CAMHS: That Counselling Service I Love And Hate

CAMHS… The way I talk about my counselling, the nations counselling service for children and teenagers, you might think it is closer to hell than helpful. I’ll be fair and say I have experienced some good aspects of CAMHS in the few months I have been under their service, but at the same time I have had experiences that have only made my mental health worse. Yes, it is time for me to revisit the tales of my dreaded counsellor who managed to invent 13 people and allowed me to go home with a plan to kill myself. Today, I’ll talk about my experiences with CAMHS.

Well, when I first got the letter for my CAMHS counselling session I was excited. I had been dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts for months. In my eyes CAMHS was this miracle service that could end my depression and keep me on the right track to lead a “normal” life. I had read stories on the internet about people who had gone to CAMHS and received no help but that did not worry me as I had also read stories of the complete opposite. I knew if I did not get help soon (I was already seeing my GP but they not meant to be as good with mental health as CAMHS) I would probably end up doing something I would regret… or something I wouldn’t be able to regret. I started with CAMHS straight after New Years, it was on the first week of 2015.

I met my counsellor, I didn’t like my counsellor, they are probably the reason why I hate CAMHS so much. But at the time I met them I had only talked to one other person from CAMHS who I met at the hospital, and they were not nice to me. So now I had met two people from the same organisation who weren’t helpful, in fact they both made me feel worse. What did my counsellor do you might be thinking, I’ll tell you.

We’ll start off small. My counsellor is meant to talk through my problems with me, and when they have an idea or solution they also talk through that with me. Maybe these health professionals are also meant to jump to strange conclusions, but I doubt it. One time early in my counselling I was asked if I had ever drank alcohol, and I said yes as most teenagers have drank alcohol. I was then asked how often I drink alcohol to which I replied I don’t really drink alcohol very often. I am not sure whether my counsellor decided I am hiding something but even after talking to my dad about it she believes I drink regularly. I was in the room when she talked to my dad and my dad said I don’t really drink alcohol. This is one of the mysteries of CAMHS. The same happened when she asked if any of my friends drink or take drugs, and I said I do have friends who smoke occasionally. Apparently this means my friends have drinking and drug problems. That doesn’t make sense to me, another one of the mysteries of CAMHS.

My counsellor does make up things that I’ve never said quite frequently. They have managed to invent 11 friends I’ve never had while at the same time invent a dad and a sister that I’ve never had (unless I have a second dad and sister hiding somewhere). They’ve managed to make up events that have never happened such as panic attacks, which is why they have probably diagnosed me with mixed depressive and anxiety disorder, something they have never discussed with me and something I believe is wrong. If they make up so much stuff how can I believe their diagnosis? In fact I have my own rule which is whatever they diagnose me with is wrong. The worst part about all of this is that they broke confidentiality and sent all the wrong information to my parents in a letter. Fortunately the letter also had my name on it so I managed to get it before my parents, they never saw it.

This is not the worst thing about my counsellor. Imagine having a plan to kill yourself, trying to receive help, and the one person who is meant to help you the most has decided you don’t need help and sends you home with a plan to kill yourself. That is not quite what happened but it is close. One time, my counsellor could not be bothered to talk to me so they gave me a questionnaire to fill in while they left me alone in the room. The questionnaire had over 100 questions and took me a while to complete. Some of the questions were related to suicide, and one asked me if I had a plan to kill myself. I said yes. At the time I did not actually have a plan to kill myself but I was very suicidal and wanted some help, I was foolish to think my counsellor would help me. They read the questionnaire after and asked me about my plan, they then went to talk to their supervisor and came back deciding that I don’t need any help. They sent me home. That has taught me not to go to my counsellor when I actually do have a plan, I’ll go straight to the hospital instead. Maybe there they can actually help me.

