So I arrive at the NHS hospital in Ipswich after the police have me checked out at A&E in Ipswich general hospital.
I am greeted by a lovely man who shows me to a side room and makes me a cup of tea and some toast. It is explained to me why I have arrived under police escort.
I am quickly seen by a social worker and I explain how I came to be in Ipswich. As far as I recall the police has contacted my nearest relative, my father, and given the name of the hospital to which I had arrived at so that he knew I was safe in their hands. My social worker quickly decided that being miles from home was not conducive to my care and explained to me that I was to be transferred to a hospital nearer to home. I decided to go out for a cigarette in the hospital garden whilst transport was being arranged for me to go to hospital in Kettering, St Mary's. In my infinate wisdom I thought that smoking cigarettes after seven years cessation was good for my cause, something which four months later, I will later come to regret.
Three hours later I arrive through the front doors of Kingfisher Ward, St May's NHS hospital. Again I was taken to a side room where an on-duty doctor came to see me. He took details of my children, parents, siblings, my colleagues, friends and associates. He asked me how much debt I was in,? Do I do drugs? What medication am I on? The list is endless. Here he explained to me that I was being kept on admissions ward for 72 hours as an involuntary patient and that my section clauses had now been lifted. I was then sent out into the admissions communal area and left to my own devices. A nurse was sent to me and I had the contents of my handbag checked over for sharps, medications and illegal substances. I had all my remaining medications taken away and locked on the hospital on site clinic.
The next few hours were a bit of a blur. I paced around a lot and made tea which we were allowed to help ourselves freely to. I sat down for lunch with the other patients and again for dinner. It wasn't until the evening that I spoke to another patient. As the evening turned to night time I watched, as one-by-one, all the patients were called to the clinic for their evening meds. I wasn't called. I went to the office and asked where my meds were as I was supposed to be taking my new course of anti-depressants today as prescribed by my GP. I was told by the nurse that it was the doctors discretion to not begin me with a new course of medicines just now and that I was to await 'ward-round' to discuss this with my allocated psychiatrist. I was informed that this would be after the 72 hour observation period. "THREE days?!?!" I exclaimed, and I was hurried off with no real sense of concern on the nursers part. It was like it was standard practice to her. I guessed this was a regular occurance. So I went to bed. I was off medication for so long now already, what would an extra three days matter?
The next evening I received a visit from the local police. The police officer that came to see me, his visit was short. He re-iterated the fact that I was no longer an involuntary patient under the mental health act, but now a voluntary patient and he stressed that trying to leave under this new criteria would not be beneficial to me. I nodded and agreed.
One more day passed and still I'd only conversed with the one patient at meal times. I went out regularly to smoke. 15 minutes cigarette break per hour was granted on this ward for patients to indulge in, on the patio.
A further day passed and no-one had come to speak to me. I was literally left to my own devices. I was unmedicated and coming down from a huge overdose of hypnotics and alcohol. I was getting increasingly anxious, distressed and agitated. I informed the staff that I wanted to leave. This place was no good for me it was making me worse. All I was doing was getting highly agitated, claustrophobic and disassociative. However much I wanted to leave it wasnt going to happen unless I forcibly chose to leave by means of escpape. I was sent an on duty doctor who came to try and calm me down. I had a brief chat about the way I was feeling and he prescribed me 1mg of Lorazepam. This was a drug unbeknown to me. A drug in the benzodiazepine group that sedates and relieves agitation. I took this drug on doctors orders after tea time that evening and within 30 minutes I felt drunk. My hands went numb, my head went light and my speech became slurred. At 10pm I was called into the clinic for 7.5mg of Zopiclone, a sleeping pill that I was familiar with. I took the Zopiclone and that night I slept undisturbed for 10 hours.
I woke up the next day with a spring in my step. I seem to have a high tolerance to prescribed medication. Even though the Lorazepam and the Zopiclone did what it was supposed to do at the time of administration I didnt wake up feeling groggy or hungover. Today I was to be seen by my assigned psychiatrist.
