We went to my Mum and Dad's for Christmas which was great. The usual - sleeping, eating, watching rubbish tv. Brilliant escapism.
It wasn't until our drive home that my mood slowly began to drop.
All I could really think about was the day that my boy would be going back to school. That was the day when the routine would begin again. Same old, same old. Back to my lifestyle of trying so hard to change things. Trying to feel more constructive. More worthy. More deserving of my life.
The Friday before starting school I lay down on the sofa and had a thought :
"Because of all the medication I take", I thought, "I have a full box of paracetamol over there. How much of it would I have to take?"
and I froze.
I know full well that that's a thought I should not be having.
No.
Fuck, no.
I immediately got off the sofa, got Paul and told him.
I heard him get on the phone to 111, then heard some scuffling that he was making. I knew full well what they were telling him to do. Lock the pills away.
I was given an emergency doctor appointment. I have a brilliant doctor who similarly to a few weeks before, referred me to NHS psychiatry.
That was a month ago and I'm still waiting for them to contact me.
What I'll say is, if anyone out there is having similar thoughts to mine, do one thing. Talk to somebody and tell them. X
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