And they can. The hospital is where I have experienced the better side of CAMHS. Twice I have gone to the hospital to see an out-of-hours CAMHS person whilst being under the service, the only other time was before I started with CAMHS and met a horrible person but I tend to forget about that. The first time I met a man who worked for CAMHS, this was when I had been prescribed some new medication which was making me more suicidal, a common side effect for teenagers apparently. This man so kind to me, we talked about video games for a while when we were meant to be talking about my suicidal thoughts, but actually that made me less suicidal. I don’t know whether that was his plan but it worked. He also realised it was the medication making me more suicidal and gave me a plan to stop the medication, and spoke to my counsellor asking to start new medication as soon as possible. That was a great experience. During this same visit to the hospital my parents arrived and started shouting at me, and a woman working at the hospital allowed me to stay in a separate area away from my parents. That may sound small but it meant so much to me. This visit to the hospital was the first time I realised that CAMHS was there to help me.

The second visit to the hospital was also a good experience, or at least as good as it can get while being suicidal. I had stabbed myself and was wanting to see a mental health worker to talk to about my suicidal thoughts. They told me an out-of-hours CAMHS worker was on their way. After waiting all night for this CAMHS person to appear, they finally did in the early hours of the morning. Our conversation did not seem long to me although it was over an hour, we talked about how life was for me an general and why I had come to the hospital specifically this time. They were very kind to me and they helped me a lot, we came up with a care plan that my CAMHS counsellor never did. I have actually requested that I have regular meeting with this person instead of my current counsellor, which would probably be the greatest thing CAMHS could do for me at that point.

So while my CAMHS counsellor is horrible and probably makes me feel worse, I know that there are people in the service who can help. When I look at CAMHS reviews online they always get very positive reviews or very negative reviews, and I can see why. CAMHS seems like a great service but it always depends who you talk to as that is the main thing about the service, it is mostly about talking. To anyone who has to start with CAMHS I would recommend trying it out, you can always request a different counsellor, or stop all together. At least if you try you might get help and you might get better. Now I’m hoping for my counsellor to be changed soon, the sooner the better…


This post is part of my Blogging A to Z April Challenge. The theme for yesterday was meant to be “CAMHS” but I fell asleep very early and could not publish it, so I’ve published it this morning. Later today I was focus on depression, the main theme of my blog. Watch this space!

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The Letter…

A letter was addressed to my house today for my parents and me, containing information about my mental illness. It contained some information I never knew, some information that I didn’t want shared with anyone, and some information that isn’t even true. So it was no surprise to see it was a letter from my CAMHS counsellor. I still don’t know what to think about the letter, it makes me laugh to read what they think about me but at the same time it is worrying that my private information could have been read by my parents without me knowing.

Near the top of the letter it says “CONTENTS NOT TO BE DIVULGED WITHOUT AUTHORS CONSENT” in bold, capital letters. And as any mental health patient knows, I have the right to keep all information between myself and my counsellor unless there is danger to me or someone else. So I read through the letter expecting it to talk about how I am still suffering from suicidal thoughts and my counsellor might have thought I was going to act on them so they would tell my parents. I read through the whole letter, half smiling, half confused. There was almost no talk of my suicidal thoughts, but there was a lot of strange information.

I thought I should share some with my readers first. Note that my name has been replaced with Depressionless in some quotes.

“He struggles with sleeping. He goes to bed around 10pm…”

Okay, so that one isn’t exactly strange compared to some others. I did tell my counsellor this about two months ago but during all meetings they ask me how my sleeping is, and I tell them something different each time. Sometimes my sleeping is fine for a week, sometimes I sleep really early, and sometimes I can’t sleep. This isn’t exactly troubling news that my counsellor is telling my parents 2 months out-of-date information, and I wouldn’t complain if this was the only thing wrong. So lets continue.

“He said he has about 11 friends”

This is one of the most confusing quotes in the letter, but probably not the worst. 11 friends? Wow, considering a few days ago I was writing on my blog about how I have no friends it upsets me even more that my counsellor has made 11 imaginary friends for me. I’ve never told them about having 11 friends. In fact I’ve only mentioned 3 possible friends to them, one is an online friend, one never talks to me anymore and one is the one I’ve mentioned often who used to help me but has since stopped talking to me. 11 friends? Being my unstable self I’ll probably both laugh and cry about this later.