My ward round appointment quickly came around and I was called to a quite side room. In the room was the psychiatrist, a scribe (the on-duty doctor I was seen by upon arrival) and the nurse on charge in the ward that day. Again they went over my previous history regards to friends, family and associates. My psychiatrist wanted to know in detail how and why I ended up in Ipswich, miles away from home. Again I explained why and stated that it was my aim to kill myself on the first night in the hotel room which I had booked into. In this meeting it was decided that I was to start a new medication called Topiromate. Topiromate is actually an anti-convulsant drug given to suffers of Epilepsy. But is used in the field of psychiatry as a mood stabiliser. The meeting, although more intense than the preliminary meeting with the on-duty doctor, was short and I was asked to leave and return to the communal area.
The next day I was awoken and given the new starting dose of Topiromate. Later that day I was approached by the same team in the meeting from the evening before. They explained to me that keeping me in hospital would not be conducive to my well-being and that they had agree some leave from the hospital grounds would be beneficial to me. I was informed that I should leave the next day and return the following week. I was advised that this course of action was of interest to me to try and rehabilitate myself on my own, in my own surroundings and community, and it would be a good opportunity for me to see my children.
I expressed concern over the amount of leave they were grating me. They wanted me to go home for one whole week and return the following week. They were of an opinion that should I work well with the leave, I would be fit for discharge on returning to hospital for review. I was not happy with this. I felt fragile. I was unmedicated and alone. But alas I was sent home the following day with one weeks worth of TTO's (medication to take for the duration whilst out on leave).
I left the hospital in the afternoon of that following day and I caught the bus home armed with one weeks supply of 7 x 100mcg Levothyroxine (for my underactive thyroid), 14 x 1mg Lorazepam, 7 x 7.5mg Zopiclone, 14 x 25mg Topiromate. So total of 42 pills.... you can only guess what happened next????
Monday, 19 September 2011
Sunday, 11 September 2011
OK so this is my first blog...
Its a crazy world we live in.
Im a crazy person in an aptly crazy world. Well, crazy as ive been called on many occasions before. Crazy, pyscho, lunatic. You name it its all been thrown at me. Family, friends, social networkers. But the 'crazy' thing is this doesn't resonate with me anymore. Ive heard it all before. Im so crazy that I've brought two lovely, beautiful thriving children in the world and cared for them with my utmost good intentions. Im such a psycho that I've got good qualifications and a good job that pays me well and I work for a good company. Im such a lunatic that I live in a home that I brought with my well paid job. And I did all this with a mental health disorder underneath my belt. Insane huh??
Granted I've made bad choices and I've inadvertantly upset a few people along the way. But sheesh no-one can be more upset than being called all of the above? But do I hold a grudge? No. I may have cut people off but that is for mine and thier own good. But ultimately I still care about all these people that have had input during my life.
...So i sit there repeatedly telling myself I've got to do it. Suicide. I want to die. I cant see a way further than beyond this point. How can I be a good mother to my children when they have me, emotionally unstable, as their mother? How can I do my job properly when I'm plagued by depression? How can I run my home when I cant get out of bed in the mornings? All the things I've worked hard to get,,, are slowly slipping away. I need help.
So in true optimistic fashion I go to visit my GP. My meds arent working. "Lets change you to a different type" she says. OK great lets do it. After all, all I want is to be well again. Then the killer blow comes... "We have to wean you off of your current anti-depressants because you need to be completely off of them before we introduce the new ones" My heart sinks. "Something bad is going to happen in those weeks especially in the time I wean down to only two pills a week" I say. "You'll be fine, I'll see you again in two weeks to discuss how you are feeling" I'm glad she is so optimistic!!
So as my GP anticipated, I made it to week two. Not much change really. My depression is high but I'm feeling it on a 'manageable' level. Again I express my concern about the impending two weeks to come. "You're doing great, we can do this" my doctor exclaims.
