The Admission For The OD

[note: this post contains discussion of suicidal ideation]

At 5:20am on Monday morning, Annie woke me up telling me 'today is the day' and so I began taking the tablets I'd saved. I was so happy going around the ward and going to groups with no one having the foggiest idea what I was doing in my bathroom. Then, I'm not sure what happened... I went and told my Key Nurse though. I don't know why. She read through the writings I kept during the time I'd been storing the tablets (last post) and said they were helpful in making her understand how I felt. Next thing I knew, I was being told to pack a bag and went with two staff to A&E. I remember telling the triage nurse and she got me rushed straight through to a cubicle. And I remember them getting blood and saying I needed the treatment (but I assumed it was because the overdose had been staggered) and then they had a job getting a cannula in for the treatment and then they started the treatment and I kept telling the nurse the needle wasn't in properly but she didn't believe me until my arm was all swollen where the treatment had gone into the tissue rather than the blood. I can't remember them getting another needle in but they must've because then I remember being moved to the Medical Admissions Unit and having two lovely staff with me through the night. I managed to get a bit of sleep and then got another two nice staff in the morning. As I was watching the Doctors doing their ward round ,I noticed the rabbits. And there was too many. I went to the toilet and took the sharp I had hidden and cut my arms. Then as I came out of the bathroom the staff tried to hold onto me and some nurses came and got my arms bandaged up before taking me back to my bed. I don't even know how it managed to spiral so far so I can only tell you what I remember.
I remember them deciding to restrain me the entire time it took them to put another cannula in (I must've pulled the second one out) and I had security, our staff and nurses and doctors holding me down but every time I realised where they were trying to put the cannula in, I fidgeted and eventually, they let go. I can remember having this sort of certainty that I was going to die. And it made me feel really peaceful.

And then they called the anaesthetists in, and it turned out I'd met one of them already so he knew how bad my veins were. He had me restrained to give me an injection of ketamine and it was horrible because unlike the last time they did that, I didn't hallucinate, I knew what was happening but I just couldn't be bothered to move or fight. In a way, it felt worse than the hallucinations. Anyway, they got a cannula in my shin and one in my arm and connected the treatment to my leg. I could hear them all talking by my bed about putting a cast over my leg so I couldn't get the drip and I just thought "you sarcastic arse holes" and it didn't help that one of the anaesthetists gave me the "children-could-be-dying-because-I'm-with-you" lecture. So I went for the leg cannula and they all pounced on me, but I managed to wrap the treatment lead around my other foot and pull it out and then they attached it to my arm and gave me some Lorazepam but I still kept trying  to get the cannula out and I remember this female Doctor  saying "shall I just give her all the Lorazepam? It's only 4mg?!" and then the drip stopped working.
I was told that since I was on a section three (which enables treatment to be forced) I could be made to have the anti-dote but I continued to refuse so I was taken down to the anaesthetic room (with the two hospital staff and two security) and they put a mask over my face and told me to take deep breaths.
I woke up Wednesday evening in ICU with tubes everywhere and holding the hands of the DBT Facilitator and one of the Charge Nurses. Apparently I said a few worrying things to them and then they left. The ventilator was removed, the NG tube too (apparently they used it to give me my meds) and the catheter. And then I had two cannulas in my groin. We eventually got back to our Hospital and I was told I was going to the PICU (Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit).
It was so scary, at first I was on 1:1 obs so I had to shower with my door open and then the nurse came and put me on 5minutes and finally a nurse from my ward came Thursday evening and said I could go back down. It was so overwhelming walking into Reflection! I cried my eyes out when I hugged my best-friend and didn't leave go of her hand the whole half an hour! My three closest friends bought me some lovely PJs too and even though I was put in a 'stripped' room (empty but for a few of your own things) I was so grateful to be back on the ward.

Since getting out of ICU I've done nothing but sleep until this evening when I started to pick up and got my appetite back as the vomiting subsided. I feel like I'd been to hell and back. I'm so exhausted from all of the fighting (physical and mental) that I just need a good long rest and a lot of self-soothing.
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