The end of Day Fifteen was difficult. Everyone was belting out karaoke, and when they started singing Adele, I just fucking lost my shit. I mean literal screaming as loud as I could until my throat was raw, clawing at my face and my neck to the point where they bled.
The nurses had to come and sedate me.
Standard, pretty much.
Realised the next day that not only did the lyrics resonate with my current situation, but the last time I listened to that album was just after the incident last year in my flat.
The next morning I was feeling OK, but a bit fragile.
Spent quite a bit of time working on my playlist, and then lovely Jamaican Geraldine came and offered to take me out for a walk. I wasn’t even dressed, but I jumped at the chance. We talked a bit about Ward Round and what I wanted to get out of it.
When I came back to my room, I got dressed and ready for the day.
Once I was done, I looked at my tablet, saw I had an e-mail, and my stomach dropped to the floor when I saw who it was from. The only sentence my eyes were drawn to was…
‘I want to break up’
I started physically shaking, turned my music off, and tried to focus on the words in front of me.
The gist of the e-mail was that he had sent me a letter, but from reading my blog he could see that I hadn’t received it.
He wants to break up.
He himself hasn’t been doing well, I am broken, and our relationship is broken.
He said there is no hope of us fixing it.
He said that he has been coping better since I have been gone.
He said that he hasn’t found anyone new, and that right now he doesn’t feel like he can ever do that.
He said that he loves me, and that I am surrounded by people who love me, but that we have to heal separately.
I immediately replied, saying that there is always hope, and I believe that once we are both in a better place, we can have a beautiful relationship.
The love that we had was so strong (anyone who ever saw us together will have seen that), and I will never give up on something so special.
I will never give up on him.
I will never give up on us.
He must have misunderstood, because he then replied saying that he didn’t want to go back and forth on this, that it hadn’t been an easy decision for him to make, and to please not dismiss it.
I assured him that this is where the conversation ends.
I am not trying to change his mind, I accept his decision, but that I am not giving up hope for the future.
I will never ever give up hope.
He is the love of my life.
At this point, a nurse came in and let me know that I’d been taken off my 10 minute obs.
I let her know that now probably wasn’t a good time for that, and told her what had happened.
I went in to my makeup bag, took everything glass out, and gave it to her.
I asked her for all the PRN sedation they could fucking give me, because I knew what was coming.
All of a sudden, I felt worse than I have ever felt in my life, like my whole entire world had ended.
I had literally just written a reply, saying to him that when I was out I would be so much better – so fabulous. that he would fall back in love with me all over again. He will want to be with me.
But that is going to take so much strength, and so much effort. That was not something I felt I possibly had within me at that time, and all hope left my body. Not just hope that we could possibly reunite in the future, but hope that I can ever get well.
The next part might be difficult to read, especially for him, but I want to share (particularly with my family and friends) how I felt. I have promised to always be open and candid in this blog, I’m not going to pretend that yesterday didn’t happen. I need to face it.
And I assure you all, the fact that I am writing about it now shows that I am in a better place than yesterday.
I had never felt so much pain in my whole life.
I have been through so many shite things – sexual and physical assault, rape, miscarriages, death, divorce, losing my cat…
But absolutely nothing compared to losing the love of my life.
I found a charging cable that was long enough, and tugged hard on the shower curtain to see if it would hold my weight – it obviously came straight down.
I found a glass item of makeup that I had forgotten to give to the nurse, I tried to smash it – it didn’t break.
I googled if it was possible to electrocute myself from a plug socket – it is not.
I thought about throwing my heavy chair at the window to try and get out, but I knew it wouldn’t work.
I tried to smash the mirror on the wall – it wouldn’t break.
I thought about running through the doors as soon as someone tried to leave/come onto the ward – but I knew they’d catch me.
All I kept thinking about was booze, pills, and the train track that runs behind the hospital.
One of the nurses came to talk to me, and took my shower curtain away, as is apparently protocol when someone brings it down.
She read the e-mails that we had both sent, and we had a bit of a chat about everything.
Once she left, I was still shaking so much, and I felt unbearably cold. I got in to bed, and that was pretty much where I stayed for the whole day.
I had no food. I had no water.
If I couldn’t kill myself, I figured I could just waste away slowly and die. They can’t force me to feed or hydrate myself.
Ward Round was fast approaching. I actually used the call bell in my room, and asked which nurse would be in with me. I asked if it was possible for the nurse Harriet, who had read the e-mails to come in with me, and fortunately they made that happen for me. My dad arrived, and one of the staff came to tell me. I told them that I couldn’t see him until Ward Round, and asked for someone to tell him what had happened.
Harriet asked me to write down everything I wanted to discuss in Ward Round.
I made a note (in handwriting that definitely was not mine) about my meds, the pain I was feeling, and that I just wanted to die.
I wrote in big capital letters ‘let me die, kill me’.
Ward Round was hard.
My Dad was there, said that he’d heard, and gave me a big hug.
It was me, him, Harriet the nurse, a therapist, a med student, a Doctor, and the consultant.
I didn’t make eye contact with any of them, I just sat with my hood up and stared at the floor.
I barely remember it tbh. I think I spent the entirety of yesterday in a complete dissociative state.
They denied my unescorted grounds leave. Clearly, I was in a terrible place. However, they decided that to re-start my Quetiapine (antipsychotics) that I took for a six month period last year – the fantastic, wonderful, six month period.
I only stopped taking them because I felt well and hated the side effects.
I’m going to keep on with my mood stabilisers (lamotrigine), and have a small dose of the antipsychotics in the early evening, because the evening is when I tend to dip, and my thoughts spiral.
After that, I took some more drugs, and went straight back to bed. I don’t really remember much of it, just that whenever the staff checked on me to ask if I was OK, I would say no. And if I woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep, I’d just go and ask for more drugs.
I realise this will have been a difficult post to read. It was also a difficult one to write – by far the most difficult yet. But my recovery isn’t going to be perfect – there are going to be ups and downs.
This was a definite low point.
I promised my love (now ex, I guess) that I would be nothing but open, honest, and vulnerable from the day that I started writing.
I intend to stick to that promise, even if some of it is brutal.
Like I said, I’m obviously in a better place today.
I am conscious, I am drinking, and I am eating, so I don’t want anyone to unduly worry.
More than anything else though, I hope everyone is reassured that I am 100% in the best place, and I am being kept safe.
The staff here are excellent. I am being well cared for.