting really cross at Gog.

I’d say “I can’t do this anymore, this isn’t a life!” To which he’d respond “I know, you’re right”, and then I’d yell “Then how can you make me live?! This is mental torture!”

I spent several hours trying to work through it or find solutions…I tried colouring, listening to loud music, walking a dog, writing down how I feel, sitting with my rabbit, watching my new sensory things (I’ll post about these later), blogging, eating…nothing was helping at all. The anger was building and so was the desperation.

So I self-harmed.

I didn’t think it would help, the idea of it wasn’t comforting…then I did it and I feel so, SO much calmer. You cannot understand how much better I feel 🙂

I was at rock bottom…now I am not craving suicide, and I’m not hating the world. Am I depressed still? Oh yeah, everything is a huge struggle. But I am here, blogging, and I’m not crying with misery anymore.

A lot of people can’t understand self-harm. I know a lot of people who hurt themselves describe it as ‘an addiction’ – something that gets worse and they need to do it more and more. As I said, it’s never been like that for me. I will use it every now and then, when I need to, but it’s a last resort and I don’t mind it at all.

I’ve had friends and professionals tell me not to do it…most don’t listen to my explanations (I had one social worker that did, and then agreed for me it could be a useful coping mechanism), in fact they usually say “think of yourself in the future, having to hide your arm forever because of scars!”

Well, I’ve been doing that since I was 14 anyway! I learned early on that self-harming came with repercussions, namely never being able to wear short sleeves around anybody, no matter how hot the weather is.

I’ve managed that for a dozen years now and it’s fine – annoying, yes, but I can live with it.

It also helps that Gog is someone I am 100% comfortable with, and who I can wear short sleeves around. It’s nice to wear short sleeves sometimes 😉


A long day at A&E

This morning Gog phoned up the nearby mental health service that’s supposed to be treating me.

He said that he called 111 a few days ago, and was told that psychiatrists should be able to do home visits. Gog said we needed a home visit asap, because we are really, really struggling.

The receptionist said the duty professional would call us back and, three hours later, they did. They said they couldn’t do home visits (not enough staff) and the only reason they would do home visits was if they were sectioning someone.

Gog explained appts were too hard for us atm, and they had no suggestions. The duty professional did say she could get me sectioned, which he declined.

Gog then phoned 111, who were really, really good yet again.

The man said we needed to go to A&E, and they would prescribe us medication to help. He said he would send us an ambulance out, because travel was too stressful, but Gog declined as the thought panicked me a lot, and we said we’d get a taxi.

We got a taxi to hospital and checking in at reception was horrible – the receptionist was very cold and not at all understanding, she also kept asking my partner to speak up about what was wrong with me and why we were there…my partner was having to practically yell that I was struggling with suicidal thoughts, and the woman in the queue behind was standing really close and just staring at me, it was absolutely horrible.

We were told to go sit in the waiting room.

I was feeling terrible. I felt like I was going to vomit because I was so scared, and I was trembling. I felt like everybody else was staring at me and whispering about me, and the lights in the hospital were so bright I had a really bad headache.

We waited for three hours and weren’t even seen by the triage nurse.

The emergency room was virtually empty, just us and three other people, and everyone else came and went.

After over three hours, we were seen by the triage nurse. Gog spoke for me because I was far too panicked by that point, and she said we’d have to be seen by a Dr who would then get Crisis Team to come and see us.

I was so terrified and overwhelmed at that point I told my partner I wanted to go home, and he went and asked the triage nurse if we could go home and see CRHT there. She said we’d have to wait to see a Dr, and then we could go.

A while later a Dr took us into a room and said “you don’t need to tell me everything again, I know it gives you anxiety. I will just go phone Crisis Team and then I’ll come back and let you know what is going to happen”. We were in the room with the Dr for less than 30 seconds.

The Dr left us in the waiting room and, half an hour later, he still hadn’t reappeared.

I was completely done; I was stressed to the max, I wanted to cry and, as we’d been out almost five hours, I was getting increasingly stressed about our dogs.