“The first panic attack was on the physics test”

What? Okay, so I understand where this came from. When I was first visited by the police they thought I was going to kill myself over a physics test in which I apparently had a panic attack. Firstly, I wouldn’t kill myself over a test score, lets make that clear. Secondly, I never had a panic attack in the test. I’ve said both of this to several people including my CAMHS counsellor over the past few months so I’m not sure why they don’t believe me (or are using out-of-date information again).

“His father, William” and “Depressionless has an elder sister, Jane”

Well, you probably wont understand this one until I explain it. My father isn’t called William, my sister isn’t called Jane. Unless… maybe I have a secret dad and sister that I have never met, and no one has ever told me about. Why would my counsellor finally decide to tell me in a letter? They wouldn’t, they have just made up another two people. So that means my counsellor has created 13 people so far, I think they should get their own counsellor and a psychiatric test. Apparently they talked to my father William…

“didn’t want to talk about the thought of self-harm however denied any intent”

I’m not even sure what this means. Does this mean I keep accidentally self-harming? Does this mean I deny ever self-harming despite showing them my cuts? Should the word self-harm be replaced with suicide despite me actually attempting it? I have no idea. Whatever it means, they obviously aren’t listening to me.

Wow, there are a lot more errors in the letter but I don’t want to talk about them all here. This blog post would be far too long if I mentioned them all. so that must be it? Surely? No, that is the information that makes no sense, now lets move onto the information that I never knew.

So I still haven’t received a proper diagnosis from my CAMHS counsellor. My GP and college counsellor both seem to accept I have depression, but want to know what my CAMHS counsellor thinks. I want to know what my CAMHS counsellor thinks because I know whatever they think about me is probably wrong (considering they believe the opposite of whatever I say). So what did they think?

Mixed depressive and anxiety disorder… Something they have never mentioned to me. Wait? Did they give me a diagnosis through post? Possibly because they don’t want me to laugh in their face and use my intelligence to prove them wrong. I don’t have extensive knowledge on this disorder but I understand their has to be roughly an equal balance of depression and anxiety but neither has to stand out. I have never heard from my counsellor about this so I wont know the proper medical definition, but at the moment I don’t think I have it. I don’t believe I have an serious anxiety disorder I used to have a few panic attacks when I had to first start talking about my mental health but I probably haven’t had one in a few months. I don’t get anxious in social situations either, I may be a little shy when I first meet people but so are most people. I might have a bit of anxiety caused by my depression, I won’t deny that, but I don’t believe I have mixed depressive and anxiety disorder.

I will talk to my CAMHS counsellor about this when I next see them, and they might change my mind. If they change my mind and I finally believe I know what is wrong with me then that is great. I don’t think my counsellor is right though. When they give me more information I can make a better decision. I’ll talk to them about everything in the letter too, because they obviously have no idea about anything, and how they managed to make up 13 people is amazing. I’m starting to think mental illness is the state of being sane, while counsellors are ill and try to make you ill too…

Here’s To My Happy Week!

After months of up and down emotions as well as increasing suicidal thoughts (including a sort of attempt) I have some news that all of my readers will have been hoping for… I’m having less suicidal thoughts! This is something which is great news for me as I don’t want to get as close to suicide as I did last weekend, or take another overdose which I’ll decide I don’t want to do half-way through. Some of my readers will know be thinking, come on Depressionless, this wont last, next week you’ll have another post about how you want to kill yourself again, be realistic. Well, I want to be happy about this, I hope I can be happy like this for the rest of my life but even this is better than the everlasting depression state I have been in.

Hospital? Did you miss that post? Read it here.

I spoke to my GP a few days ago, and we talked about a few things such as medication, my counselling, and if there could be a different diagnosis. Basically, we talk about what I want to talk about. Firstly, I will be talking more about medication next week as we look at trying something different to Fluoxetine. The Fluoxetine is wearing off, which is probably why I’m feeling less suicidal, and I will be able to start a new medication at any time. I will have to see what is recommended, I presume it will be another SSRI. All of the possible mental illnesses that people are suggesting at the moment can be treated with SSRI’s.

