Bad week: Wednesday

So Wednesday I was packing to move, because I am moving on Monday to my new house that I will be sharing with roommates, once again. I was pretty much crying the whole time as I packed the kitchen stuff because I kept thinking about what my bother had said about how he can`t stand me and other people don`t like to be around me either. I felt like no one cared about me and that line just kept repeating in my head. `Nobody cares about me...nobody cares about me`. I feel like I could be screaming in the middle of a library and know one would even look up. I feel so unimportant. I just wanted to "check out" for a few days and not have to deal with life.

I called my counsellor and I talked to him for almost an hour and I cried and tried to explain why I was upset and that I wanted to take my entire bottle of clonazepam. He was really great, like he always is...but even as I hung up the phone I had a feeling it was still going to happen. He told me he would call me in the morning.

About an hour and a half later after laying in my bed and crying I took about 32 0.5mg tablets. I knew it wouldn't kill me I just thought now I can be in a daze and not care.

Then off to the hospital I went. I didn't tell anyone what I had done. I just said I was sleeping over at a friends house. I walked to uptown where I went to the grocery store and bought a cheese bun....it tasted amazing, especially since I hadn't eaten since breakfast. Then I caught a bus to the hospital, but instead of going into the emergency department I went to their Tim Hortons and bought 1/2 a dozen donuts and I ate them all, very mechanically. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Bite. Chew. Swallow. Until they were all devoured. This is when I decided to go to the emergency side of the hospital. At this point I was stumbbling a bit and really dazed and apparently slurring my speech. Apparently I continued to slur my speech for about two days after.

I went straight into the acute care section where they hooked me up to tons of heart monitor sticky things, and a finger contraption, and a blood pressure cuff, which went off about every 20 mins. The lowest I saw my blood pressure was 84/46. Usually it is a very precise 117/80. I was given charcoal to drink...disgusting. It is so difficult to get down unless you are completely out of it, and I wasn't quite there yet. It makes your teeth all black and its grainy. It tastes like what you would think slate would taste like. And maybe this is a bit tmi...but when it finally comes out the other end, it;s like you wipe your toilet paper on a black pastel.

I talk to a crisis counsellor and he told me I was swaying, which I didn't notice. Apparently I talked to a doctor too but I don't remember her.

I barely slept all night...watched the clock tick by. It didn't really bother me because I was so full of pills time went by faster.

They released me without seeing a psychiatrist at 6:35 in the morning. That was fine with me...I didn't want to stay I just need to get away for a night.

I highly don't recommend ODing to escape...or abusing other substances to escape...but I truly understand that sometimes life gets too much and there doesn't seem to be another option....hmm...

...all our songs will be lullabies in no time...

Since the overdose I have been feeling really confused. When I was in the hospital I was feeling happy and still in an unshakable good mood but that has changed dramatically since. I feel low...I am confused as to why the overdose even happened. I know why I did it in the moment but maybe there were underlying reasons...

I had a dream on Saturday night and in it I had taken an overdose and the reason was because I was trying to get the attention of my parents. Fucked up. That couldn't have been the reason for the actual overdose last week because I didn't even tell my parents about that and I don't plan to. I don't think I would have done it for attention because I firmly believe you ask for attention, you don't demand it through your actions.

The dream got me thinking though...I have always had this belief that once you are an adult you are no longer as important as you were when you were a child. It is like there is an expiry date on your importance. When things happen to children it is tragic, when they happen to adults it's life. I have always feared growing up and I think a lot of it had to do with feeling like I was going to soon be part of the masses, left to fend for myself with no sympathy from anyone. I don't want sympathy, I want understanding and validation. That concept lead me to think about the hospital and its role. When you are in the hospital you are suddenly important. There are people watching over you and making sure you are ok. Maybe underneath it all, I was seeking to feel worth while. I feel like I am worth less in society because I am an adult. I thought I was over these feelings of worthlessness so they have caught me by surprise.

Ugh, I miss feeling happy. Last week, prior to the hospital part, was so fun and exciting. Now I am back down to earth...maybe a little bit below the surface, either way, I am no longer on a cloud.

