Yesterday was a very very bad day. It was the worst I’ve had in a while.
The dark passenger’s three voices were on at me from the minute I left the door. I was supposed to be going to take class- instead, by the time I got to the tube station, they were goading me towards death again. I couldn’t make myself move. I was standing in the tube station, hearing them snicker at me.
Why haven’t you done what we told you yet?
You should be dead by now.
Go and cross the road, go to that pharmacy, by blades and DO IT, FOR FUCK’S SAKE.
I was standing in the hallway one minute, and the next I was outside the tube, shaking, and trying to not look visibly crazy. I could hear the female voice really clearly.
There is nothing left for you now. There is no way that you will ever beat this- we are here in your head forever. You will kill yourself. You have til the 17th, and we are waiting. I am waiting. I want you to kill yourself, honey- go put yourself out of your misery so the world can be free of one more crazy bitch.]
The bench near the station was free for me to sit on, so whilst yelling NO in my head and arguing back, I went to sit there.
I didn’t think of ringing anyone. I was panicking too much, and the whole of my brain was occupied with fighting these demons in my head.
Had Jay, my saviour, happened along five minutes later… I would have been in a pool of blood with a blade clutched in my hand.
As it happened, she saw my hand shaking.
Just my hand, but that was enough to alert her to the fact that all was not well.
She asked me if I was ok, and the voices were screaming for me not to tell her. My voice wasn’t working, so I just shook my head, and the tears began to fall.
She got out of me what was wrong, and decided that she was either going to take me to the hospital or to her doctor’s surgery. She opted for the doctor’s, since it was so close.
All the way there the voices were screaming at me not to trust her, that I should run away and buy blades, that I should have jumped out into the middle of the road before she had got a chance to talk to me.
When we got to the surgery, Jay was so kind and patient. She got the receptionists to ask the doctor what to do, and eventually they decided they would call an ambulance.
Whilst we were waiting, Jay tried her best to calm me down. She explained about her background in musical theatre, about her daughter, about the novel she was writing. She talked to me about J, about my life, about my hobbies and interests and my dancing. She got me to the point where the voices were not as loud, and I wasn’t having to talk back out loud any more.
The doctor was asking again what was wrong, and I have never experienced this reaction before: he started to back away as parts of the horror that lives in my brain were narrated, and he wouldn’t look at me after that. I scared him. Me, a tiny waify little ballet dancer! Apparently, I’m still too hot for some men to handle (please, note the sarcasm!).
Time ticked past and Jay decided to check where the ambulance was. Apparently, according to one of the receptionists, they were prioritising their emergencies. Apparently, a crazy girl who is being repeatedly told to kill herself by voices in her head is not that big an emergency. Disgusted, the receptionists cancelled the ambulance and decided they were driving me there themselves. So we piled into one of the receptionist’s little red car, and we went to the hospital. The receptionist dropped off her colleague, who told me I had to drop in at some point in the week to let her know how I was, and then we were off again.
I should explain that the voices had started up again.
Crazy bitch. Why the fuck did you go making a scene? Why aren’t you dead yet? Why the fuck don’t you do something to end your life instead of fucking around?!
I started shaking my head again, trying to shake them away from me. Jay held my hand, and then it somehow got worse.
The hospital I was being taken to was the one right at the back of where I used to live in that final, horrible year with my ex- the scene of what happened. I started sobbing as we drove past the back of my old block of flats. The memories were flooding me: all I could think was that when the car stopped, I would be taken by him back to that flat again, and the abuse would begin again, and I would be the little fly trapped in the web. I was shaking so badly by the time I got into A and E, that my body was vibrating.
I was checked in in a blur and sat down to wait with Jay. She was amazing- all this time she had be talking to me, trying to make me laugh, and trying to distract me. I managed to call my friend Z and I let her know where I was, my voice flat and filled with shock. She told me she would be on her was as soon as possible.
I helped Jay fill in the crossword, and then my name was called by the assessment nurse.
He was calm and efficient, and I felt my words stutter and break into a thousand pieces as he assessed my state. I was shaking still and my leg was bouncing up and down of its own accord. The blood pressure cuff squeezed, trapping the nerve and rendering my arm floppy, and I felt shame rise hotly along my neck as my old scars were brought sharply into relief.
I was directed to wait for someone to see me through a pair of double doors, and Jay waited outside for me.
I waited for ages. There were two big male police officers and a handcuffed, unconscious woman. Their scrutiny was not imagined- they stared, probably because I kept bursting into tears and then talking out loud to the voices when they still wouldn’t shut up.
I got a panicked text from my mum all of a sudden. She must have thought it was just like last time- the voices driving me to the brink, literally to a knife’s edge. I rang her, and my family was suddenly all there. It was like they had all appeared in the waiting room- my dad, my mum, my sister- even my dog, who has been really unwell recently. I suddenly felt the pressure in my head lessening, and by the time Jay had arrived and seen I was doing better, they had me calmer.
Jay knew I was in good hands, so after a brief word with my mum (who must have thanked her profusely, judging by the sound of it) she gave me a big hug and left. Not long after that, my friend Z appeared. Getting a hug from her made the world feel less like it was spinning off its axis, and more like life was finally returning to normal.
Z was just about to take me home when my name was called- the lady who came to see me was called Annie, and she was the psychiatric nurse. I went through my whole sorry story with her, telling her about everything, and she took notes and asked me questions. I felt slowly like the voices were being made to shut up, and she eventually ended up asking me what I thought she could do for me.
That is an impossible question to be asked when you’re having problems discerning what is real and what isn’t.
We spent a good five minutes talking about the options. The question of admission came up, which worried me- do they routinely ask if you want to check yourself in?! Or is it just that it’s getting to that point, the point where I am unstable and the voices are that controlling that I need to be ‘made safe’?
I left with no answers to that, but a lot of answers to other questions.
Somehow, she sensed that one of my big problems is the question of a possible diagnosis. Annie said that she thought there were several different issues going on. She said that I might have a personality disorder; if I have a type of bipolar, it could well be bipolar II; I could have an affective mood disorder; and most likely, along with all this, I probably have PTSD. Quite the cocktail…
The good news, if there is any to be had from last night, is that she was kind and helpful, and gave me advice on where to go whilst I’m waiting for therapy. The bad news? I could be waiting A YEAR for therapy, plus I have to nail down where I want to live PERMANENTLY in order to access it. That is standard, really, but not so fun when the life of a professional dancer is ALWAYS on the road. I really have no clue as to how I can solve that problem.
I was sent home with zopiclone, again, and lorazepam for the panic. Z was amazing with me, as was her husband- they made me feel happy and safe when I got in, and then J made me laugh on the phone so much.
What I’m now worried about is what happens next. Where do I go from here, when it could potentially be a YEAR til I get the help I need?
Will I still be alive then?
I hope so.