*** TRIGGER WARNING- SUICIDE/ SELF HARM… READ WITH CAUTION!***
Story time! get some Snacks/ Drinks and make yourself comfortable as I tell you one of my many Mental Health stories. Tissues maybe required as this may make you emotional and/or cry tears of frustration. Or is that maybe a warning for myself….
The year was 2013 and I was 17 turning 18. This was meant to be a joyful year as my last one as a teenager but I assure you this was not the case. From Jan-Oct of 2013 I was a depressed, throwing up, self-harming suicidal mess. Well, before 2013 I was but 2013 was the year the bottle top exploded.
By May I had been to the ED 10 times ( I think, can’t exactly recall) with suicidal thoughts/ self harming thoughts (and I think one of those times I ended up doing it) and was let down quite a lot by sadly a few professionals. For example one of the times I was told ” just talk to your Parent’s ( who by the way we told you self harm without your consent lol) and come off your Depression medication by the end of the week, you’re just a sad Teenager. You’ll be right!” and was sent on my merry way.
May 20 something came up and I was done with life with a capital D. I wanted that D (insert immature thoughts here) and wanted out, and yet a little bit of me still wanted to try and live.I set my alarm to wake me just before one of my folks left early for work so I could make sure they were gone. They left and I set into action. I knew (well, what I thought I knew) to release pain/ cry for help I had to cut my left arm, I wasn’t being listened to and I was being driven insane with pain and anguish. A potential thunderstorm was coming that week and I knew that would push me over the edge ( by the way I have a massive thunderstorm phobia- just so you knew.)
Once that was completed I set to work with making my way out and satisfying my urge to try at the least. I had a emo/ punk fashion phase and had a wallet chain lying around so I placed that around my neck and began to pull it up behind my head. My breathing became strained and my body began to shake, was this going to happen? But then I stopped. A little tiny bit of me wanted to live and to see if I could actually get help to end this. The urge became strong again and I tried again twice, stopping again as that little bit of hope came back.
Catching my breathe sprawled out across my bed I grabbed my phone and called two Mental Health Emergency/ Crisis lines ( there’s a few where I live in Australia) who proved to be of no assistance. I was told as I lived semi-rural and refused to go to the nearest local hospital where they last treated me like crap there wasn’t much they could do. I was advised stay in bed and have a warm drink of milk and watch trashy TV to calm myself.
This wasn’t enough. I reached out to a Family Member who brought me up to the City to their place and took me to a hospital to seek treatment. To my blessing I spoke to a Psychiatrist who listened to me and advised me that I could be admitted to the Mental Health unit for Treatment but under guard as I was under 18, this was an Adult ward and the Hospital for under 18’s was full. Was this my salvation? could the road to recovery begin? To add to my hope I received my first proper kiss while I was waiting to be admitted. A relationship didn’t eventuate from this but hey, the kiss was good!
About two days later I was brought to the Ward and completed a verbal questioner and to my relief I met two Girls that I became friendly with and could talk to on the first day. I felt a sense of relief and calm that I could relate to people. However once my Family members left reality set in, I was in a Mental Health Ward with Nurses/ Doctors constantly around me and I was going to be followed around 24/7 and have my every move watched. I had some of my belongings taken off me and was prohibited from wearing certain clothes.
That first night I only had a few hours sleep as I bawled my eyes out. I was freaked out due to my new situation and the fact that I was sleeping in an isolation room with minimal furniture, no windows, white walls and boot marks up the walls. I also received nasty messages from a Family Member before I went to sleep on the first night with messages that I will not disclose for privacy reasons.
The second day I had breakfast and became acquainted with a few more people and attended some of my first groups, mindfulness and something else I believe. A lot of them was me hearing the same things I’d heard a millions times in therapy before but it was good to attend these groups. The care and support I was receiving from the Nurses/ Doctors was incredible and this would continue until the end of my stay.
The third day was much like the second and pleasant as I had thoughts of ” things could get better” and my ability to take in the world around me kicked in again. The sky was more blue than ever, the grass greener, the birds sweet song was at it’s most blissful and my interest in the world was keeping me going again. Conversations with people from all walks of life kept me interested and the support I was giving/ receiving from everyone was.. something I couldn’t describe. Especially from one Girl. I owe a lot to her.
The fourth and fifth days were like the two/ three before but I tried a new medication which while it made me feel itchy it returned a sense of calm and normality. I had visits from good mates and even had the opportunity to go out by myself and do retail therapy and attend my Psychologist appointment.
But alas- all good things must come to an end! my discharge day arrived and everything that was pleasant and my treatment plans all came undone. I recall feeling let down but okay at the same time but this was not to last, more stories will be told about this later. Anyway I was told that I was too harsh on myself and that nothing was going on for me, I was just facing a hard time and didn’t need any medication. I was told to face my storm phobia and continue on with life. I was to be put on no medication and I feel have my stories that I poured out of abuse/ trauma go ill- taken.
Another ray of hope was taken out from underneath me and another opening of my mouth went unheard. But fast-forward until now and I place my hand on my chest still amazed to feel my heart beating and to feel myself breathing and living. I still have plenty of stories to tell and I hope I tell them to willing readers. I tell one of my many stories to end the stigma of talking about Mental Health and to say that it’s okay to talk about it. This has been hard for me to write and will continue to be, but again… it’s okay to talk.
Until next time.
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