Crisis

This day had to come, I couldn’t go in on the way that I have been.

I saw my shrink and social worker this morning and…well it just seemed to all come tumbling out. I admitted that the suicidal feelings are stronger than when I saw her a month ago. I admitted that the self harm has increased and that I haven’t managed to stop abusing the warfarin. I told them that I just want it to stop, for it to be over; that I am just too tired. I explained that I hadn’t told my warfarin nurse why my INR is too high and that my GP surgery don’t seem to have paid any attention to the letter she wrote them after the last appt. My Care Coordinator was late to the meeting as the crisis team had called her as I arrived to report that they had been unable to get hold of me since saturday. She was obviously less than pleased to hear this but more concerned than anything. I explained that I felt unable to be honest with them so didn’t see the point in talking to them.

She gave me 2 choices – admission or home to my parents. Neither of them are options in my head. We have agreed on a compromise. I am back with the crisis team but stepped up a gear. I agreed to hand over all my meds and they will come here twice a day to give them to me. I also agreed to hand over my excess warfarin. In addition, the agreement is that I will reduce the paracetamol to 10 a day. It feels weird, as if it goes against everything they stand for, but she told them to give me 6 in the morning and 4 at night. Shrink is also going to write to my GP again and copy in my warfarin nurse who I have to see next week. The reality of my situation is that if things don’t improve or I can’t get a handle on the self harm soon, an admission is inevitable. It’s the last thing I want for so many reasons, not least because my family would kill me. I have managed 7 1/2 years without one, I don’t want to go there again. A lovely guy I know from the crisis team told both me and my care coordinator on the phone earlier that if they can’t get hold of me, they will call the police. I know I have to comply. I never meant to be difficult, I never wanted to make life hard for anyone.

Crisis team have just been round, the guy seemed sweet. I gave them everything (well except my stash, there’s no way that I’m letting that go). They have left me with my quetiapine, warfarin and pizotifen for tonight along with 2 diazepam. I have just realised they have left me with my paracetamol (I think I have about 30). Ah well, I’m sure they’ll realise their mistake tomorrow. Anyway, as my social worker said, I’ll buy more if I really want to.

I can’t stop crying now. Reality seems to have hit and fuck, it hurts. Not helped by being completely alone. There is no one to call.

Advertisement