A Suicidal Day At The Hospital

Today was just an average day, cutting, suicidal, hospital… Oh I didn’t mean average for you, I meant average for me. I don’t really know where to begin. I’ve been taking Fluoxetine since Wednesday but since starting I have began to feel more suicidal each day. Friday was the first day I noticed my suicidal thoughts were getting worse, which was the day I bought some numbing cream to help me cut deeper. I was considering cutting my wrists which was why I had spent most of my Friday out of lessons looking on the internet for the best way to attempt it. Despite it being a commonly unsuccessful way to commit suicide it was a method I could attempt. There were no firearms in the house (like most houses in the UK), I did not have any pills to overdose and I simply did not feel like leaving the house to hang myself. Depression is meant to make you tired and unmotivated, but I never knew you could be suicidal whilst unmotivated to kill yourself. Fortunately Friday passed without any attempt, only some cuts on my forearms.

Saturday was torture for my mind. Have you ever spent 12 hours focused on something? For example, 12 hours of thinking about work would fry your brain. Now imagine spending those 12 hours thinking about how much you want to die. Torture, right? Well, to me it wasn’t torture, to me it was just another day. I probably do not spend that much time thinking about suicide regularly but suicide comes to me every day. Saturday was far worse than Friday, which is why I am so surprised there was no attempt. To be totally honest, I can’t even remember Saturday.

And today, Sunday. This is where the story begins. I must have woke around 8am although I had woke in the night a few times. I was not tired, I was not unhappy, I was just in that emptiness mood. You will know when you have felt it, or not felt it, because you can feel absolutely nothing. I ate breakfast while I took my daily dose of Fluoxetine, with thoughts in the back of my mind telling me it will make me feel even worse. Whether or not it would have started working in time to effect my next decision is a mystery.

I went to my room to pack a bag. Just a small backpack, large enough to hold all of the items I would need. I took a notepad and pen for writing down anything I needed, a bandage and compass for if I feel the urge to self-harm, and a rope. There was enough rope to hang myself, and hopefully enough to give me a large enough fall to break my neck. Yes, I was thinking of suicide. Only my mum was awake at the time so she was the only person to see me leave the house. My mum knows about my suicidal thoughts but she also knows I like to see my friends (wait, I have friends?) which is why it was easy to convince her that I was not in any danger. That might be something which is harder to do next time.

It was a long walk to the park, I was only focused on one thing though. I was still debating whether to go through with it in my mind. Was it the right decision? Who will miss me? Who will even find me? All of these questions made me doubt myself even more. After 20 minutes of walking I had reached the park, the park with lots of high tress suitable for anyone who wants to “hang out”. Although when I reached the park the thought that I might not want to do this was taking over. I still searched for a suitable tree. The tree must be tall enough to allow the large drop that will break my neck, while there must be the perfect amount of branches, enough to let me climb up but not too many that will break my fall. I found one. I took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, if someone interrupted my plans at this point I would be very angry. I started to climb the tree as I saw the perfect branch sticking out. I got closer and closer… but I couldn’t reach it. Oh no, I’m a failure. I could try and jump for it but the risk was I would miss and break my leg was high, meaning I would be unable the hang myself for many weeks.


I climbed down from the tree, at which point my mind turned from suicide to needing help. I was not sure how long I would be in this frame of mind, but also not sure who could help me. The GP surgery was closed, my trusted friend was away for the weekend, I hate my CAMHS counsellor and I don’t even want to think about my parents. A short while of silent thinking gave me one idea, I could ring 111. For those who are not in the UK, and even those in the UK, 111 is the number you can ring for non-emergencies. This was kind of an emergency but I didn’t care, I would just ring the number anyway.

Ring, ring. Hello? Hey, can you tell me your name? And your address? And your phone number? I’m happy they didn’t need my credit card details! They needed to make sure they had my correct phone number as they informed the local hospital of my suicidal intent, who would ring me back within the next hour. The lady who answered my call was very nice, it was so important to me that the person I was talking to was genuine and caring towards me. My regular readers will know that if someone is not nice towards me I will absolutely hate them, not that I hate my readers, I was referring to my CAMHS counsellor. When the hospital rang me they asked me a few questions to see how safe I was, and as they were concerned about my mental health they thought I should see them right away. It was not such a big deal that an ambulance was needed, I could walk to the hospital all by myself.