Counselling? I talked to my GP about getting a new counsellor. One of the most mentioned topics on my blog is my hate of my counsellor which may sound mean but someone who turns me away when I tell them I have a suicide plan deserves my hate. They don’t give advice, just papers for me to read through, which will magically make me less depressed. Note, that doesn’t work. My GP said I might get the person I spoke to at the hospital as my counsellor, but that might not be possible as it depends on when they work. Anyone will be better than my current counsellor though.

My CAMHS counsellor killed me! Not literally.

Next, cutting! The days leading up to the events of last weekend as well as this week my cutting has been more random. There have been days where I have cut a lot, but there have been days where I haven’t cut. A similar thing happened around the time I took the overdose, but this time I seem to be cutting less afterwards. I’m not sure whether this will keep up as I might feel more depressed next week with the college tests I have. If stopping cutting makes me more suicidal I wont stop, but if I can keep my sessions as short as possible and my cuts as shallow as possible it will be manageable.

Finally, I have been more organised this week. I wrote a to-do list for my life this week which has helped me be more productive. I recommend it, although it made me realise how much I actually have to do. I will keep doing this each week. You might have noticed I’ve been publishing more posts. Well, on my to-do list I wrote that I would publish more blog posts and when I started writing one I had ideas for many, so expect a few over the next few weeks.

Oh wait, this is finally. I want to mention a few people. I do this sometimes, just to thank people who help me out during my low times. Obviously I want to thank every reader who has liked, commented and reblogged my posts. KBailey374, I Run This Mind and NorthernRose all reblogged my last blog post! All Things Chronic pingbacked it too! Wow! Anyway, I keep having strange conversations with DeepBluesAndSeaFoamGreens (I love the long name!) and they cheer me up whenever I see one of their comments. They are also one of the blogs not totally related to mental health or poetry that I follow, check them out! AmandaQuirky keeps commenting on a few of my posts now, and they commented on one of my poetry posts with a poem. I kind of told my readers to do that but I love it, and it was so good too! Siouxsie also deserves I mention for being so helpful to me when I was suicidal, I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before but they were helping so much, trying to figure out about hospital procedures for me and trying to get me there. It’s amazing how kind some strangers are, I haven’t been on the Depressionless twitter account still the hospital event so I haven’t spoken to them, I need to soon though. I could mention all of my readers, I read all of your comments I try to reply to them too. I think I made this paragraph too long, what do you think?

Click here to view the post I was talking about above, the one everyone loves!

Anyway, I have forgot what I was talking about. Something about it being a good few days for me… Yeah, it has been, and I hope next week is good too! I doubt it will be since I have a few college tests but I will try to be optimistic, at least for now. How has everyone else’s week been?

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.

LonelyTree1

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.

WaitingRoom

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”…

The Chronicles of the Tablets: Not In Hospital Yet

This is a follow-up post based on what has happened to me, basically about the small overdose of anti-anxiety tablets which is till affecting me. It happened on Saturday evening and I am still suffering from chest pains and the occasional stomach pain, this post will update you on the situation. If you want to read more (previous) posts they are linked below in chronological order:
1) Please Kill Me – Things That Make Me Depressed
2) Thinking To Myself About Suicide
3) The Swallowing of the Tablets
4) The Chronicles of the Tablets: What’s Happening To Me…

Okay, so my lovely readers deserve to know what is going on. During the writing of my last post, my mum was on the phone to the NHS. The NHS did not bring an ambulance! I’m not actually surprised as they booked an appointment for me to see a GP within a few hours. A few hours passed and my mum got a phone call from the GP that I do not need to see them. I have no idea why, I have not been given an explanation. I do not know if my mum knows, but I am not going to answer.

Today I went back to college (the day after they sent me home) and spoke to the college counsellor. They explained why they had to send me home, because of the risk of me harming myself, and that they are still here for me whenever I need them. The one thing I remember them saying is that if the tablets were anti-depressants I would have definitely been in hospital but since they were anti-anxiety tablets I was fine (well… not as bad). My college counsellor booked me an appointment for my CAMHS counsellor tomorrow, who I don’t enjoy speaking to but can give me better help since they are connected to the NHS.