Currently listening to:
Artist: Emily Haines and the Soft Skeleton
Album: Knives Don't Have Your Back
Song: Winning

This album is beautifully depressing. It was the soundtrack to my first breakdown and the first time I was in the psych ward. Winning has the most personal significance, but the whole album is good. If you are looking for some eery, gorgeous, sad songs, this is your ticket.

Just when you think you are out of the woods, you reach a desert....

So my happy mood subsided and all hell broke lose.

It all started when my friend and I were talking on Wednesday night when we watch Glee together, and she said that whenever I get high like that I always "crash" afterward. This stuck like a pin in my brain. I was fixated on it...I couldn't shake it.

Thursday morning, I wake up and I don't feel as happy as I have been feeling and I feel sort of agitated. I begin to panic because I am thinking that this is it, the crash. I'll tell you what I did and why, plus the aftermath, but don't expect any logical reasoning for it.

I was filling my pill dispenser with my meds and I got to my anti-depressants which are orange, and instantly I thought that because they were the same colour as my new boots that it was a sign. It was the answer to my "crashing" problem. I was also eating yogurt and somehow I came to the conclusion that the combination of the yogurt and all my anti-depressants would stop the crash from happening and keep me happy. I took about 28 pills, 100mg each of Zoloft. Usually I take two a day.

Then I go about my day and end up calling my friend to see what she is doing and I end up telling her what I did, cause I was sort of proud for fixing the situation. She freaked and told me I had to go to the hospital asap. She couldn't take me because she had to go to work but she made me promise to go, so I did.

I've overdosed before but I don't remember any of those times because I was dissociating when it happened, so this was a very different experience from what I am used to. I got there and practically walked right in, not because it wasn't busy, but because they were afraid I would go into liver failure. I didn't have to get my stomach pumped but I did have to drink a thing of charcoal, which was horrid, and have an IV. They made me stay for observation for 24/hrs because apparently the half-life of this medication is long and it takes a while to clear the system. The charcoal absorbed all the medication pretty much, including my morning medications so by the afternoon I was going into withdrawals and felt ridiculously sick.

The Dr. told me that the amount I took was toxic and very dangerous but I was like, whatever. Apparently my blood results were fine and I didn't have any liver damage. What was the worst, everyone kept asking me why I did it and at the time I didn't really understand. I was pretty confused to have done it in the first place and because it wasn't the straight forward "I tried to kill myself" everyone had a lot of questions and I had very few answers.

Friday morning I was medically cleared to go home but I still had to talk to a psychiatrist. Coincidentally, my psychiatrist works at the hospital and happened to be the psychiatrist on call that day. So I was sent from the ER to the CDU (Clinical Decision Unit), an observation unit that holds people for up to 24 hrs instead of admitting them straight to the psych department. I was there for 4 hrs, in which time I made a "safety plan" for the next week, which my psychiatrist requested I do while I was waiting to be evaluated, and I talked to the nurse that was assigned to me. I was getting really frustrated because he was acting like I made this decision with reasoning that was logical and because I was sad and trying to kill myself...so he was saying things like "You have a choice, how is overdosing working for ya?". All I could think was, I didn't have a choice, this was the only option and I still believe that.

In the end I saw my psychiatrist and he decided that I was alright to go home. Little did he know that I lied A LOT in order to make sure I could go home. I told them that I just made a bad decision that "made sense at the time", when really I still believed that I did the right thing and I believed that I had succeeded in warding off the "crash" because I was still really happy. I wrote on my safety plan: new rule: no overdoses for any reason. period. even though I told myself that if it came down to it, I would do it again if I had to. I wasn't trying to blatantly lie, it was more I didn't know how to verbalize what I was feeling at the time. I was feeling very confused but stupidly happy.

I got out just after lunch around 1:00 and took the bus back home and napped for a few hours.

Strangest thing ever: On the way home on the bus this guy came on, only for a few stops, and he strikes up a conversation with me. He starts by complimenting my boots, which are orange and amazing, and then he begins to ask me things like "so what do you do for fun around here?"...I was so confused. I wasn't looking too hot after not showering for a few days and sleeping on curly hair, not to mention I wasn't wearing any makeup, but he asks me "so what's the best way to keep in touch?" I replied Facebook, because I didn't want to give him my number. So he pulls out a business card and gets off the bus. Soooo...I was picked up on the bus?? Bizarre...