On the way to the hospital my mind was at war again. The peaceful guardians versus the suicidal squad. I kept considering whether I should turn around and finish what I had started but thankfully my peaceful side was winning. I knew I had to distract myself somehow so I put on some music. Nas (how many times have I told my readers to listen to hip hop and rap?). The songs kept me going, and my personal keep-safe song Thugs Mansion came on, which reminded me I still have some time left on this Earth before I visit Tupac and Malcolm X in Thugs Mansion.

I did arrive 20 minutes later than I should have, but I didn’t kill myself on the way. I call that a positive, I’m not sure what the man I saw called it. The doctor was quite rude, or at least unconcerned that I was going to kill myself, and he seemed to be in a rush to get rid of me. He made me sit in the waiting room while he made arrangements to move me onto some real help. The chairs were blue! Why blue, all chairs seem to be blue. They are blue in my GP surgery and they are blue at CAMHS, I wonder if they has been scientific research to prove blue can make patients feel better. I always thought blue would make you sad. The doctor came back and gave me a letter to hand to the reception at the children’s unit. A 17 year old guy turns up alone to the children’s unit, I wonder how that will turn out.

It turned out normal in fact. Well, not really. The reception were confused why I had been brought here, and they were wondering what to do with a suicidal teenager in a room full of little kids. They had nurses running around headless trying to figure out what they would do to me. One kind nurse had taken me to a quieter area to ask me questions, I liked this nurse. They were never rude to me and they did not ask too many questions. They politely asked if I was hungry or thirsty but I turned down the offer. They left me in the room for a while to help the other clueless nurses work out where to put me. Another nurse came and asked me the same questions as before, which is pointless unless they are testing to see whether I was lying the first time. Or testing whether I had bad memory. It’s a strange test nevertheless. One nurse figured out exactly how to help teenagers. They came into my room and gave me the hospital Wi-Fi password. The best thing that had happened all day! Although by now I was worried that they would keep me in hospital for a long time. Suicide was still racing around in my mind, what could I do?

The kind nurse who I met first finally took me to the mental health unit. Seriously? I could have guessed that within five minutes of arriving at the hospital. Instead it took almost two hours and a bunch of scrambling nurses to get me there. Well, I don’t know who to blame but I cant blame this kind nurse who has taken me here. The receptionist was informed who I was (do I now have a reputation?) and they told me to wait in the waiting area while the assessment doctor arrived. He was quite quick, I guess someone understands how suicidal I am. We went into another room, which takes my room entering tally for today over a million! He asked me the generic suicidal questions. Do you have a plan? How long have you felt like this? Do you take drugs or alcohol? When I told him about the Fluoxetine I could tell he was onto the same thing I was onto. Yes, the Fluoxetine must be increasing my suicidal thoughts. As a doctor he did not want to jump to any conclusions that could harm me so he continued asking a few more questions about home, college and friends. Nothing stood out to him and he made me wait back in the waiting area.


It had been three hours of hospital time, and many more hours prior to that. I was still suicidal but all the kindness shown by the hospital staff was making me calmer. I felt like I had found a place where people actually care whether I was alive, a place where I can sit and play games on my phone in peace. I knew I would have to leave at some point, but at least I could be happy (happy for me, it means not totally depressed). They asked if I wanted to see my parents and I said no, I didn’t want to see my parents. I don’t want to talk to people that don’t care about me. For those wondering, the hospital had rang my parents, it was not the other way around. The hospital had to speak to my parents though, so they would have to come to the hospital. I did not know when they were arriving.

But when they arrived, I knew. My dad came into the waiting area and started asking loads of questions in his intimidating voice. Why are you doing this? Why did you come here? Why won’t you tell us what is wrong with you? Hey, I can explain what is wrong with me, my parents raised me wrong. I don’t know what love feels like because my parents never gave it to me. Obviously I didn’t say that to them, it is not in my personality to burst out randomly with things. Neither my previous personality nor my depressed one. I was depressed again. I stormed out of the waiting room and hid around the corner, my parents did not come after me. I could hear the nurses discussing what had happened. Parents came to teenager when teenager did not want them, why weren’t they kept apart? The kind receptionist allowed me to wait at an unoccupied bedside for a while. Again I was asked if I wanted any food or drink, I declined.

