Death. Suicide. Self harm.
The year that was supposed to be a fresh start for almost everyone.
“New Year, New Me”
Everyone was ready to start their New Years Resolutions. Ready to start their diets, ready to pack up the cigarettes and ready to transform themselves into something different, like some kind of life sized human caterpillar, ready to form into their cocoons, turn into caterpillar soup and then blossom into a beautiful butterfly!
Come on, it doesn’t take a genius to know that most New Year Resolutions last no longer than a week.
But whatever, do you, boo boo.
Anyway, I thought I’d write a new blog post after how ever long it’s been (ironically, my New Years Resolution was to blog more..) and explain how my year has been going.
Honestly, I thought it may hold something decent.
It had been a year since my mum died, which obviously was as hard as expected, but overall, all of the ‘firsts’ were over and done with, so it was a lot easier to know that things were going forward, moving on.
The first 2 months, I don’t really remember, I was still working on getting moved into my new flat, (which still looks like a fucking tip) so from what I remember, I was pretty occupied.
Forward into March, this is where shit starts to hit the fan.. It was the first year of my Mum not being here on the 24th which was hard, but overall I think I dealt with things pretty well After all, I’d already been there, done that and got the t-shirt to prove it when I lost my Dad.
Fast forward a few days to the 31st, my Dad’s Birthday but also one of the most heart wrenching experiences I’ve had aside from becoming an orphan. The one thing that was holding me together, giving me some hope and joy out of my what seemed pretty shitty life had to be put to sleep. My pony, Hunny.
Now, some people who are reading this will be thinking “it’s just a pony”, but to me, she wasn’t. She was my therapy. My healer. She brought me back from a hole that I was sinking into and gave me a reason to get up in the morning other than to take a piss.
Don’t get me wrong, I know, or at least, like to believe she’s still with me in spirit and I cherish that, but I would give my all to have made sure Hunny was never ill in the first place.
When Hunny was by my side, whether she was nuzzling at my arm, or sneezing in my face, as disgusting as that was, I felt invincible. She was my everything. No, fuck it, she was my spirit animal which is even more fitting seeming as she’s no longer galloping along this earth, but somewhere else where she’s pain free, I hope.
March also marked another first for me.
It was the first time I was hospitalised for attempted suicide. I can’t remember what triggered it, but I just remember saying to the paramedics over and over “I just want to see them again”.
My theory was that if I had of died, or at least reached that state where you’re almost dead, ‘going towards the light’ and all that, I’d see my Mum and Dad again. I thought that would make me happy. To be honest, I think it would have.
That hospital visit was an in-out job, really. I’d attempted to take an overdose but I was caught, which resulted in me slashing my arms and legs in frustration. Luckily though, it was only minor so I was patched up, sent to speak with the mental health team and discharged home.
Fast forward to June, I’m admitted again. This time for a mental break down and also self harm. I remember having multiple panic attacks whilst I was there because of the amount of people that were in A&E. I was scared and I wished I wasn’t there. You’d think that would make me think twice about causing harm to myself. It didn’t.
Fast forward to September, 2 days ago to be exact, I’m admitted into hospital. This time it was serious.
I had taken an overdose, I’d taken a dosage of 1300mg of Quetiapine with the sole intention to kill myself. I failed, again.
I was taken into hospital on Monday night and I wasn’t released from hospital care until yesterday evening.
After a night in hospital, switching beds, being attached to a drip, screaming at nurses to leave me alone as they came at me with needles and dropping in and out of conciousness, I was transferred to a Mental Health unit the other side of Birmingham.
I wanted to write this blog post with hope that I’d shed some light on how things work inside my head.
People keep asking me why.
Why I didn’t call them.
Why I didn’t tell someone.
Why I didn’t call a help line.
Why I did it.
Why I was being so selfish.
Why I never thought about others.
Why I thought no one would care.
Why? Why? Why?
I keep being asked all kinds of different things, things I find overwhelming, things I can’t answer, things even I don’t understand.
I don’t plan these manic events. I don’t just wake up one day and think;
“You know what I’m going to do today? I’m going to kill myself. I’m going to tear everyone I know apart”
I mean, fuck, I wish that was how it worked, I fucking wish I had that warning, that sense that I’m going to do something which could result with me inside of an overpriced box. At least then I could reach out to someone, scream for help, warn people.
“Please, someone help me, I’m going to kill myself today!”
It doesn’t work like that.
It comes to me as much as a shock as it does to everyone else when they eventually find out. I’m still trying to grasp what happened on Monday, what I did, but I can’t.
When I reach this state of mind, it’s like the whole world stops and I get devoured by this big black mist. I phase out. The only way I can describe it is, it’s like I leave my body for a bit. I just, disappear. My mind becomes that blank and I become that numb that I don’t feel anything. I can’t think straight, I can’t think rationally. All I can think is “die”.
“Die. Die. Die”
I hurt so much, physically and mentally.
Nothing stops it, I haven’t found anything that can, it’s always there, lurking in the darkness waiting for the opportune moment to attack. I’ve been through multiple and different therapy sessions and I’m on enough medication to open up my own pharmacy, yet I still can’t find that balance.
Don’t get me wrong, some days I have an amazing time, I feel like I’m high off of the energy and enjoyment I get, but the happier I am, the harder I crash. And sometimes, it’s too hard to pull out of that crash. I lose all of my motivation and I lose my strength, even my will to live. Then everything becomes a blur and then usually, something happens.
“I’m sorry” is all I can say to the people I have hurt.
I’m sorry that I have hurt you, cause you pain or anger. I’m sorry. I can’t cope.
Sometimes, my death seems like the only answer. The end to all of my pain.
I can’t promise that I wont do it again, in fact, I’d be better off promising that it probably will happen again.
To the friends and family that have stuck by my side, included me and made me feel like I’m something, thank you.
I wish I could let you know how much you all mean to me and how much I love you, but I don’t have the words to. I don’t know how to express my gratitude.
All I can say is thank you and I’m sorry.
– Plain Jaine xo