Hold On Pain Ends?


HOPE. Something I had very little of yesterday, as my husband frantically tried to get me some help. The last few days have been filled with staring vacantly, anxiety that made me want to claw my own skin off, and almost constant planning of suicide. My mood made even worse with the knowledge that, logistically, I had no sure fire way of ending it all. The day spent smoking too many cigarettes, the nights tearful and panicky.

The calm that thoughts of suicide can bring is eerie. Time is spent looking for websites that will legitimately send you morphine for $20 and the best way to drown yourself in the bath. Working out how long it might take you to walk to the nearest train line, and how you’d explain yourself in a note to the train driver, to be read long after they’d scraped you into a body bag. It all seems rational, logical, the obvious best choice. For you, and for those around you. Then you realise, you don’t really give a shit about those around you anyway, your own pain is all consuming.

Getting quick help via the community mental health team is nigh on impossible. ‘We’ll speak to a doctor and call you back’, ‘they’re just with a patient, we’ll call shortly’. All the while my husband was trying to juggle work too, and I was going even further out of my fucking mind. Then the call that saved me, for now at least, an appointment made at the inpatient unit with the home treatment team.

Sitting in that waiting room was tough. Really tough. Anxiety level high, sobbing, not wanting help, just wanting to die. Knowing that once these people were involved, there was no way I’d have the opportunity to see it through. I’d be stuck receiving help that I didn’t fucking want.

The nurse was so lovely, without being patronising. She allowed me to sit and cry, to mull things over, my husband could ask all the questions that he wanted. I’ve never been so open and vulnerable in a mental health appointment. There were moments that I did my usual cover up thing, dry humour, laughing. But somehow she cut through the bull shit. That and there was no point in trying to be strong any more, I didn’t want to be strong, I was just desperate. The home treatment team will be visiting all week, with a treatment review with the community mental health team on Friday.

I’m not sure how I feel today, really. Am I relieved I’m getting some help? Will this mean more effective treatment? Am I fucked off I’m not dead? I could be long gone by now; relief. Am I just vacant, defeated? I think I’m all of those things. Nothing sounds appealing, nothing raises a smile. There’s the occasional fleeting moment, when my daughter talks to me, that I’m engaged, I forget. And then that moment is gone, and the emptiness returns. Is there a sliver of hope? Perhaps. Which is more than I had yesterday. I feel a bit indifferent about life, I can’t commit to any opinion or emotion. I’m just…here. Barely existing.


Posted on July 15, 2014, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 6 Comments.

  1. Oh darling… That’s such a sad post. I am just crying for you now. I hope you manage to get the help that you need and that you start feeling better and having hope again.

  2. Very glad you are getting more intensive help – that your husband brought you in and is fighting for your recovery too. I have experienced the kind of anxiety you describe (although maybe not to the same degree), and it is awful. I think my longest stretch of that constant barrage was 3 or 4 weeks, so to see you struggle with it for so long is heartbreaking. But the silver lining is that you are STRONG, girl. Holy shit you are strong. Please try to bear the weight just a little longer. Give it another go, with these folks to help carry the load. I will pray. And pray. And pray some more.

  3. You know that you are strong. i have been there as a teenager and its hard to get out of. But i got out of it by declaring and decreeing Gods word.

  4. I’ve been checking updates to see how things went last night. I wanted to bring you here, to our home and “look after” you, tell you that this too shall pass and just be an ear and shoulder. Strange coming from a person you’ve never met but someone who understands the “calmness” and “eerie” feeling that suicidal thoughts bring once you’ve chosen a way out.

    You want help, you want it to get better because you let people in. You’re strong, admirable for your honesty and just an all round amazing person.

    However, you need to believe all of these things for yourself and in time you will. Xx

  5. Sending you shitloads of hope and love!!! You are so Damn brave, amazing and a brilliant writer. You are going to feel better.

  6. italkaboutboobs

    Sending you love. We don’t really know each other but this post rocked me. I am sorry. I don’t know if those are good or terrible or totally wrong words but I am. I’m sorry. It’s totally unfair that you got fucked over by being given this awful burden to bear. That’s all. I’m pissed off with/for you. Hope today is a pretty good one. Hang in here.

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