Time passed, and it was a long time. Time is slow when you are suicidal, and time is slow when you are in a hospital. This was the ultimate slow time. I hadn’t had any extremely strange delusions in a while but this stood out to me. I looked at the clock on the wall and it looked back! Okay, it wasn’t that strange. Everybody knows how a clock ticks, right? Well, this clock does not move like that. As soon as I looked at the clock the minute was spinning out of control. My mind was completely lost. What was going on? The clock controlled itself after a few seconds and settled in the correct position. Certainly a strange experience.

The doctor returned and wanted to talk to me again. He sat me back down in that room and told me a few things. He explained how one of the side effects of Fluoxetine was increased suicidal thoughts, he explained how that was possible in not so scientific terms and he explained that it was the most likely explanation for why I was so suicidal over the past few days. It doesn’t explain why I’m suicidal, but why I was more likely to act in the past few days. I was happy to accept his reasoning. We then went through what would happen to me next. I was not going to stay in hospital! That was both saddening and a relief. I liked the kind staff of the hospital but I didn’t want to stay forever. The doctor also told me that I would have to stop this medication, which was no surprise. I will discuss new medication with my CAMHS counsellor when I next see them, but for now I need time to let the Fluoxetine get out of my system. This meant the increased suicidal thoughts could remain for the next few days so I would have to stay at home where people can watch me. I left the room when he brought my parents in, and he told them the same.

I was now on the way home in the back of my parents car. It was a long day for me but at least I know that the suicidal thoughts will lessen and that there are some kind people in the hospital who care about me in case I ever go back. As we drove away my dad pointed out a building and said “that’s where you were born”. In my mind I thought to myself “I wish I wasn’t”…

Delusional: MI5 Agent Depressionless, Your First Mission

The first mission for all secret agents is expected to be tough, but it can’t get much tougher than this one. My assignment, to stop the terrorist bomb threats near the local park. This is no joke but it is my first mission as Agent Depressionless. On Wednesday I skipped college because my depression was bad and I did not feel like going so instead I decided to go to the park, which turned out to be both a good and bad experience.

I am casually walking around the park when I get my mission. The debriefing occurred in my mind (no surprising, but why didn’t I question it?) and my secretive boss who I have no idea about has warned me that there are terrorists in the park who are planning to shoot civilians as well as plant bombs in nearby buildings. As a newly recruited MI5 agent I had to try to remain calm at all times. I decided first that I must try to find the suspects, then follow them until I am sure they are planning to commit their crimes. During the debriefing I was also told they are likely to be near the bridge at some point, so that’s were I headed first.

Minutes were passing, time I could not afford to lose. They could already be killing civilians by now, I need to act quickly. Stop! I spot one of the suspects walking towards me. I panic. I don’t know what to do. This never happened in my training. I never took part in training. I try to act calm but it is hard, I just stand still and turn away, trying to still look at them through the corner of my eye. Within a few seconds I have lost them, they turn behind a bush and I can’t see them. From quite far away I look under the bush to see where their feet are going, but I can’t even see their feet. They must be onto me! I pick up the pace and walk quicker, thinking about a route to cut them off, while at the same time try to figure out where they are going. I am walking faster and faster, it is more of a jog at this point. I get to the other side of the bush but there is only one path they could have gone down without me seeing them.

I slow down again realising that I will not be far behind them unless they were running too, but these terrorist suspects wont want to act suspicious or else they will be caught. Clever thinking again by me. I walk down this path, noticing the undisturbed squirrels on the sides of the path. Wait a second, undisturbed? As I walk closer they begin to move away. But why were they next to the path if the suspect had just walked down here? This does not add up. At this moment I get a telepathic message from my secretive boss who informs me there are suspects at the bridge right at the moment. I pick up the pace again into a fast walk and get near the bridge.

I don’t want to blow my cover. I stay at least 20 metres from the bridge but with a good viewing spot to see who goes over. First comes a couple with a baby. Great disguise! Or is it a disguise? It can’t be, they don’t look like they are ready to commit terrorist acts. They stop. Oh no, have they spotted me? This can’t be happening. The couple start talking, at which point another man walks over the bridge. I need to know what that couple are saying, while I also need to look at this man to check if he a suspect. The couple are on the move again but I divert my attention to the man. Yes, it could be him. He is checking over his shoulder to see if anyone is following him, but that’s what I’ll be doing in a second. I give him about 15 metres space and then start my pursuit.

