Everything got too much

For some reason in this post I feel like writing ‘dear diary’. But in all seriousness I’ve had a rough week and am going to share it with you all in my bloggasphere.

This time last week I had just come out of hospital after a pretty traumatic admission.
Last Sunday it all finally hit, it all got too much. I felt let down, used and angry. Before I knew it I was sitting on my bed downing sedatives and vodka and crying my heart out to my friend over Facebook. It was so impulsive to take that medication and alcohol but I did and I was upset and I just didn’t care. But it didn’t go how I expected.

I started to feel really bad and then I couldn’t use my hands properly, then I couldn’t see properly and couldn’t walk and I was so scared. I tried to phone an ambulance, but I couldn’t see or use my hands properly.

Luckily my friend worked out something was wrong, because if she hadn’t and hadn’t phoned an ambulance I might have died.
I started to be sick and realised I needed to get out of the house, so I got up with my phone in my hand, but I couldn’t grip so it flew across the room. I got towards my doorway and fell down and couldn’t get back up. I was clawing at the door trying to reach the handle to open it, but I couldn’t reach and realised it was locked and then I lost consciousness in front of my door.

I woke up to people kicking the door, while I was on the other side crying for help the best I could. Begging them to help me, because I was so scared, but they couldn’t get in.
Next thing I remember is someone coming in threw my bedroom window and slipping into unconscious.

I briefly remember being conscious, for maybe even seconds and not being able to control my limbs, I couldn’t stop my arms and legs jolting. I was surrounded by people and someone shouted she’s epileptic and I was gone.

I woke up in the middle of the night in an empty looking ward with a nurse next to me, asking if I was okay. I assumed it was the same night and was so tiered I didn’t even realise what was going on. I suddenly realised my face was covered with a mask to help me breath and I was connected to dozens of wires and tubes. I then realised I needed the toilet, so asked the nurse, although I could hardly talk and was told I had a catheter in. I was just so confused and out of it, I had a catheter, all these needles in me, bandaged hand, all my clothes were gone and I didn’t know when this happened or why I didn’t feel it all happening.

I spent the next 24 hours slipping in and out still, still attached to all these machines and needing oxygen, still confused, but too sedated to care.
In the evening my support workers came to see me, and it was nice not to be completely alone, but how they spoke confused me. So I finally asked ‘what day is it?’ and couldn’t believe it when I was told it was Tuesday. What on earth had happened to Monday?!

I was still so tiered and sedated, I found it hard to move, and still totally confused. And I began to be told what had happened..
I had been so ill they’d induced me into a coma and incubated (a tube down my throat to help me breath) and I had been taken to intensive care, having all the needles, tubes etc put in me while I was sleep so that I didn’t notice it at all. They had tried to wake me up the day before whilst the breathing tube was still in, by stroking my eye lashes and talking to me and my cpn was there too, but they hadn’t managed to wake me up.

I spent the next night in the high dependency ward still on oxygen and all these machines, but just slept through most of that too. Once I was feeling better and partly down to my insistence I was able to go home.

I was helped home by support workers again and had to get the bus home with them in their charity tshirt, hospital pyjama bottoms and shoes, so I looked pretty strange.
I got home and they helped clean up a bit and got a bit of food and then told me to get some rest, although I didn’t need to be told that! I could now walk but I still felt unsteady and sleepy, so within half an hour I was asleep again, in front of the TV.

This only begins to describe the total horror of it. When people tell you it’s not a nice way to die they are totally right.

To any of you reading this, who like me might go to do this impulsively. Please don’t do it. Just talk to someone, do anything, because it’s petrifying and you can’t change your mind once it’s done.
Don’t make the same mistake I did, because I would never want anyone else to experience it.


A strangers house in the middle of the night

This time about 14 years ago I was taken into care for the first time.
My mum was ill and even then I knew she drank a lot and got angry. It’s strange how much I remember of the night but not the later days.

I stood in the middle of the storm of frenzied anger and violence at 5 years old while the whole world around me was being smashed to pieces. Trying to stop her trying to hug her but being pushed back by the force.
The last image I have of my mum that night is her being surrounded completely by smashed glass, being wrestled by police while screaming one of the worst screams I’ve ever heard in my life and can still here ringing in my ears to this day.

I can still feel the emotion of that night. The pain and fear. As I was carried away from the house, by a man I didn’t know, screaming for all my life was worth. It is one moment in my life I’m not sure I will ever be able to forget. Ending up on a strangers door step. In their home. As a young child is one of the most surreal things you will ever experience.


(originally written June 2015).

Christmas in a psychiatric unit

Start of November 2014 I was admitted to a psychiatric unit I was really unwell probably in the worst place I’d been in my life I was drinking half a litre straight vodka every day, I got in serious debt, I lost my job, my friends, my home, my place at uni and almost my life. in fact I’m very lucky to be here right now writing about this. So that’s how I ended up in hospital and ended up sadly on an article which annoyingly went up at midnight on Christmas/ boxing day.