Fast forward one week... I'm so dellusional and despairing I cant actually cope anymore. All sorts of thoughts are going round in my head. Im thinking I'm going to live the rest of my life like this now. It hurts so much. I cant take the pain anymore. Nothing is fun. Music, my one un-biased passion is making me feel bleak. My children arent here and I need them. But they cant see me in this state. That's it now, I cant come back from this. Im in such a despairing state my own voice inside my head is telling me to just get rid. Then i cant upset anyone else again. My kids will be loved and cared for by their dad. My family dont need me as a burden. Like the blood sucking leech that I am on everyones mental resources. Meticulously I plan what is going to happen. Leave my mobile at home. Car keys, check. Purse, check. So I drive. I keep on driving until its dark. I find a nearby travelodge and check myself into a hotel room. I have sleeping pills, my own supply of my thyroid medication, anti depressants and codein. Out of my home town no-once can interrupt me. I pay my room rates for the evening and I get to my room and undress. I take a glass of water from the bathroom and I quickly settle into bed and put the tv on. I do not know why!!? Maybe its like a final ritual I am making. My final celebration of the world via 'The Jonathan Ross Show' I open all the pill packets, carefully popping them individually from the blister trays. Down in one? Or all together? Heck it aint gonna work that quite so why rush it? One by one I washed them down. I wasn't counting them there was no need. I had an ample supply to do the job. Or so I thought.
The next morning I wake to a knock on the door. "Excuse me Miss, just to let you know it is check out in 10 minutes time, please could you vacate your room?"
Shit :( Im still here.
I get up and get dressed and promptly vacate my room. I am pissed off with myself for still being in this world. From the travel lodge car park I head on to the nearest town, Ipswich. Still feeling despairing, increasingly depressed and hopeless I decide that I must attempt again the activities of the night before.
I find a local library in Ipswich where I can use a computer to book another night into a local hotel. I pay the room rate and print the address of the hotel off and pay the librarian accordingly for the use of the printed paper.
In my new hotel room I settle on the bed and root around in my bag. I had 7 sleeping pills left. I swallow them down with swigs from a bottle of wine I had purchased earlier in the day. This isnt going to be enough to kill me off. I need more alcohol. I finish the bottle of wine and head to a nearby shop where I purchased two more. I head back to my hotel and proceed to drink more wine. I take a shower. At least I will be clean when they find me. As time ticks on I am getting slowly and increasingly anxious to the fact that I am alive, albeit doped up and drunk, and this lays heavy on my heart. I dont want to be here. I cant be here. So again, I pick myself up and stagger to the local pub about 50 ft away from the front door of the hotel where I currently reside.
"One pint of Strongbow please" I call to the barman.
"Thats £2.65 please madam, Enjoy" replies the barman
Pah 'Enjoy' I mutter to myself, if only he knew what I was planning to do to myself. As the night progresses I get chatting to some local lads. I ask them if they can get me any Valium (Diazepam). They agree that they can and I tell them that I am willing to go with them to get some but they must drive my car because I am very drunk. I stop by a cashpoint and withdraw £80. I dont know why that amount but hey I reasoned with myself that £80 would buy me an ample supply of benzodiazepines. Unfortunately things then started to get ugly. The guy who was driving my car with me in the back accompanied by two of his other friends, stopped on a residential estate about 2 miles from the pub we were drinking at. He said he'd be back in 10 minutes with my Valium but I'd first need to hand over the cash. nervously, I gave him all £80. Much to my horror all three of the guys then swiped my money and ran. "Fuck, fuck, fuck" I yelled. I'd been conned.
I walk over to the houses that stand right behind where me and my abandoned car are, and I ring one of the buzzer's to the flats that it belongs. A man answered in a sleepy voice "Hello"
"Hello" I replied "Please can you help me, I've just been mugged?"