He does not look calm. There must be something stressing him. He is walking faster than people usually do at the park. This must be one of the suspects, I have found one! I can’t get too close yet, but I can’t lose him. The fate of innocent people rests on my shoulders, I have to do this. Who knows how many people could die if I let him get away. I then start to think about how I will stop him. Possibly wait until we are both out of the publics view and then take him on? He is far larger than me and I didn’t go to MI5 training so my combat skills are rusty. Well? I could lure him into a trap and call the police. Great idea. While these thoughts go on in my mind I have lost him. Oh no! That is two suspects lost already. People could already be dying and I haven’t stopped them.

Ok, another telepathic message. Yes, my boss has come up with a good idea. The suspects will need a getaway vehicle, so I shall wait at the car park to catch them before they leave. Fortunately I am now only two minutes away from the car park. I head in that direction. I pass a group of four people on the way. Nope, they aren’t involved. The car park is now in view, and there are three people in it. One looks like a postman who is fiddling with a box. Causing a power cut? Or planting a bomb? He must be up to something. Another walks into the park with their dog. Yeah, if they have a dog they can’t be terrorists. The third is a woman who goes towards the postman, talks to him and heads back to her car. She grabs something out of her car and walks away. Suspects number three and four. Like always, I quickly walk to the scene. As I get closer I notice the postman is actually a council worker who is fixing the parking machine. Obviously! But that woman, she is a suspect, I must follow her. She is already out of the car park but I know which direction she went, so I pursue.

I follow her. She is far away but I think I can catch up. Where is she going? Remember, the terrorists want to shoot people in the park and blow up nearby buildings. She must have grabbed a bomb out of her car, and now she is heading to her target. Now if I thought the two previous suspects were bad, this one could be about the kill dozens if I do not get there in time. I pick up the pace, and follow her exact footsteps. She then crosses the road but traffic comes along. I can’t get across. She is getting away. The people! I must save the people!

The traffic light changes and she is further away than before. I cross the road and try to catch up again. I see a building not far away and figure out the plan. She can’t be. No, seriously? She is about to bomb a college and I’m too far away to stop her. She turns into the college and I lose sight of her. She is inside already. I walk quickly but by the time I get there she is nowhere to be seen. She is probably planting the bomb right now. I am ashamed with my performance, I know I have failed everyone. I have failed the people, the country, the queen. I must retire from this business of secret agents. I am no good. The suspect is still in the building planting the bomb while I walk away from the scene. The telepathic messages from my secretive boss have stopped. They must know of my resignation.

Twenty minutes pass. No explosions, no gunfire, I realise I have just had another delusion. Silly me…

Delusional: Beating My “Self-Harm Record”

This delusion started around 9pm on New Years Eve, I had a strange idea that I had to beat my “self-harm record”. By this I mean I had to cut myself (until I bleed) more than I had on any other day. This was a delusion, I don’t actually keep a record, so I had no idea what my “record” was. Although I am learning to control my self-harm urges I have had days where I just lost it and decided to cut. During this delusion I predicted that I my current record was around 8. Again, I can’t say if this is true because I don’t keep a record. My delusion had decided I would cut myself 10 times so that I could set a new record.

Earlier in the day I had cut myself once. Why? Me and my family were going for a New Years Eve meal. My family set off my urges. Whenever we are all together there are no normal conversations, we always argue about pointless things. They all believe there is this ranking table in the family and the more you disprove another person the more points you get. Honestly, I cannot cope with my family which is why I never talk to them. Anyway, my delusion recognised I had already done one cut today which meant 9 more cuts to go.

Well at least it's not another one of these bug delusions...

Well at least it’s not another one of these bug delusions…

When the delusion started at 9pm I did 2 cuts in the first 10 minutes. I decided to take a break and went to get a drink. Well, all this cutting would be thirsty work, I’m not going to be able to do 10 cuts without a drink! When I got back to my room with my drink I started to fight against my delusion. I knew it was a delusion so I tried to distract myself while I repeated “it is not true”. I spent about 30 minutes listening to music. For those interested, the song I remember was I Can by Nas.

