Leading up
I had been on holidays for three months. University had finished with me getting my lowest marks so far, and failing my Psychology lab report. I spent the three months in an ignorant bliss, pretending that everything was fine. The first sign that I was having a hypomanic episode should have been when I didn't care about my marks, and just went on being happy with everything. I had also been having a very long fall out with my brother, and by association, his girlfriend. It was awful. I felt so bad at home around them, but I'm sure I made them feel twice as bad as I was feeling.
(26/7/11) I went back to uni for my first day, and attended my lecture and class. Being back at uni set me off. I began to think that perhaps there was no point to any of it. If my marks weren't good enough, and they weren't, I wouldn't be able to make my dream come true, so what was the point? I had also fallen out with a friend there, who hadn't talked to me over most of the holidays because I wasn't interested in him as more than a friend. We had started talking slightly, in the same way that you talk to an acquitance, and it was so hard for me. Before that he was always someone I could go to at any time.
(27/7/11) The next day, I went into uni and met up with my best friend. We chatted, and it was okay, but she had class at 12pm. My class wasn't until 2pm, so I had a couple hours to waste. By this time, I was feeling very down. It all happened so fast, I didn't even realise. I found myself sitting in the library up the back. I searched frantically through my bag to find any sharp object. There was nothing. If I had only kept a blade in my bag, I would have made it through that week quite fine. I was quite upset by this point, so I went outside, and took the lift up to the top level of the carpark. I spent time crying, looking over the edge, considering. It seemed like such a good idea. I smoked cigarettes and tried to think of people to text for help. I got onto a couple, but noone close. I even texted the friend that I had the falling out with, and told him that I wasn't okay and was up on the roof. He simply said he was in the library, and then didn't reply any more. That was horrible. I also texted my best friend who was in class. By this time, she was on her way to me. She came out of the lift and found me sitting there crying. She pretty much took me to the train station and made sure that I was okay. She is amazing.
On the train home, I called my mum and told her that I was not okay. I said that I was feeling VERY bad, and that I needed help. She organised a doctor appointment for me the next day, and made me feel somewhat hopeful that this would all be fine very soon.
That night, I lay on the couch downstairs with a blanket and cried most of the night. My family still functioned around me, having dinner and drinking coffee. This was very comforting. It's like reassurance that the world hasn't ended.
(28/7/11)The next day, I went to my doctor appointment. I told him that I wasn't doing so well. He gave me a reference to see a psychiatrist the next day.
(29/7/11) I saw the psychiatrist, and he diagnosed by as Bipolar Type 2, and suggested that I might have Borderline Personality Disorder. He prescribed me 25mg of Seroquel daily, and sent me off. I got home, and was still feeling down. I wrote this:
Tonight, I want to die. I want to overdose on Seroquel, and maybe some Pristiq. I want to cut myself with a blade, long and deep, down the length of my leg. I want the shower filled with blood, while I'm drowsy from the pills and the blood loss and the ectasy of finally escaping. I feel as if I'm not meant to be alive. I've had so many challenges thrown at me during my life: disability, anxiety, depression, OCD, and now Bipolar. I'm so bored with life. The last 2 months I felt as if I were cured; I was sure I had finally become 'normal'. Now, I realise that it was simply a long hypomanic episode. And then when I crashed, I just knew I was sick of everything. I wanted to throw myself off the building. I still want to get away from everything. I've considered this. Maybe I don't need to die; I just need to go far away. Away from uni and social and work responsibilities. Somewhere only my needs are focused on. Anywhere but here. And perhaps this episode will end in a couple days and I'll be fine. But that's so hard to imagine when I'm convinced that there is NOTHING worth living for. The antipsychotics they gave me are supposed to 'knock me out' but I hardly feel them at all. It's as if my body has become so damn used to being medicated that giving me 25mg of a pill isn't going to do shit. That's scary to think that maybe they won't work, and in a couple days I'll still feel exactly the same. I always thought that my life would conclude by suicide, either sooner or later. I was considering that maybe sooner is better than later. People have more time to get over it. I don't have the responsibility of children. My young cousins wouldn't even remember me in a couple years, or even months. My grandma would be crushed, but she has survived so much before me. I doubt it would affect my brothers too much. And my parents? I honestly think they would move on. I mean, isn't it easier to not have to put up with a disabled, mentally ill daughter who can hardly stand to be alone and needs to be cared for so much? Who probably won't get married, or become successful, or do anything meaningful? What kind of life is that? I'm sure my parents weren't considering this when I was a baby in their arms. I used to be able to imagine my future and all the possibilities that it held. Now, I can't see much at all.