A kind gentlemen came down to the doors of the flats and let me into his apartment. From there he rang the police. The police attended within 5 mins and I began to relay the events of the evening.
"What did you give them £80 for Miss Youens?" asked the police officer taking notes.
"Valium" I replied.
"Why were you trying to obtain Valium?" he asked subsequently
"I wanted to take it all in the hope that I killed myself" I said.
He radio's through to the control room after I'd given him my name, age and address.
"Do you know you have been reported missing to Northamptonshire Police?"
"Possibly" I shrug
"Why do you want to kill yourself Miss Youens?" asked the police officer after speaking with the guy that let me into his home
"Life is shit and I dont want to be here anymore" I cry.
The two policemen whisper to one another.
The policeman in charge of the inquiry firmly begin "Miss Youens, for your own safelty, I am detaining you under section 136 of the mental health act 1983. You do not have to say anything, you have the right to remain silent, do you understand?"
"Yes Sir" I whisper.
And off I was taken to Ipswich Mental Health Hospital.
Mental Health... a time of crisis
Im a crazy person in an aptly crazy world. Well, crazy as ive been called on many occasions before. Crazy, pyscho, lunatic. You name it its all been thrown at me. Family, friends, social networkers. But the 'crazy' thing is this doesn't resonate with me anymore. Ive heard it all before. Im so crazy that I've brought two lovely, beautiful thriving children in the world and cared for them with my utmost good intentions. Im such a psycho that I've got good qualifications and a good job that pays me well and I work for a good company. Im such a lunatic that I live in a home that I brought with my well paid job. And I did all this with a mental health disorder underneath my belt. Insane huh??
Granted I've made bad choices and I've inadvertantly upset a few people along the way. But sheesh no-one can be more upset than being called all of the above? But do I hold a grudge? No. I may have cut people off but that is for mine and thier own good. But ultimately I still care about all these people that have had input during my life.
...So i sit there repeatedly telling myself I've got to do it. Suicide. I want to die. I cant see a way further than beyond this point. How can I be a good mother to my children when they have me, emotionally unstable, as their mother? How can I do my job properly when I'm plagued by depression? How can I run my home when I cant get out of bed in the mornings? All the things I've worked hard to get,,, are slowly slipping away. I need help.
So in true optimistic fashion I go to visit my GP. My meds arent working. "Lets change you to a different type" she says. OK great lets do it. After all, all I want is to be well again. Then the killer blow comes... "We have to wean you off of your current anti-depressants because you need to be completely off of them before we introduce the new ones" My heart sinks. "Something bad is going to happen in those weeks especially in the time I wean down to only two pills a week" I say. "You'll be fine, I'll see you again in two weeks to discuss how you are feeling" I'm glad she is so optimistic!!
So as my GP anticipated, I made it to week two. Not much change really. My depression is high but I'm feeling it on a 'manageable' level. Again I express my concern about the impending two weeks to come. "You're doing great, we can do this" my doctor exclaims.
Fast forward one week... I'm so dellusional and despairing I cant actually cope anymore. All sorts of thoughts are going round in my head. Im thinking I'm going to live the rest of my life like this now. It hurts so much. I cant take the pain anymore. Nothing is fun. Music, my one un-biased passion is making me feel bleak. My children arent here and I need them. But they cant see me in this state. That's it now, I cant come back from this. Im in such a despairing state my own voice inside my head is telling me to just get rid. Then i cant upset anyone else again. My kids will be loved and cared for by their dad. My family dont need me as a burden. Like the blood sucking leech that I am on everyones mental resources. Meticulously I plan what is going to happen. Leave my mobile at home. Car keys, check. Purse, check. So I drive. I keep on driving until its dark. I find a nearby travelodge and check myself into a hotel room. I have sleeping pills, my own supply of my thyroid medication, anti depressants and codein. Out of my home town no-once can interrupt me. I pay my room rates for the evening and I get to my room and undress. I take a glass of water from the bathroom and I quickly settle into bed and put the tv on. I do not know why!!? Maybe its like a final ritual I am making. My final celebration of the world via 'The Jonathan Ross Show' I open all the pill packets, carefully popping them individually from the blister trays. Down in one? Or all together? Heck it aint gonna work that quite so why rush it? One by one I washed them down. I wasn't counting them there was no need. I had an ample supply to do the job. Or so I thought.
