I've been debating as to whether to write this post or not.
But I know that my blog is not just about promoting the perfect life of recovery from a mental health problem, with no battles or obstacles thrown in. I'm here to document those twists and turns and be open and honest with you all about what has happened this week. Writing this is not only going to help me get it out in the open, but may help some of you to open up yourselves and get help.
On Monday the 15th of July, I took an overdose.
I was in a desperate, dark place. The depression had overtaken everything, it was one of those days where I saw no future or hope for myself. Everyone who I had tried calling for help were not answering their phones. I'd been overthinking for the majority of the day and struggling recently as it was, the huge drop came out of seemingly nowhere and I acted on impulse. I genuinely thought what I was doing was right, and that it would just take me away from what I was feeling.
I won't go into details about what I took and how much, but I have been suffering for it since.
The next day, I woke up in agonising pain, my body was trying to be sick but it wasn't allowing it to, I had a pounding headache, I had uncontrollable tremors and shakes, disorientation, irregular heartbeat, dizziness and tingling sensations in my arms. Complete with nausea, I was a bit of a mess.
Instead of going to hospital, like I should have done, I went to work that afternoon in 31 degree heat with no windows and air and barely any food. I had comments on how pale I looked but I just couldn't admit what I had done. I instead managed to pull through a shift (somehow) and felt like I could have dropped at any second.
The next day I spoke to a good friend of mine who happened to be attending a meeting with a pharmacist at the time. She spoke to her about my symptoms (as I refused to see a doctor) and she suggested that I have something called Serotonin Syndrome, a drug reaction caused often by poisoning of the body through certain types of drugs. Luckily, I only seemed to struggle mildly with it, anymore severe and I definitely would have been paying more of a price than I was already. But it was most definitely scary and only yesterday did I stop shaking and start trying to stomach food again. Despite my bestest friend coming over on Wednesday night for dinner, I couldn't finish my meal because I felt so nauseous and ended up feeling more sick afterwards and dissociated once more.
I guess I never thought I would land myself in this situation again. And it really has highlighted to me just how serious things are. I tend to brush off my illness and pretend everything is okay, but it isn't.
I haven't exactly worked out how things are going to move forward from here yet. I'm in one of those state of minds where I just want to refuse help and have entirely given up on myself because I have no hope.
I've always stuck by the phrase 'rock bottom became the solid foundation for which I started to rebuild my life'. And I have no idea where I'm going to start yet.
I go through days where I have hope for my future, then it disappears as quickly as the thought arose. I have 20 years of behaviours to unlearn and thinking processes to undo. I don't know how I'm going to do that.
I hope my honesty of this week can help you all to seek some help when you can. I should have been in hospital Monday night, instead I kept my mouth shut and I'm still almost 4 days on wondering whether I still have drugs in my system. Quite honestly, not going to the doctors for fear of judgement shouldn't happen. Stigma, stigma, stigma.
I'm going to move forward from this point. I don't know how but I hope you all are still going to continue with me on this journey.
I can get through this.