It was getting close to 10pm and I still needed 7 more cuts. I actually needed to stop myself doing 7 more cuts but my delusion was taking over again. It was a slow process. First I stopped distracting myself with music, I just sat on my bed. About 5 minutes later I picked up my knife. Another 5 minutes later I rolled back my sleeves. And then… cut. After that, another cut. I had reached 5 cuts, which meant only 5 more cuts to go. There were 90 minutes until midnight. In my mind I was doing calculations, working out the “minutes per cut” rate.

Click here to read my first delusional post, where I cut a “bug” out of my hand.

I began to distract myself with music again. While I listened to the music I knew I would need another distraction. I thought about my regular distractions. I couldn’t make a lot of noise, I was at home and my family would shout at me. I could not talk to my friend who was on holiday over the Christmas period. I thought about writing something random, but my delusion was still fighting against me and it told me not to. Tears were rolling down my face, I was silently screaming in my head.

This time listening to music did not last long. At 11:10pm I had reached 9 cuts. My delusion was not satisfied, it was already making plans to reach 15 cuts in the last hour. I knew this was impossible, but I love challenges and my delusion knew this. “You can do it” and “Only 6 cuts to go” were going through my mind. Could I really do it?

Click here for distractions on how to stop cutting, they often work for me when I’m not delusional.

I’ll tell you now, my 10th cut came at around 11:30pm. I would never be able to manage another 5 cuts in the last 30 minutes… or would I? Well, I was fighting off my delusion again and managed to keep it away until midnight. I remember looking at my phone every minute just to see the time change, and know I wont reach 15 cuts with so little time left. Midnight came! My delusion had won by me reaching 10 cuts, but I had a little victory by not reaching the second goal of 15 cuts. I welcomed 2015 with my cut and bleeding arms!

New Years Comic 1

This was a horrible delusion. It was on and off for 3 hours, longer than my regular 10 minute delusions. I will hope that this delusion does not come back, I would rather cut myself once to remove a bug than cut myself 10 times to break an imaginary record (well it will have to be more than 10 times now).

Whether it is a positive or not, I am a little happy that my bug delusion has gone. How did I get rid of it? I’m not exactly sure, however last time I had the delusion I was able to control myself better and recognise I do not need to cut myself open to remove my imaginary demons. Okay, so that’s probably not why that delusion left, I have a feeling it will come back. But that delusion is more controllable now, as long as I keep reminding myself that insects do not appear under skin randomly (if they can, someone show me some evidence because I will need to get it checked out).

Click here to read about the return of my bug delusion, where I try cut an imaginary bug out of my skin.

I will keep trying to fight my delusions. It is working with varied success, but I guess as long as my depression is with me my delusions will try to fight me. I can try my best, I cannot try better than that. My delusions remind me I am only human, it reminds me that life can get better. When I have those 30 minutes in between cutting I know I have succeeded in fighting my delusion, and I still have hope. It may be the worst place to find hope, but I would rather have hope than be back where I was a couple of weeks ago, on the verge of ending it. The book of 2014 closes, you will find it in the adventure section, and I have begun to write my book of 2015. I am the writer, I choose what happens in my book, and you choose what happens in yours.

Delusional: Help! Another Bug Under My Skin!

One bug in my hand, I could deal with that after days thinking I was turning crazy. But when this bug returns, I wonder what is going on with my life! This bug is imaginary (it doesn’t seem like it at the time – but when I’m sane I realise this) which probably makes everything worse. It could appear at any time, when I’m eating my dinner, when I’m playing football, or when I’m on my laptop. I can’t predict when it will appear, so I’m not exactly sure how to stop it.

Was this the bug?

Was this the bug?