Right now I am thinking about what to say tomorrow. I know that if I tell my CAMHS counsellor I am thinking and planning suicide they will have to put me into hospital (due to them being connected to the NHS). I am deciding whether to do it. I can also predict the comments on this post now I have said that. Anyway… yes, I have to go to the counsellor tomorrow. That’s all!

That’s not all! If I don’t go to hospital tomorrow I will do another one of my helpful articles tomorrow (if you want something specific, tell me in the comments). I haven’t decided exactly what it will be on yet. Also, I need to do more poems!

The Chronicles of the Tablets: What’s Happening To Me…

This is a follow-up post based on what has happened to me, basically about the small overdose of anti-anxiety tablets which is till affecting me. It happened on Saturday evening and I am still suffering from chest pains and the occasional stomach pain, this post will update you on the situation. If you want to read more (previous) posts they are linked below in chronological order:
1) Please Kill Me – Things That Make Me Depressed
2) Thinking To Myself About Suicide
3) The Swallowing of the Tablets

I’ve received a lot of advice from my friend and from many of my readers about seeing a doctor if I still have overdose symptoms. I haven’t seen a doctor yet. I went to college today and talked to the college counsellor about the incident of Saturday. Actually, I did not talk much except for the first few minutes where I explained what happened, then she asked a lot of questions which I replied to with “no” or “don’t know”. She then broke confidentiality and rang my mum. I’ve been taken home, and I presume I am going to be locked in my own home for the rest of the day unless something else happens.

As I type this my mum is on the phone to the NHS 111 number, getting advice about me. The only thing about this that I worry about is that they will have to put me in hospital, so if you do not hear from me in the next day I am probably in hospital. I imagine they are going to make me go to hospital to check I am fine after the overdose, and then they will send me to a mental health ward (because I’m still a bit suicidal). I always say I don’t want to go to hospital, and I’m still not sure about it.

In regards to my physical health, I am still feelings chest pains. I would call them heart pains but I don’t know if that is a real thing. I was having some bad stomach pains last night too but they have stopped. I have tried to talk to my friend but they are away still, and now I am probably locked in my house so I don’t see how I can see them. The whole time I have been writing this, my mum has been on the phone to the NHS so I am unsure whether they are about to do anything. I will write another update later if I am fine and not in hospital, so goodbye for now.

P.S. She is giving my name and address so does that mean an ambulance?

Thinking To Myself About Suicide

For my readers, you don’t need to read this. I’m just writing to get my thoughts down and decide what to do, in case you haven’t read my last post Please Kill Me – Things That Make Me Depressed you should read that and the comments as they explain what is going on.

So my GP gave me some anti-anxiety tablets to calm me down and keep me in classes (because I’ve missed a lot recently). They gave me 14 tablets, and I am meant to take one a day starting tomorrow. Since they gave me the tablets all I can think about is overdosing on them. I don’t know whether 14 is enough to kill me but they slow my heart down so 14 at once (considering I’m meant to take one a day) could work. Right now I don’t want to overdose, which is why I am writing this, but I cannot get the thought out of my mind and I know if my depression gets any worse I will probably do it.

I will ring Samaritans later. Hopefully they can give me some advice on what to do. I’m not sure what to expect from them but they can’t make anything worse than it already is so it is worth a try. I’m also thinking of giving the tablets to my friend so that I can’t overdose, I might ring them after I ring Samaritans (so like 2am, they will probably be asleep, I’ll try tomorrow). Either they can keep them so I don’t take any, or they can meet me at college every day to give me one. I don’t know.

I’ll see my GP next week (closed on weekends) and see if they can give me better advice. I’ll talk to the counsellor at college as well because I know they have been talking to each other. I don’t know what they will do with the tablets, but I think I need to take some sort of medication to make my life easier because at the moment (while nothing is working for me) it is very hard and I am struggling.

What now? I don’t know.