I fell, gradually at first; then rapidly, into the black pit of despair. The water at the bottom was at first, waist high but soon crept to my shoulders. Blackness surrounded me; there was not even a glimmer of light; not a chink of daylight. I reached for the pills. I wondered whether to count them out – i usually like things in order; but as there was no order or hope left in my life, i just grabbed at the bottles and packets and started to wash 100 odd pills down with my coffee. i didn’t think; i couldn’t; i just did it. I wanted the blackness to submerge me to take me away from the unbearable pain and the trauma and the losses i was experiencing.
Empty packets of pills were strewn across the floor and i began to sink into a stupor. i wanted to die, i wanted to escape, i wanted to be gone from this world. The darkness engulfed me but every now and then, i’d come to a fraction so reached out for more pills to wash down, handful after handful waiting for oblivion to come. For the pain to be taken away; the pain i had suffered all my life since i was first abused as a child which continued for many, many years resulting in mental health disorders including Borderline Personality Disorder. My privacy and my rights had been stripped away from me back in those early days. I wanted my life to be stripped away from me now. I faded, came round, swallowed more pills down until i fell into an unconscious state, packet after packet after packet, not caring to count any longer. My serious intention was very definitely and certainly to end my life. I was serious, i meant it. I was not playing games or crying for attention – i very, very genuinely wanted to DIE. Then, unaware of it, i must have started to slip away into the more peaceful and beautiful world that lifted my heart.
Suddenly somebody shook me back to barely conciousness. I WAS ANGRY. I WAS READY TO LET GO OF LIFE. Before i could regain a feasible of level of thought, i was being scraped up off the floor by two ambulance men who sped away with me on a rapid, blue light journey to A&E.. I felt a sharp needle go into my arm – it was the antidote to all the paracetamol i had gulped down in such despair.I DIDN’T WANT TO BE SAVED. I DIDN’T WANT TO COME BACK. However it is was out of my hands now and in the hands of the doctors, nurses and medics.
I spent a week in hospital, not being the most popular patient, having self-inflicted illness despite the fact i had severe depression and Borderline Personality Disorder. Somehow they didn’t rank highly in the popularity stakes. A week of being permanently attached to a drip along with my physical disabilities wasn’t the least or most pleasant time to get through.
And now i am home; alone as always, and WOULD I DO IT AGAIN? YES, I FUCKING WELL WOULD BUT I’D MAKE FUCKING SURE I DON’T GET FOUND TILL I’VE GONE NEXT TIME !