It does get better…

Hi,

I’m new here, and I wanted to share my story.  My name’s Em, and I’m 21.  A year ago tomorrow, I tried to kill myself by taking the biggest overdose I’ve ever taken.  I’d lost the will to live, I believed I had nothing to carry on for and I just wanted to end it all.  My relationship with my partner had come to an end, I’d lost most of my friends, all of my family, I had no source of income, my work training had finished and I had nothing to hold on to.  I was depressed anyway and having nothing good to focus on pulled me down even more.  My attempt wasn’t a spur of the moment thing.  I was on strong, prescription anti-depressants and some weeks before the attempt I had stopped taking then and was saving them up for this moment.  I’d woken up that morning, crystal clear that I wasn’t going to make it to the end of the day.  I even picked a time that I knew I wouldn’t be caught by my housemate, and that I could go out shortly afterwards without attracting attention.  I had planned to take the pills, wait and hour or so and then go out for a walk, leaving my phone behind, down the canal that I lived by and just find somewhere to lie, possibly fall asleep and wait to die.  It was all planned out.  Perfect.   All except for one tiny little detail that I didn’t count on.  As I could feel the drugs entering my system and affecting me (about an hour after I had taken them), I got scared.  I called for help, and an ambulance was sent to where I was.  The first thing I remember saying to the paramedics who came to me was “I’m sorry”, over and over.  I felt like I was wasting their time.  I was taken into the ambulance and on the way to hospital they checked my heart, blood pressure, blood sugar and probably a couple of other things, but I don’t remember.  I remember the look on the medic’s face when I told him how many of the tablets and what I had actually taken.  He was horrified.  He double checked the time I said I had taken them and actually asked me if I was sure I had got that right.  When I asked why, he just said he was shocked that I was still coherent.  He then warned me that my body would probably try to reject the drugs, and make me vomit.  Pretty much about 2 mins after he said that, I started to feel really queasy and he gave me a bag…just in case.  I knew I would feel better if I allowed myself to vomit, but at the same time, a massive part of me wanted to die.  I wanted to overdose to work, I’d been planning it for weeks, I wanted to die.  The paramedic noticed something was going through my mind, and when he asked me, all I could say was “I don’t know what I want”.  He sighed gently and then said “let’s just get you to hospital, then we can talk things through”.

I managed to make it to A&E, before the urge to vomit became to strong to control, and I emptied the contents of my stomach (extremely painfully) into the bag I had been given.  I was handed water, and told to sip it, but my body couldn’t even take that.

I was checked over by an A&E doctor, and he too was surprised that the drugs hadn’t had a devastating effect (besides the vomiting) on me.  For some reason, I had survived what should have killed me pretty quickly.  I was kept in overnight for observation as my heartbeat was found to be slightly irregular.  I didn’t sleep that night.  Not one wink. Something kept me up, some hope that I would still die, and if I did, I wanted to see my last moments.  During the night, one of the other patients on the ward went into respiratory arrest and doctors and nurses rushed to his cubicle to try to revive him.  He didn’t make it.  I heard them call his time of death, and the ward went quiet for a few seconds.  I was sat up on my bed, listening to every second, and I found that I was jealous of that man.  What I wouldn’t give to be in his position right now.  To have left the world, to not have to worry about anything any more, to not have to deal with anything ever again, yes, I really was jealous of him, because he had passed away, and I hadn’t.  I didn’t eat or drink anything that night either.  The nurses tried to encourage me to drink at least, but I refused.  I remember the next morning, when the handover came about, and I heard the nurses going through what each patient was in for.  She came to mine, and described me as a “young female, [who had] taken a massive overdose….[was] chronically immobile, hadn’t eaten or drunk and hadn’t spoken”.  She also mentioned my irregular heart beat, and suggested that the new nurse taking the shift recommend that the doctor came to see me, and considered “committing” me.  The 2nd nurses reaction to me?  “Well she wasted that cubicle really”.  I don’t remember what happened after that really.  I know that a few hours later I was visited by two people who said they were from the psych ward.  They spoke to me for a short while, and when I admitted that I still felt suicidal and was disappointed that the overdose hadn’t worked, they decided that the best course of action would be to admit me to the psychiatric ward, for a short while, until  I was better.  I spent 11 days, on the ward, and they changed my life, for the better.  I learnt how to cope with everyday events, and was given the tools to deal with pretty much anything life threw at me.  I learnt a lot about myself, and what I was worth.

A year on, and I live in my own flat, with my cats, I have a steady job, an amazing partner, a good social life, and I’m happy and content.

None of this would have happened had I not survived that overdose.  I would not be here today if it weren’t for the paramedics who came out to me, the doctors who saw me, the nurses on the ward to spoke to me or the wonderful people I have around me.  Depression is difficult to cope with, and at times it can become almost impossible…but it does get better.  You can recover from it, and your life can and most likely will pick up.  A year ago, had one of the nurses on the ward sat and said I would be here, in this position today, I would never have believed them.  It’s taken a lot of hard work, I won’t deny that, but it has been so worth it!!  Every day gets a little easier, and I learn something new about my self with each obstacle I face.

I talk about what happened to me, and share my story as often as I can, not because I want to be dramatic or call attention to myself, but be cause I want to highlight that you can recover from suicidal thoughts, and severe depression, and that it is possible to live a full and very happy life afterwards.  I’m not ashamed of what I went through, it’ll always be a massive part of my life.  I hit absolute rock bottom while on the ward, and built myself back up again.  Yes it was difficult, yes I slipped up a few times, but at the end of the day…I’ve managed to get this far.  And if I can get this far in a year…what can I do in two years?  Or five?  Or even ten?  The future no longer terrifies me.  Bits of it scare me, but on the whole, it excites me to see what’s round the corner.  I guess the main message I want to get across by sharing this with you guys is: if I can do it, then so can you.  xxx