I Found Out How To Kill Myself!

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.

Oh well…

Advertisements

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”…