And so I spent this Christmas on a psychiatric unit.. Just my luck ay. Although it may have been a blessing. I don’t particularly enjoy Christmas so refused to take part in any Christmas activities or have anything Christmas around me. Although I ended up pushing myself to try something and so made Christmas cookies, as baking is my absolute weakness. I also spent some time sat on the large sofa watching the nurses put up the Christmas tree, trying to keep peoples spirits up. Christmas is hard for me, as it reinforces my loneliness but I guess this year threw no choice and I was in company. To my amazement children’s services gave me presents that had come from my mum, which I opened with a nurse in case they were horrible and cried the whole time. I felt awful by the end, it was so bitter sweet, but at least she tried this time I guess.

So Christmas morning.. Pretty boring although awesome breakfast of bacon and sausage sandwich, and I’d finally been medicated enough to get past the fear that I was being poisoned. My friend even came to see me and brought me presents!!! And a nurse brought me a present too (she is such an awesome nurse no joke! Although actually loads were awesome).

It was so nice to see my friend but the day went downhill from there. before I knew it I was on prn lorazapam and out of it fast asleep (medications make me so drowsy!). I slept until mid afternoon and was rather pissed off when I awoke! I just felt so angry. Christmas really isn’t a good time for me, so yay more sedation (note the sarcasm). So I pretty much slept threw the whole of Christmas and boxing day, but I’m not sure I see that as a completely bad thing.

I spent new years Eve in the lounge with all the staff and some patients seeing in the new year with slur! It was one of those happy sad moments but was good, I even let a nurse hug me! (another awesome nurse!). I was pretty upset, as I had originally been granted overnight leave to spend the night with my friends, which got cancelled because I wasn’t great over Christmas. But, the staff and other patients did their best to see the night in.

So you know yep, it sucked that I had to spend the whole of the festivities in there and pretty much missed Christmas and it was definitely an experience. But, I went in at the worst time in my life and came out feeling the best I had in a long time and have been getting slowly better since and that was the greatest Christmas present I could have asked for from the most unlikely of people.


(originally written may 2015)

My view on self harm – this morning talk

After a talk on this morning, well this morning on self harm in teens I decided to write a post as it is something I have a fair bit of knowledge on. While I believe talking drugs, unprotected sex and overdosing is self- harm, i want to talk about the type everyone thinks of when they think of self-harm, which is cutting, burning, hair pulling or breaking bones.

I don’t know if many people if any will agree with me, but it is my belief that self-harm is a bit of a reaction to distress. I think of it like when a dog gets distressed they bite themselves or pull out their fur and well i think its a similar reaction, because when a person gets distressed they hurt themselves. Although i know it can happen for loads of reasons sometimes i think its the reason people start to s/h.

Some people including myself have never heard of it when they start, they just do it, like its a natural instinct. Like a dog or any other animal will do. From there it turns into a coping strategy, release or addiction even. This is just my opinion but to me it makes sense.


(originally written in December 2013).

I am a person not an illness!

people may not know about me is i have borderline personality disorder.

I was recently detained again and during my discharge meeting something got to me, which is the reason I am writing a blog on this topic. The thing that got to me was that people spoke about me like i am an illness rather than that i have one. They spoke about me and my behavior and personality as if it is defined by an illness, which it isn’t. I am the person i am because i am me, not because of an illness.

I love art, pink, chocolate and the sound of rain against the window at night and i hate moths, spicy food and switches left on! (or any other electrical appliance which isn’t being used really). I don’t love or hate any of these things because of this illness, i love and hate them because i am me and this illness is just another part of me.

In my meeting people sat there and kept saying ‘people with BPD this’ and ‘people with BPD that’ like everyone is a certain way or dose certain things because of an illness, that we are not individuals, with our own choices and personalities. I know mental illness often influence the way people behave, as it has done me. I was never like how i am now.

But i guess the thing i am trying to get across is that I am still a person with their own personality, likes and dislikes, no matter what is wrong with me. I am still me, I am just me plus an illness.

(Originally written November 2013 – this was written before my diagnosis of BPD was removed).


Home is where the heart is

So this post is in fact very happy!! (I think!). 

I moved to a new country last year and have been renting a shared flat since January. Well it is one month until my lease ends!! And I’ve needed to find a new home. 

Me and some fellow (nurse) friends have been house hunting and finally think we have found a home! It’s not stunning or amazing but it will be ours and I’m very excited! Brought some unicorn fairly lights so far and I would love any suggestions of things to funk up the house a bit as it’s very large and bare. So this is my today’s positive!

Bea ✌🏼