The next morning I wake to a knock on the door. "Excuse me Miss, just to let you know it is check out in 10 minutes time, please could you vacate your room?"
Shit :( Im still here.
I get up and get dressed and promptly vacate my room. I am pissed off with myself for still being in this world. From the travel lodge car park I head on to the nearest town, Ipswich. Still feeling despairing, increasingly depressed and hopeless I decide that I must attempt again the activities of the night before.
I find a local library in Ipswich where I can use a computer to book another night into a local hotel. I pay the room rate and print the address of the hotel off and pay the librarian accordingly for the use of the printed paper.
In my new hotel room I settle on the bed and root around in my bag. I had 7 sleeping pills left. I swallow them down with swigs from a bottle of wine I had purchased earlier in the day. This isnt going to be enough to kill me off. I need more alcohol. I finish the bottle of wine and head to a nearby shop where I purchased two more. I head back to my hotel and proceed to drink more wine. I take a shower. At least I will be clean when they find me. As time ticks on I am getting slowly and increasingly anxious to the fact that I am alive, albeit doped up and drunk, and this lays heavy on my heart. I dont want to be here. I cant be here. So again, I pick myself up and stagger to the local pub about 50 ft away from the front door of the hotel where I currently reside.
"One pint of Strongbow please" I call to the barman.
"Thats £2.65 please madam, Enjoy" replies the barman
Pah 'Enjoy' I mutter to myself, if only he knew what I was planning to do to myself. As the night progresses I get chatting to some local lads. I ask them if they can get me any Valium (Diazepam). They agree that they can and I tell them that I am willing to go with them to get some but they must drive my car because I am very drunk. I stop by a cashpoint and withdraw £80. I dont know why that amount but hey I reasoned with myself that £80 would buy me an ample supply of benzodiazepines. Unfortunately things then started to get ugly. The guy who was driving my car with me in the back accompanied by two of his other friends, stopped on a residential estate about 2 miles from the pub we were drinking at. He said he'd be back in 10 minutes with my Valium but I'd first need to hand over the cash. nervously, I gave him all £80. Much to my horror all three of the guys then swiped my money and ran. "Fuck, fuck, fuck" I yelled. I'd been conned.
I walk over to the houses that stand right behind where me and my abandoned car are, and I ring one of the buzzer's to the flats that it belongs. A man answered in a sleepy voice "Hello"
"Hello" I replied "Please can you help me, I've just been mugged?"
A kind gentlemen came down to the doors of the flats and let me into his apartment. From there he rang the police. The police attended within 5 mins and I began to relay the events of the evening.
"What did you give them £80 for Miss Youens?" asked the police officer taking notes.
"Valium" I replied.
"Why were you trying to obtain Valium?" he asked subsequently
"I wanted to take it all in the hope that I killed myself" I said.
He radio's through to the control room after I'd given him my name, age and address.
"Do you know you have been reported missing to Northamptonshire Police?"
"Possibly" I shrug
"Why do you want to kill yourself Miss Youens?" asked the police officer after speaking with the guy that let me into his home
"Life is shit and I dont want to be here anymore" I cry.
The two policemen whisper to one another.
The policeman in charge of the inquiry firmly begin "Miss Youens, for your own safelty, I am detaining you under section 136 of the mental health act 1983. You do not have to say anything, you have the right to remain silent, do you understand?"
"Yes Sir" I whisper.
And off I was taken to Ipswich Mental Health Hospital.
Mental Health... a time of crisis
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