(30/7/11) My parents convinced me to come with them to visit my grandfather in hospital. He had experienced a heart attack a couple weeks ago, but I'm not close to him at all. I mainly went so I could be with my parents. In the car on the way there and whilst at the hospital, I was feeling so sad. It almost felt like a good bye. On the way home, I spent the trip crying the entire time. My parents just let me be. As we drove towards my home, the emu and camels near my house were all standing at the front of their enclosures near the road. I felt like I was seeing everything for the final time. I got home and walked out into the backyard. I sat with my dogs, and continued to cry. A couple minutes later they opened the back door and ran inside, leaving me! That didn't make me feel better. I put them outside and then went up to my room.
Thoughts
As I sat in my room, there were three main reasons that convinced me that suicide was the only option.
1) I had recieved yet another diagnosis (or two). OCD, GAD, phobia, social anxiety, separation anxiety, major depressive disorder, and now these. It seemed like my whole life was a joke.
2) At any low point in my life, I got through it by telling myself that I could not kill myself because I had to become a Psychologist. That was my reason for living. Now, I realised that my marks weren't good enough to get into Honours. I most likely wouldn't be able to fulfill my dream. I had no reason to go on.
3) I had turned my own brother against me. I had been incredibly nasty towards him and his girlfriend. There were people at uni that I purposely didn't make an effort with, which I realise now was so mean. At the time, I honestly believed that I couldn't change things with these people, and that they would all be happier without me.
Google search
The night before, I had jumped on the Internet and researched the side effects of a Seroquel Overdose. And here they are:
Drowsiness
Fainting
Rapid heart rate (tachycardia)
Low blood pressure (hypotension)
Low blood potassium (hypokalemia)
Irregular heart rhythm (arrhythmia)
Coma
Loss of life
Just Before
I was in my room alone, distraught. I couldn't stop crying. I knew that I was feeling very suicidal, and I was so afraid. I called my parents, but they were out - about 10 minutes away. I remember telling mum that I didn't want to hurt myself, and she needed to come home right now. I sat down on my bed, still crying, and popped out all of the pills from the packet. I placed my water bottle next to them, and found my blades.
Pills and Blades
I think I first sliced my leg, crying while I did so, watching more blood come out than I had ever seen before (when I had cut in the past). I remember shoving tablets into my mouth. From how many were missing, I assume that I took 5, had a break, and then took 4 more. I laid down and cried.
I had been prescribed 25mg the day before. By the end of the night, I had taken 225mg, and cut my lower left leg repeatedly. My pants were stained with blood. I sat on my bed, crying and fighting with myself. I had I laid down on my bed and cried nonstop.
Being Found
Mum came into my room. She took the pills/blades off my bed and then laid down with me. I found out that at this point, she had no idea that I had actually done anything. She talked to me, believing that I was simply upset and just needed a chat. To be honest, I'm not sure what we talked about. As I became excessively tired, she realised that I might have taken something. She counted the pills missing, and I assume that's when she called dad. He must have called the ambulance about then. Mum suggested that I might have to have my stomach pumped. I remember feeling a little bit worried about that, but not enough to care. I tried to get up to use the bathroom. I made it there, but began to pass out once I reached the toilet, and so had to go back to bed. I tried again about 10 minutes later, but the same thing happened. I told my parents that I just needed to go to bed, that I would be fine, but they didn't really believe me.
"Suicide note"
The day before, I had written what I percieved to be a "rant" about what I was feeling. It was never meant for anyone to read. It was simply to make myself feel better. After mum had realised that I had overdosed, she kept asking why. I was so out of it, and told her that she should read the document on my computer. This was then read by my dad, who printed it off (I assume because the Emergency person told him to). It was read by EVERYONE! My parents, the ambulance men, the various nurses, doctors and crisis people that came and saw me in the hospital. However, at the time, I really didn't care. I remember having people pulling up my shirt to connect me to the monitors, and while I usually would have refused that sort of treatment, I just lay there. I was too tired to care.