Well, it has only happened twice. Both times I had a strange feeling I should write about it afterwards. I was not sure whether to share this episode because I don’t want my blog to become too depressing (it’s about depression, I’m not sure what I expected), but I know everyone will be interested in what happened. Here you go…

The return of the bug! And this time with sound effects! I am not sure when this episode started, I think it was just after 11:30am while I was on my laptop. Suddenly I could feel something on the inside of my right arm above the joint. My mind was telling me there might be a bug under my skin again, but this time I decided to argue with myself. It wasn’t really an argument but every 30 seconds my mind changed from “there might be a bug, cut yourself open and check” to “there isn’t really a bug, you’re just tricking yourself”. After a few minutes I decided to cut my arm, it did not hurt and it was easy to cut. No surprise, no bug. My mind was now telling me the bug had moved to my forearm despite there being no strange feeling there. There were white marks which I recognised was probably dead skin but at the same time I thought the bug may have left it. I tried to cut open my forearm but it would not bleed. Then after a few more minutes of rubbing the knife against my skin I told myself I could get rid of the bug by putting both of my arms under the tap. I left the knife in my room and walked to the bathroom, and put my arms under the tap. I was a bit calmer so walked back to my bedroom. The time on my phone was 11:52am. Then came the terrifying part. I could hear scratching in the walls, from several different places high up the wall. My heart began to beat faster. I just walked out my room and downstairs. I estimate the episode lasted roughly 15 minutes, slightly longer than last time. This one I was not rocking as much, and I was able to try and stop myself which I could not do last time. However I did hear something. It may have been rats but I highly doubt it. Hopefully it does not happen again!

Click here to read about the first time a bug “appeared” in my hand.

Fortunately this time I kind of knew it wasn’t real. Well I thought it was real. But also I knew it wasn’t. I’m starting to think I have two minds, my regular mind and my depression mind. I am figuring out how to control my depression mind still, I guess this episode shows I am making progress, even if I did cut myself. Does anyone know exactly what I am experiencing? I call it a delusion but I’m not so sure. Maybe you have experienced something similar, anyone?

Delusional: Cut This Bug Out Of My Hand

Upon reading the title you would probably think I was going mad. Or maybe “cut”, “bug” and “hand” are the new words that the gangsters use on the streets of England. You wouldn’t believe there actually was a bug in my hand, would you? You don’t casually find insects in your hand, so when I had a funny feeling in my hand why was that what I decided had happened?

In my months of depression (I’m still confident it is just depression) I have never had a feeling like I did last night. It was complete madness. Fortunately for you readers, I wrote down my experience (I wrote it for my doctor so there is no fancy edits or words) not long after it happened. Below you can read exactly what I wrote:

It started just before 9pm, after I finished watching Men in Black 3 on TV. It felt as if there were a bug or creature under the skin on the back of my left hand. I could not see anything moving or hear it, but I just felt it there. In my mind I kept repeating “Get out my hand” and “I need to cut it out” so I cut the back of my hand until it bled. It felt as if the bug had left. A few minutes later it felt as if it reappeared further up the back of my hand, then in the side of my middle finger, then in the palm of my hand just under the middle finger. It did not actually move, but disappear and reappear in the new location. Each time I tried to cut it out but my skin did not bleed so it failed. I managed to cut myself on the palm. A few seconds later my palm was hurting a lot, more than when I cut my arms, and the bug had left my left hand. This whole episode lasted for about 10 minutes, and I was knelt on my bed the whole time either slowly rocking or trying to cut my hand. Roughly 10 minutes after it had finished I went downstairs to get something to eat. I decided there was nothing in my hand, even though it felt as if there were at the time. This had never happened before, and I find it very unusual. The bug has not returned, and I have not seen or heard anything unusual during or since. Now I think about it, the bug was probably an itch.

So I want to point something out about this. I find it very strange that as soon as it finished I was able to just get up and go downstairs. I’m not exactly sure what was going through my mind once the episode finished, but I can’t believe my mind could change from delusional to calm in a couple of seconds. I wouldn’t even call that part of having depression. Maybe there is a type of depression I don’t know about, or maybe I need to tell my doctor so they can list several more problems with me.

Now what I have to think about is whether to tell the doctor. I will see the doctor on Christmas Eve. If they think I am crazy or I am going to harm myself even more (if I have more of these delusions) they might make me stay in hospital over Christmas. That is unlikely to happen but I don’t want to take the risk. If I tell them I might get better, I might end up in hospital, both might happen or neither. I know I am not going to be happy on Christmas but that would surely ruin it. If this is a one off episode, I should be fine, but if it continues to happen it will only get worse. Have you had any experiences like mine? Share in the comments below.