Monday, 27 July 2015

"You're very unsafe at the moment"


(TW: this post discuss self-harm)

I'd been talking to the voices all day (Tuesday 21st) and finally, by night-time, they'd worn me down. They agreed that if I kept one of the voices (there are five) then the remaining four would go into each of my fingers and so, if I cut them off then I'd finally be free of them. And my head would be mine again. 
So, for four hours from midnight until 4am, I walked. I didn't know where I was going but I j knew I needed to leave my home because I was not having a repeat of all the blood through the house when I cut my shoulder a week ago. When I left my home, I had no idea where I was going but I kept walking and enjoyed being out in the dark, cool air, with no cars or people around. It was a lovely, peaceful freedom. It was an exhilarating feeling. I felt like the world was all new and untouched and I noticed things I'd never see during the day; ironic really to say you can see more in the dark! I noticed openings in hedges and undergrowth when I needed the loo and it was just amazing to have this confidence that I could do whatever I liked with no prying eyes. I could talk out loud with the voices. I could skip along with the rabbits, walk in the middle of the road, talk to the horses I passed... Fully aware I sound mentally ill right now, but I always promised to be honest with you guys... And; in all fairness, I was unwell.
I found a bench in a nearby costal town and began testing all of my sharps to see which would do the most harm. My hand and fingers were covered in scratches and bleeding a lot before I found a particularly sharp piece that slit my fore finger open. When I realised I could see the fatty tissues, I panicked and called 999. Because it was self-harm, they went on to call the police, who showed up before the ambulance. They used their first aid kit to put pressure dressings on my wounds and let me sit in their van because it was cold. They also rang the control room and told them I was bleeding profusely and there'd been a puddle of blood where I'd been sat.
While we waited for an ambulance, we realised we all knew one another from before I went to the long-term hospital. I apologised for how I had been during those days and told them that I was better and in recovery but professionals had said I was now experiencing psychosis. 
I was taught how to cope with BPD hallucinations, but not this. Hence my panic, fear and poor coping mechanisms. The trouble is, those who should be teaching and advising me on these coping strategies, have all either taken a back seat or are also panicking. My community support have always been unreliable but it's harder to deal with when I actually need more support from them than helping me do my food shop and collecting my meds. Everyone else is like "this is psychosis!!!!!" And are looking to altering my medications, maxing out what I'm already on, and thinking up ways to keep me safe. This is all well and good, but it's particularly reminiscent of the start of this entire malarkey! When I began showing symptoms of BPD and the stress-related hallucinations, I was dosed up with medication and locked in a hospital until, eventually, professionals thought 'maybe if we teach her to cope, the self-harm will reduce.' Hopefully it's just a matter of time until either I learn what works, or professionals tell me - whichever comes first!