Ambulance
The ambulance men came up in to my room, in the same way you see them do on television shows. They put their bags on my bed and started asking me questions. I was simply trying not to pass out. I can't remember exact details at all, which is a strange feeling. I know that they connected me to a monitor in my room to make sure my heart beat was okay. As you can see by the effects of Seroquel overdose, it mainly attacks your heart. They were making me sit up, which felt horrible! They decided I had to go into hospital, and helped me get down the stairs. I had to walk myself, since a stretcher or anything similar was unfeasible considering my twisted stairway. I was still conected to the monitor, and as they made me lie down on the bed in the ambulance, they connected the cords to another monitor. As we made our way, the lights were on, and they looked so pretty - perhaps because of the state I was in. At the start, the officer next to me tried to ask me questions, but I found it hard to think. Pretty soon, he gave up and just let me be. My mum was in the front with the driver and I could hear them talking. I can't remember anything that was said. I felt very nauseus, and was given a "sick bag". I held onto that bag until I got home again, but luckily didn't need to use it.
Hospital
We made it to the hospital, and they wheeled me out into the cold. I was taken into Emergency, where I was suddenly left all alone. People were rushing around me, but I couldn't see my mum or any other familiar faces. I remember feeling a little uneasy, but I just lay there. I was wheeled into a curtained off room quite soon after, and then attatched to yet another machine. My mother sat next to me, as nurses came in and out, each telling me how pale I was. They would come and ask questions, look at my statistics, and then leave as another nurse entered. I basically just lay there feeling exhausted and sick.
Because it had been so long since I had taken the tablets, they couldn't pump my stomach. The next step is an IV with fluids. A nurse came along to insert a drip into me to flush out the medication from my blood. SHE SUCKED SO BAD. Oh it was so painful. She couldn't get it right, and had to try repeatedly. Eventually she got it right, but I spent the next week with a big, painful bruise on my arm.
I had only been in Emergency around 15 minutes, when my father appeared - with my GRANDMOTHER! The person that I love so much, whom I would never want to show my weakness to because it would hurt her so much to see. I was so angry inside that he had brought her. Of course, he thought that it would make me feel better to have her there. Secretly, it probably did. She was shattered though. Just stood next to me. Her and dad left a couple hours later, as dad had work early the next day, and I doubt he could really handle being there. He was incredibly upset.
I don't know exactly what happened over the next 8 hours, but essentially I was visited by a doctor who said that I had been on the drip long enough to reduce the medication levels to safe. A mental health specialist came and assessed me, asking various questions. I really wish I could remember more. She left to do something, and came back around an hour after the doctor had visited. She said that I was allowed to go home tonight, but my parents had to watch me, and take away any dangerous objects/substances.
Several minutes before I left, a girl was rushed in next to me. Her brother had found her after she had drunk a glass of coke and drain cleaner. Their parents were away, so he was the only one to do everything. It must have been awful for him. She was very sick. It made me realise that they probably get quite a few suicidal people in each week. I don't know what ended up happening to her and her brother.
After I was released, I attempted to stand up but immediately became dizzy and sick. If anyone reading this has ever passed out before, you'll know what I mean when I talk about the way your eyes begin to go dark, and your ears feel funny, and every sound seems so far away, and you feel so heated and sick. Awful feeling! They gave me a wheelchair to use to take me to the carpark, where I made it to the car. Those 20 steps were more than enough!
I got in the car with mum and we began to drive home. By now, it was about 3.30am, and there was noone on the roads. I'm fairly sure we chatted, but I can't remember anything about it. We came home, and I got into bed. She made sure that I was okay (note: not suicidal) and went to bed herself. I doubt she and my dad slept much.
Afterwards
(31/7/11) I went to therapy the next day with my parents. We all decided that I probably wasn't a threat to myself at the moment, and I was okay to stay home. They agreed on the mental health facility I would go to if I needed it. By now, I was feeling better. Almost more free. Things are never as bad as your lowest point.
