I’m smiling, but I just can’t see it with all the tears running down my cheeks.
Yeah, I’ve figured out how I can now kill myself without having to even leave my room, I just need to decide whether to do it or not. I’ve managed to set it up already so that is not a problem. Could I go through with it? And would it actually work? I’m not sure.
I have rope in my room, one end of it is tied to my bed. The other end is currently lying on the floor (the noose is also tied just to let you know) but my plan would be to hang it round a bar off my wall which can support my weight. I also have a stool/chair thing in my room which I can use to get up to the noose once I put it around the bar. Then I can jump off. There might be a strange case where the bar somehow doesn’t support my weight, or the bed moves to stop me hanging myself, but I think if I put stuff on top of my bed to weigh it down then everything should go fine.
Apparently my suicidal thoughts should be going down now. In fact I got another letter from my CAMHS person today who claims that I’m having no suicidal thoughts. I wont even bother writing about that, what is the point? We all know I hate my CAMHS counsellor. I haven’t even heard from the new one I am meant to be getting, is there any point in waiting?
My family still don’t care. My friends don’t care. I’m not even sure what the point in writing about all of this is. It is the same each time. My family don’t love me, my friends don’t care, I’m lonely, I’m depressed… the list goes on. I don’t think they would cry if I died, I don’t think I could cry if they died.
I feel ill. Physically and mentally. Anyone who thinks depression isn’t a serious illness should jump off a cliff, I’ll jump off with you. I wish I didn’t have depression. If I had the choice I would trade it with cancer because at least I know it will end at some point, dead or alive. I don’t want to live anymore.
Suicide. Thinking about it isn’t even strange to me anymore, it is just a normal part of life. Want to know what is strange? Going an hour without thinking about killing myself. That happened once, I’m not exactly sure when but I know it happened. I’m sure there used to be a time before I was depressed that I didn’t think about suicide but I have no memories of what that felt like. I’m sure it felt good but I have no idea.
TRIGGER WARNING: There is a lot of talk about suicide. I talk about suicide on my blog a lot without including a trigger warning but I imagine this could easily trigger someone. Please don’t read if you feel like you could be triggered by talk of suicide.
Some people in my maths class were talking about suicide, it was a very strange conversation. I think most “intelligent” people lack the ability to have normal conversations, but then that makes me question how they are so intelligent. One of them said their preferred method of suicide would be to jump out of a window, that’s when I realised how stupid they actually were. Jump out of a window? I think they were also referring to the window they were standing next to, which would have probably broke their legs at most if they jumped out. Idiot. The other person said they would shoot themselves in the head. I wouldn’t trust this person to do that, I don’t think they even know how a gun works. How would they also get a gun? Gun suicide is not very common in the UK compared to America, and I wonder how a working-class teenage girl would get a gun.
Anyway, at one point I was ready to jump out and scream the best way to do it. Recently the idea of carbon monoxide suicide has come to the front of my mind. Easy, painless, you just fall asleep while it happens. How could these people not consider it? I sat silent because telling everyone I am the master of suicide plans (despite being alive?) is not the kind of thing you should say at college. Yeah, if you survive carbon monoxide suicide you will possibly have permanent brain damage but my brain already feels dead…
Tomorrow I get to go to my counsellor and tell them I hate them, I never want to talk to them again and that the medication I’m on is not working. In fact my suicidal thoughts are getting worse again. At least this medication hasn’t made me do anything stupid (yet). I overdosed on Propranolol (worst idea ever – it did almost nothing except upset my stomach and make me feel dizzy a bit) and the Fluoxetine made me so suicidal I had to go hospital. Sertraline seems to be the medication that does nothing, and I’ve been on it for almost seven weeks.
I doubt I will say those things to my counsellor, but if I could do anything it would be much worse. I have a very interesting memory of sitting in the room with my counsellor once thinking about picking up the stapler and violently bashing them repeatedly with it until I could walk out the room without a stupid comment from them (I’m sure we all get these thoughts, right?). That is one of the things I could think about while smiling. But I know that is a stupid idea now… I’m not sure how easy it is to commit suicide while in prison.
