I took an overdose last week. Not a fatal one, (obviously), but one pill more than a toxic dose, so enough to make my body pretty unhappy. I’ve taken that many before without needing to go to hospital, so I was pretty confident I’d be fine, but it was risky enough to take the edge off the compulsion a little.
The thing is, I didn’t actually want Nikki’s help. Or if I did, I couldn’t tolerate it once I had it.
I hate talking on the phone. In fact, I hate it so much that I have an incredibly embarrassing and unprofessional voicemail message on my work phone, to try to force myself into picking it up so that clients won’t hear it. (Most of the voice messages I get start with “Hahahaha, oh my god!“.) But when Nikki insisted on making calls to hospitals for me, I felt really uncomfortable. She suddenly felt like a total stranger. It felt way too intimate to have her talking to other people about me like she knows me, and I felt a physical urge to push her out of my space. The worst thing about hospitalisation is the powerlessness, and this just made it worse.
As it turns out though, nobody will take me. Two of the hospitals said no because of the self harm, two said no because they don’t do crisis admissions (“babysitting”) and two said no because they don’t have any beds. My insurance company is going to have a tough time getting me to shell out $3,000 for full hospital cover next year.
Oh, and the community support program won’t take me because I’m too high-functioning.
Tomorrow is the day, and I don’t know what’s going to happen. Tonight I was looking up directions to the most notorious suicide spot in my country – it’s less than half an hour from my place. I’ve set up a time to call my nieces and nephews tomorrow afternoon, just in case. I think it’ll be fine, that the minor overdose last week was enough to deter me. I don’t want to die. But I don’t know if I’ll be fine or if I won’t. I didn’t want to take an overdose last week, and I did. I’d told Nikki I was safe that night, and I thought I was, but I wasn’t.
My session with Nikki today was awful. I feel completely despairing and heartbroken and alone. After she found out that none of the hospitals will take me, and I can’t afford to go home, she dived into “well-what-about-urge-surfing” and “have-you-tried-exposure-therapy-the-idea-is-that-you-just-don’t-do-it” and other completely obvious, pointless suggestions. I was just sitting there on the verge of tears, feeling abandoned and frustrated, and she was feeling more and more helpless and like she needed to ‘do something’, so she started saying things like,
“Well, nobody can physically restrain you from doing it, so you’re going to have to come up with a way to get through it,” and
“You always get really upset when we start talking about strategies, and it’s hard, because this is what I’m supposed to do,”
and I snapped. There were still twenty minutes left, but I had to get out of there. I don’t know what I was afraid was going to happen (I’d cry? I’d lose all control and totally break down and be humiliated to death? She’d say something so bad I’d have to kill myself?) but there was no pros and cons, no will I or won’t I – I had to get out. For once Everest was good about getting in the bag, which is lucky, or I might’ve had to leave her behind.
Nikki chased me out to reception and pulled me up to make another appointment, but when she sat down and brought up her calendar, her face looked like she’d just realised she’d been playing Frisbee with Grandma’s antique cake plate.
Turns out she’s going to be away for the next two weeks. Probably would have been good if she’d thought to tell me that before today.