From then on, I had weekly therapy. My parents kept a close eye on me. I wrote up an outline of my current condition. It included early warning signs, secondary warning signs, ways of dealing with an episode, and then contacts to call. I had to put it on my fridge to make sure everyone was aware of it all. I was also given two adult story books about depression for my family to read to understand it better.
I Had a Black Dog by Matthew Johnstone, 2005
and
Living with the Black Dog by Matthew & Ainsley Johnstone, 2008
From then on, things just started to look up.
Now
(26/11/11) For the first time in my life, I can say that I am truly happier than I have ever been. I am on Pristiq and Seroquel XR, which help control my mood and anxiety very well. I have recently completed my therapy, and now only go back once a month for a check up and for any medication concerns.
I worked really hard, and became close again with my brother and with his girlfriend (who I truly adore). I also made things right with people at uni, and am now making even more friends there.
I'm not sure whether or not I will ever become a Psychologist. At the moment, I'm considering going into child care, or working at a school with Special Needs children.
I am on uni holidays again at the moment until March. I recieve my results in a couple weeks, and depending on what they're like, I'll start deciding about my future. I'm spending my time getting into a good, healthy, positive routine, with good eating, exercise, family, and friends.
My Life Rules
It is much easier to be nice to people than to be nasty
You should never do anything to make another person feel bad
You should do things in your power to make other people feel good
You should spend time making new friends - you can never have enough
If there is anything in your life that is making you feel bad, either fix it or ditch it - it is absolutely not worth continuing to be unhappy if it can't be repaired
Things will
always get better
Hey guys. :) I know I've been away for a little while, but here is a post to keep you happy! I guess I don't have anything interesting or drama-ish to tell you. My life was so crazy only six months ago. Now, things are just..right. I'm around halfway through my process of self-improvement, and I'm 100% happy with my values, my current life stage, my friends, my future plans, my job. It kind of feels like the last 20 years of my life - which I totally thought would end at some point around age 18-19 - have completely been worth it. 
In a couple days, after people have read this post, I'll do another post on a couple of things I think you guys might like from my other blog, including how to publish your blog as a pdf document for free. They'll be a couple things that I appreciate, and that I think you might appreciate yourself. The copy that I have of this blog gives me peace of mind, and it's nice to know that I have all of it in a file and saved, if something ever happened to this electronic version. Stay tuned! 
Important note: it's good to have friends. It doesn't matter how much you like someone, or how annoying someone is, or how much they like you, or how your friends really dislike someone. You should always be nice. Even if someone is acting like a complete bitch. If there is one thing that I've learned over the last year, it's that it is ALWAYS better to be nice. You cannot have enough friends. You cannot be too friendly. 
On the train home, I called my mum and told her that I was not okay. I said that I was feeling VERY bad, and that I needed help. She organised a doctor appointment for me the next day, and made me feel somewhat hopeful that this would all be fine very soon. 
(31/7/11) I went to therapy the next day with my parents. We all decided that I probably wasn't a threat to myself at the moment, and I was okay to stay home. They agreed on the mental health facility I would go to if I needed it. By now, I was feeling better. Almost more free. Things are never as bad as your lowest point. 
From then on, I had weekly therapy. My parents kept a close eye on me. I wrote up an outline of my current condition. It included early warning signs, secondary warning signs, ways of dealing with an episode, and then contacts to call. I had to put it on my fridge to make sure everyone was aware of it all. I was also given two adult story books about depression for my family to read to understand it better. 
Appointment with the doctor this week. Not sure what weight I'm going to give him. Too low and he might take me off the Duromine, which would be a disaster.
![[208282_1804395682693_1623912442_1676449_1777635_n.jpg]](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDalAgA4T9qiOATZBylByfXezzzD2wCUXEbvQobw1kEZFv9-t011ltoExDwoHIkKr9RZ3J4MwjP11fnqz45KbY4X4W0iBwGlQ8ELVfPi5Jd3AmOXOhhqwY5fYVhoSoN1j_PDUtYl-o4OY/s220/208282_1804395682693_1623912442_1676449_1777635_n.jpg)