I’ve asked to speak to my friend before I go counselling tomorrow. Yeah, that friend who was my friend one month but then fell out with me, then we became friends again but fell out, and now we talk! That friend. I blame myself for our failed friendship but I guess the job of my new counsellor would be to convince me otherwise. They have agreed to talk to me for a few minutes before I leave to go counselling. I haven’t yet decided whether to cry in front of them (something I am yet to do), beg for their eternal forgiveness (but I don’t know what for yet) or to tell them they have been a bad friend to me and they need to get their act together. Actually, I will probably just say I really need someone to help me get through this, which falls somewhere between begging and telling them they have been a bad friend. Closer to begging. A lot closer to begging. I’ll probably cry. I have about 16 hours to think this over. Well.
What if this talk goes wrong? And my counselling? And that stats test tomorrow? And talking to that girl at college? Yeah, they will all go wrong. At least I have cutting. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone but I love it, I want to keep cutting all to myself. Don’t cut guys! I can cut though. I love watching the blood run out of my veins, I love the pain that I get, I love knowing that no one cares about me and I don’t either. I’m not bothered by scarring, so what. My mind is already mentally scarred by the emotional neglect I’ve received for 17 years. Even if someone loved and cared about me, the damage to my mind has already been done. I’m a failed person. Should I celebrate? Do I get a little badge for it? No, I just get scars and a face full of tears.
P.S. The featured image is old, I’ve been cutting more again…
My last post was a week and a half ago and I talked about my suicidal thoughts and feelings. I think I may have scared some of my readers, but I am fine now. Thanks for being so concerned for me, I promise I’ll keep you better informed next time.
I was struggling with my suicidal thoughts not long ago. I will give you more details in a few posts over the next few days but I stabbed myself, ended up in hospital and had to stay there for a while. I was unable to post while in hospital so could not inform my lovely readers. On getting out I was feeling better but still struggling with my suicidal thoughts, my mind wasn’t working right and I completely forgot loads of things. I didn’t post here, I haven’t been to college, lots of things went wrong. I also discovered some things about my family and my friendships which impacted my mood, making me even more depressed. I have been struggling a lot in the past 2 weeks. I will share it with you guys starting tomorrow, there is lots to talk about. It could be a post series, maybe the “Battling My Suicidal Thoughts” series. Seriously, there is a lot, I could probably write a novel with everything that has happened.
Thanks for all the comments while I was away, I feel bad for not telling you guys, but my mind wasn’t in the right place. I’ll probably go through each comment tomorrow and thank everyone, it means a lot to have these people who care. This is Depressionless, signing out!
The thought which has hit me today… I have no reason to live! I have a reason to die, to end the torture that goes on in my mind, but I don’t have a reason to stay alive. Yesterday was one of the happiest days I had in a while, even though nothing spectacular happened I managed to spend an evening without having a suicidal thought. I did not even realise this until today when I was meant to be meeting my friend at lunch, the first time this month that someone was going to spend some time with me. This is probably why I was happy yesterday evening, but I knew it would not turn out how I would have hoped.
Since my depression started my friends started to leave me, although they did not know about my mental health. I have made a few friends since my depression started too, but they don’t seem to care about me. Apparently a friend is meant to care about me, which makes me think I don’t have any friends, and makes me question whether I have actually ever had a friend. If that is the only criteria for friendship my family might not even be friends with me. You have to talk to friends as well, which definitely cancels my family out of the equation. But this friend who I was going to meet today does talk to me, and I thought they cared about me. I haven’t really spent time with them since the overdose (a few weeks ago) which makes me question whether they don’t care. We used to spent some time together, and they have been talking to me since the overdose but they don’t seem to want to spend time with me.
So what happened today? Well, I met them outside of their lesson at lunch as we had planned. As soon as I saw them they said I was going to the lunch area with them, I don’t get a say in it or else they wont spend lunch with me. So I followed them, they then wanted me to meet all of their friends that I don’t know, and spend lunch with them which means I can’t talk to my friend about any of my problems. They probably don’t want to talk about it but we haven’t even spoke about my depression in a few weeks except for the overdose and when I went hospital. What’s worse is that as soon as I would have met my friends’ friends my friend probably would have left me. That would have meant I would have been left with a bunch of strangers who wouldn’t talk to me. That’s why I told my friend I don’t want to go to the lunch zone, which resulted in me spending lunch alone.
