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Then they transferred me to Royal Victoria Hospital’s (RVH) psychiatric ward which was where I was also sent in 2006 when I had my psychotic episode which lead to my diagnosis of bipolar disorder I, generalized anxiety disorder and agoraphobia, and also the same hospital I spent 6 weeks in after coming seriously close to dying in 2011 from pancreatitis. Cuuuuuuz that’s the next logical question and the most difficult one for me to answer.
It’s actually kinda funny, if you know me well enough or have been reading my blog for a really long time, you know that I have a billion different, ever-evolving reasons for why I didn’t get into advertising, choosing to drop out of school at the last minute instead, and I always say like, “Reason #3875736254 I dropped out of advertising…”. As a person who is depressed with suicidal ideations a lot, it’s a complex thing with a million tentacles.
I don’t know how much that cost because the taxi driver lady put a cover over the meter.
I do know from listening to the conversations around me that the lady had 8 on her Visa and that wasn’t enough so they had to get one with a bigger limit, but despite that it made sense to me for them to do this than waste an ambulance on me.
It occurred to me when I was 5 years old that killing myself was a legitimate option.
Most people see suicide as a legitimate option because most people don’t try to or successfully kill themselves, according to my retired extra special needs teacher friend, Carole R.
What happened last week was an adult making a conscious decision to cease existing and let the consequences of that decision be whatever they may be because if all went as planned, I would be worm food and unable to feel, see, hear etc.
any of the aftermath and ultimately I knew my people well enough that they would be perfectly okay without me, perhaps even better off. I would be nothing, there would be no such thing as Me, I would never know the difference. And trust me, it was not for lack of trying (but definitely due to lack of planning).
” because I took what seemed to me to be a hell of a lotta cyclobenzaprine, clonazapam and trazodone.I’m agoraphobic so I don’t leave my house and when I do, it’s with Blake, so I was TERRIFIED to leave my room.I’d been in the psych ward twice before this and I knew the kind of people/experiences can happen in them and I just couldn’t deal.I didn’t overdose on any of my serious psych meds because I was afraid they’d leave me retarded if I failed. Instead, cops broke down my back door (which I had locked, and I had locked and put a chair up against my office/front door) and told me I could get out of my bed and come to the ambulance quietly or they could cuff me.I went mediumishly…voluntarily, swaying and stumbling, yet still saying “fuck the police” (which apparently they hear so often, they just refer to it as “ftp”) at an audible level about 25 times between my bed and the ambulance.