Friday 8th June 2018 (11.38am)
I am usually good at talking things out with people, but at the moment its hard, so this is the best I can manage. Putting what is scrambling around in my head onto this screen is the only thing that I can do at the moment as I sit here in yet another coffee shop pondering what the hell is going on.
If I thought Part 1 was hard to write then I am in for a test with this one today.
Last Thursday morning I received my letter from SMP. I had my weekly NHS counselling session arranged at my GP surgery for 2pm (coincidently). I did not want to go and even considered just not turning up (something which I have never done). I wanted to avoid the questions, I wanted to avoid talking, but most of all I wanted to hide from my counsellor how I was really feeling and the thoughts which were zooming around my brain. I knew that if I disclosed how shit I felt, my feelings of self harm, and wanting to run away and not be found then I would not be allowed to leave. My intention was to go there and say that I was ok. You did not have to be a trained counsellor to see through me straight away. The smile tactic did not work as all the verbal shit spilled out of me.
I was not allowed to leave the surgery before seeing my GP. After our conversation and her assessment I was deemed too vulnerable and too much of a risk to be left alone and arrangements were made there and then for me to attend locally for a Psychiatric assessment. I waited in a side room for my partner to arrive and take me there. When I got to the centre I was seen by two mental health nurses. I spilled out the same shit. My head hurting from talking. I could not be bothered. Being sectioned was discussed but we agreed that this would likely be more detrimental for me. I was lucky to have someone who would be able to stay with me over the weekend. We also discussed medication and the possibility of trying an anti-psychotic drug. The MH nurse said that she would discuss this further with the GP. I left under ‘watch arrest’.
I struggled over the weekend, I was conscious that I was not me, I could not find me. I felt like things were going on around me yet I wasn’t there. A brain fuzz, likened to the black and white picture and sound on an ‘untuned tv’. I had my first triathlon of the season on Sunday, yet on Saturday I was not even going to turn up to it. I did turn up and when negative thoughts came into my head on the bike course I just pedalled faster to try and make the thoughts fly out of my ears!
Since Thursday, I had been planning and scheming in my head not letting on about how, when and where. I knew I was going to just go. On Tuesday, I dropped out of phone contact, not wanting to be reached. I needed time away. I needed to be alone. I grabbed Olly, packed up enough of his food and water and jumped in the car. I did not know what I was going to do as thoughts of self harm whirled around my head. I drove, we parked up, we walked, I contemplated, we walked more, I drove more. Repeat and repeat again. Time was passing. Olly my comfort blanket not letting me out of his sight. We are a tag team. He was / is my life saver.
Concerned friends who knew of my mental state had no option but to contact police. When I turned my phone back on, I had so many messages and missed calls. I was given a time frame to make contact and if I didn’t police were going to be called. When I picked up these messages I had a police officer sitting next to me in my car. I had been located.
Part 3 to follow (where I am at now)