Lunch alone? Yes, and I spent it crying. Probably a good 30 minutes crying. After going toilet and talking to the college counsellor I sat back down so I could cry some more. Whilst crying it struck me that I have no one that cares about me again. I am only living for myself at the moment. Even sadder, I don’t even like myself, I was I could chance myself. I don’t know what I don’t like about myself but there must be something which is repelling all the people away from me, it can’t just be other peoples problem. So what do I have to live for? I’m beginning to fail at college, which puts my dream job into doubts. Like I said, I have no one to live for. I have stopped with all of my hobbies since my depression began and I don’t see the point in restarting them. I spend every day fighting against my own mind. So… nothing to live for.
This evening I was looking at suicide prevention online, and seeing what to do. Firstly, delay my actions. Well, I have been delaying them since I got out of hospital so I think that surpasses the 48 hours they recommended. Next, make the environment safe. The only way I can do that is by shutting down my mind, I am not safe while I can think, wait… that means kill myself. What else? Call someone. I tried calling my friend, they didn’t answer. I have no one else to call. Stop drinking or using drugs. I don’t, but it sounds appealing. I don’t drink but after getting out of hospital a week ago I tried some alcohol, and I tried some more, and some more. This was only in one night and I didn’t get drunk but I didn’t feel like I hated myself. That is the only thing I can think of at the moment to get rid of my suicidal thoughts. That’s one option, what else? Get professional help. Well, I will see my counsellor tomorrow which is professional help but they are probably going to make me want to kill myself even more. Finally, know that people get through this. Okay, but I don’t see how I can.
I’ve checked what I can do and it doesn’t look promising. I cut myself earlier too, and I think I will continue with that until I don’t absolutely hate myself, then I might get a drink to get rid of my suicidal thoughts. I do hope I can go through with the suicide next time I try it, I don’t actually have anything to live for this time so that should make it easier. See you next post… if I make it until then…
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”…
Well, it’s me again, and I’ve just got back from my CAMHS counsellor who I am now certain is trying to kill me. When you say you have a plan to kill yourself shortly after attempting an overdose, you should expect some help. Well… not if you have my counsellor. I’ve heard countless stories about this before but I thought maybe CAMHS could help me, at least they have now shown me their true colours.
You will notice that as I write this the drugs from my overdose have probably left my system since I am pumped with adrenaline, ready to complain about how CAMHS, run by the NHS who is owned by the government, doesn’t want to help me and is essentially leaving me to die.
Prior to my meeting today they had been informed by my college counsellor that I had taken an overdose on Saturday night. I’m still alive if you are wondering (seriously, you should have guessed) and I was starting to feel a little bit better until I saw CAMHS. They also know that I actively self-harm, and that I am currently receiving very little help. I get help from my GP who I see once a week but they are only their to listen to me. I get help from the college counsellor, who is someone who will actually listen to me. CAMHS also know that I am not very happy with them, since they told me that they could not help me with my depression that they haven’t diagnosed yet (the GP believes I have it though).
The meeting started off with talking about my overdose. I wasn’t exactly sure what they wanted me to tell them. They already know what I took, when I took it and what happened afterwards regarding college and the NHS. The only information I could give them was that I told my friend after the overdose happened, and that they told me to go to see a doctor. I didn’t see a doctor, CAMHS did not really care why. CAMHS were not that interested in why I overdosed but I believe they asked me once, possibly twice. They were very concerned about why I told that particular friend. Do they believe I am a bad person for not telling my other friends? Do I have a secret illegal drug deal with this friend and I must tell them I might die, which means they don’t get their regular fix? I wouldn’t be surprised if that is what CAMHS believed. Anyway, I gave them some information added onto what they already know. You can’t say I’m not communicating.
Next they gave me a questionnaire to complete, their were over 100 questions on it. For each question I had to answer with “Never”, “Sometimes”, “Often” or “Always”. Only a few questions were yes or no. Pretty simple, and it should be obvious in some cases whether the person answering will need help. I’ll show you some of my answers to the questions.