My partner went to look for the Dr we’d just spoken with, to either ask what was going on or tell him we were leaving. He couldn’t find the Dr anywhere, and when he asked a nurse she told us to go check ourselves out at reception.

We went to the receptionist and said we wanted to leave; we gave my name, date of birth, and she said we could go. My partner called a taxi on the free phone,  we waited for it, got in, and set off home.

When we got back my partner had several missed calls on his phone and an answer phone message. Upon listening to it, it seemed the hospital had called the police on me.

They’d told the police that I had escaped and that I was a danger to myself and planning to kill myself. They had patrol cars out searching for me near the hospital, and had been told to bring me in to be sectioned.

After a hellish day when I was already feeling like utter shit, I had just begun to de-stress…the knowledge that the police were coming to section me obviously didn’t help with that.

I have never felt so stressed and desperate in all my life.

My partner phoned the police and said I was safe. They wanted to talk to me on the phone (I am terrified of talking on the phone, I have been since I was a child). The police then wanted to send officers around to come talk to me and check I was safe – again, needlessly stressful and held the threat of me being sectioned.

My partner explained that we were just eating our tea, we needed to walk our dogs, and I’d had a highly stressful day and did not need it making worse. He explained we had told the hospital we were leaving, we had been told it was fine, and we were there of our own accord. I am perfectly safe when he is with me.

The person on the other end said the sergeant would call us back in five minutes.

Twenty minutes came and went. I was sat on the stairs rocking and trying to remember to breathe amidst the panic. My partner phoned the police back and asked what was happening, because we really needed to walk our dogs.

After an agonising wait the person on the phone said the log was closed, they were happy I was safe, they had told the hospital so and said that they should contact us themselves if they want to.

We have wasted hours and hours trying to get help today. We spent £40 of money we don’t have on taxis there and back.

We were ignored for hours on end in A&E. Nobody told us how long our wait would be or what was happening. We were made to wait in the main waiting room, where it was busy and scary and I was very distressed. When we decided to leave they then set the police on me and told them I needed to be sectioned.

I’ve never felt so low and scared, or threatened by the NHS.

I am broken. I am stressed and scared. I am sat here crying.

I do not want to try and get professional help again…


I can’t even give up

Somehow, my mood is getting worse.

I thought I was at rock bottom, but I guess I wasn’t. Surely I am now.

Last night Gog phoned 111 to ask about how we could go about getting help – I don’t want him to phone the place where we were supposed to have the appt with the social worker I hate. I don’t trust them and just thinking about the place makes my paranoia rocket and reduces me to tears.

Talking on the phone, 111 were again helpful.

They said a psychiatrist would come out and do a home visit if the travel to appts caused me great distress – this does indeed mean that our GP was bullshitting at our last appt.

They also told my partner that we could go to A&E at any point, even if it didn’t feel like it was an emergency. We have been told over and over to go to A&E and that we wouldn’t be wasting time.

At this point, I feel so fucking bad I would go to A&E.

The only things stopping me from going are that when we’ve gone in the past we have been treated like shit on the Dr’s shoes, it’s an absolute nightmare to get to, and I just don’t have the energy. I really don’t.

I was a wreck after Gog spoke to 111 last night.

I started panicking about appts and seeing social workers and psychiatrists again. I ended up swallowing as many pills as I could whilst Gog was out the room, various pain killers and some Abilify.

It wasn’t planned, I was just…I needed to do something. It was desperation to get everything to stop. If it was planned I could have done it all much better…

I’ve done dog walks today which I normally enjoy…the weather was good, the dogs rocked, the walks should have been nice, but I just felt numb and empty. I’ve had no enjoyment. Moments of true despair and unbearable pain; for the rest of the time, just numb.

Visual hallucinations still prominent. All sorts of visual hallucinations. Very tiring.

I need help but I can’t leave the house.

I need help but I have no trust in the services that are in place to help me, they’ve done nothing but fail me before and this time it won’t be any different.

I need help but I don’t trust the world.

I don’t need help, I just need it all to stop.