My relapse started with me becoming anxious about everything (did I leave the door unlocked, cooker on, window open?) and then descended into a depressive and agitated spell that happened so quickly it took me off guard. I started hearing voices again which are telling me that my life isn’t worth living, that I deserve to be punished and that I deserve to die. My social worker (who is awesome by the way, and I’m not just saying that because he reads this blog) saw me every day because of this (bless) and we planned to continue on like that for a while but on Thursday night everything got too much for me to handle. I wanted to kill myself and was planning to take an overdose of lithium so I presented myself to the crisis team who decided I needed to go into hospital.
I hate being in hospital; it’s like having all your freedom taken away from you. They tell you when to eat, sleep, smoke and take medication. There is no flexibility; it’s like a prison. There is also nothing to do on a ward and watching TV is about the limit of the excitement, but you cant hear it because of the other patients shouting and screaming at each other or what’s their own heads. The nurses were nice but offered little as they were too busy dealing with the patients making trouble to bother with what I was going through.
I stayed in the hospital from Thursday till Monday, which isn’t long but felt like forever.
I’m home now and trying to relax, which is difficult as the voices wont leave me alone and I keep hallucinating ants crawling everywhere. I’m trying hard not to harm myself but its hard as I really can’t shake the feeling that I deserve to be punished and the thought of cutting my wrists is going round and round in my head. I know I’m not well but I’m just trying to get through the day without doing something I will regret.
The crisis team are coming to see me every day. They are somewhat a mixed bag, some are really nice and helpful and some are somewhat difficult to say the least, but at least I’m getting some help.