Suicide Slip-Ups: Remember To Plan, Check And Then Check Again

A week ago I was going to kill myself. I won’t go into exact details but to say that a key component in the plan was to drive off somewhere else. I had spent a fair few days organising this plan; lying to get what I needed, lying to give me the time and space to execute it and lying about whether I was feeling suicidal.

At last the day arrived and nothing could thwart my plan. Except it didn’t work. I am still here and for one stupid pathetic reason; my car wouldn’t start and by the time I had the bonnet up to jump start it my Dad had finished his conference call and came down to see what I was doing. Then later when it was charged and I could drive off my Mum arrived back from her meeting. Bad timing all ways round.

Sunday night was a miserable affair for me. Not only was the weather revolting but I rang the out of hours number (not the crisis team but some vaguely trained monkeys) who immediately threatened to ring the police if I couldn’t guarantee my own safety. Of course I lied again and said everything was perfectly OK, with bells and whistles on for extra effect just to make sure that the Met wouldn’t arrive at the door.

On Monday morning I had to go to the Jobcentre for one of their stupid ‘Back to Work’ sessions as I am on Jobseeker’s Allowance, although I’m looking at moving over to ESA. As soon as the session finished I went out and rang my CPN in a state. I told her about Friday’s aborted suicide attempt, the mental healthline on Sunday and how today I was still having dark intrusive thoughts.

She noted it all down and made an appointment for me to see my psych that afternoon. I saw him and within 10 minutes of walking through the door he was suggesting admission. At first I disagreed but then he spoke to my mum and thought it would be a good idea as then they could get the lithium restarted quickly.

I went home, packed a bag and set off for the psych unit, which wasn’t one I’d been in before. I was shown to my dorm in the female only area. 4 beds and only 2 of us there as the other were on leave. I was petrified. I just sat on my bed whilst the medic did my obs and the physical checks. Then the senior staff nurse took some of my history and said the rest would be faxed over by my psych in the morning. The medic came back and gave me 2mg of lorazepam to calm me and then the loveliest staff nurse (referred here on in as lovely nurse) showed me around the ward. It seemed quite nice really, a lot better than some NHS wards I’ve been on. She explained I was on a level 2A obs (every 10 mins) until the night staff arrived and then I would be specialled, or on one-to-one overnight. I thought this was fair given the circumstances.

I sat and watched TV in the ladies lounge for a while but it was soon time for bed. I got given all my night meds plus zopiclone and 1mg lorazepam and I was so exhausted by everything throughout the day that I was asleep almost immediately and totally unaware of the HCA at the foot of my bed. During the night I got up and walked the entire length of the ward to the entrance which was locked, and I have no recollection of this. When the HCA lightly put her hand on my shoulder my legs started wobbly and I nearly broke down in tears, literally. They gave me another 1mg of lorazepam which settled me somewhat.

Later on it all kicked off in the male section and there was screaming and shouting and things being thrown. I stayed in bed but pulled the covers round me and put my hands over my ears and started rocking forwards and back. Typical mental behaviour you might think but I didn’t have my iPod as the earphones were deemed a safety risk when I was admitted, so I had to calm myself someway.

The rest of the night was quite peaceful. I slept here and there and the HCA/nurse at the end of my bed changed at various intervals. I woke up, not very refreshed, on Tuesday morning whereupon a whole lot of stuff happened until I was discharged but I’ll write about all of that later.

Ruth

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