Do you self-harm?
I wish I were dead.
I feel no one loves me.
Do you have a plan to kill yourself?
Now if someone came up to me and said they regularly cut themselves, they have no one that loves them, that they wish they were dead and had a plan to do it I would be extremely concerned about them, and would try to give them all the help I could get. If I also knew about their recent attempt to overdose I would be in tears. Apparently CAMHS don’t care though, as you’ll see through the rest of the post. I also want to note that I don’t actually have another plan yet but I’m thinking, I do still have my rope from ages ago.
So after this questionnaire they decided they were going to pass me onto their supervisor. I’m guessing they didn’t know what to do with me (I think they are in training still). I small part of my mind makes me think they can’t be bothered to deal with me, but while I’m thinking straight I’ll say that probably isn’t the case. I wouldn’t be surprised though it they couldn’t be bothered. They sent me back to the waiting area with my mum while the counsellor and supervisor talked.
A short while of waiting and I’m being led into a room with both the counsellor and supervisor. The supervisor is now pretending they know everything about my life, claiming that I am embarrassed to talk about whatever I wont talk about. They were certain I was embarrassed, after only a few minutes of knowing me (or not really knowing me). They found out a few things about my personal life such as what relatives lived with me and what I study at college. They are so quick to judge, if I were to judge them I would say they haven’t had a proper education. In fact I have convinced myself that when I get my A-Level maths qualification in the summer I will be a better qualified psychologist than them. Yes, I’m convinced. The whole way they act, they believe they know my life story without talking to me, they think they know everything I am thinking. They told me what they “know” I am thinking, and it wasn’t. They don’t seem to want to discuss it very much, so I don’t really have much of a chance to tell them. I wouldn’t want to talk to someone as rude as them anyway.
So they were stuck, their detective skills were unable to figure out everything so they brought my mum in the room. They then talked to my mum as if I weren’t in the room. How was he growing up? Was he dropped on the head is what they were getting at. How is his relationship with his family? What he abused by anyone in the family is what they were getting at. What does he do with his friends? Is he a drug abuser or a prostitute is what they were getting at. How rude, I was wondering if I was invisible at this point. I was beginning to think I was Harry Potter was the invisibility cloak, and Hagrid was about to come at take me to Hogwarts, which would explain why I don’t fit in around here.
The talking went on and on. I can’t remember everything they said as they just talked, didn’t care about me being involved in the conversation, only about making me feel bad. They dropped a lot of hints to make me force them to tell them everything, but they wouldn’t ask me. They hinted at me getting kicked out of college if I don’t tell them, but I’ll talk to my college tomorrow and confirm this isn’t true. They were saying I will be stuck like this forever if I don’t tell them, but I never knew the cure for depression was talking to rude, inconsiderate people. Eventually they allowed me and my mum to leave. Yes, the guy with a plan on killing himself was allowed to walk out of the government organisation designed to keep him safe.
So in the end you can see I am very angry. I was expecting more. One of the questions on the questionnaire was talking about if I wanted help, and I said yes to it so they can’t say I didn’t ask. Even if I didn’t, you would expect them to try and help me. I’m sure a lot of the people who get put on mental wards do not ask for help. I’m not even saying they had to put me in hospital, I received no help for keeping safe or anything. They didn’t tell me to stay with other people to keep safe. They are threatening me saying I must tell them more information during the next meeting or else I won’t be able to work with them. The threat isn’t very good because I don’t really want to talk to anyone like them. I’ll be glad to get them out of my life.
Now comes the honest part. I hope they get fired. I will complain to my local MP, I will complain to CAMHS, and I will complain to the government. They need to review these people who are meant to be helping me, and if this is a CAMHS-wide problem the whole organisation should be reviewed. If they don’t want to help me, I hope they get fired. After all, their job is to help me.
So what help will I receive now? I still have my college counsellor to talk to, who is far more helpful. I am going to see my GP tomorrow as well, and I’ll tell them what disgusting people I had to put up with today. Yes, I’m angry. But at least I have my readers to comfort me, how is everyone else doing?