(though not necessarily in that order)

(though not necessarily in that order)

Saturday, 14 May 2011

Two years

Two years today. Two years. That is both ages and so little in the grand scheme of things. Here lyeth a blog post of utter shock that I've got to May 14th 2011 but I'm jolly glad I have.

So *takes deep breathe and starts*

Two years ago, two years ago today, I tried to die. And failed (obviously...). And decided as I was lying in a hospital that night that I couldn't try again. I couldn't because unless I was certain to die, I couldn't cope with not managing it again. Couldn't cope with the failure, the pain of watching those around me adjust to me after yet another attempt.

In the aftermath, on the side of the road as I had people all around and flashing sirens, the first response ambulance guy called me "sweet as a nut". Not sure whether a crazy nut or not... You couldn't make it up, or if you did you'd have to suggest it was preposterous bit of fiction...

In a way, recover is hard. I can't say "no, can't do today" and retreat to under the duvet for entirety of days. I can't just disappear off unnoticed and spend a week (or twelve) on a psych ward before wobbling back into life again. I can't just keep up long periods of little sleep - this week I reached a turning point where I knew that utter exhaustion (and its related dangerousness) was going to happen if I didn't sleep. So I got into bed, didn't set any alarms from the morning and slept. I have to do some things to prevent things from suddenly going back. Which in a way, would be stupendously easy.

Two years ago tomorrow, I got put into a psych ward as there was no guaranteeing I could actually contain myself/not disappear overnight. I HATED it, them, the fact I'd landed myself in a psych ward, and only didn't go into police cells because I'd got blood everywhere and the squeamish police crew called an ambulance (that was before they searched my bag, which resulted in blue lights to hospital as I inelegantly splattered the back of an ambulance in vomit...). Today I'm off to a university tutorial, 8 minutes walk from the psych ward. I went on leave from the psych ward to go to a tutorial when they realised I had actually spent 4 days doing sums, so speaking to others who understood this love was probably a good idea for my (somewhat errant) sanity.

Two years, two years. I've not acted on those thoughts. Once they are an option, I'm not sure they ever fully go away, and the "what ifs" stay put too, but two years? Before that, I was on 6 months since my last attempt (a psych ward based attempt, and then I had another 3 months of stay there...) Before that, about a month. Before that, 3 months... I'm only here due to being an incompetent twit with a stupidly resilient body.

Two years. I can't quite believe it. So so so much has changed. Back then, the thought of walking down the road with someone safe by my side was scary (suicide attempts withstanding. Logic of the non-mathematical kind was never my strong point...) now, I can travel to London on my own.

Two years. Two years I didn't want to have. I didn't want to have two more days, or two more hours. But I did. And somehow, slowly, things have turned. Two years.

If you think I've said two years too many times, then tough. Because you know what? I've laughed more in the last two years than I did in the six years prior to that. I've smiled and meant it. I've sat outside in public places and done so consciously. Not because I made a mistake and couldn't remember how to get home.

I'm not quite mentally stable. I'm not quite mentally normal - I'd still get a diagnosis of Aspergers if I was tested today. I'd possibly get some psychotic label too, due to the way the world views how I view things. I'm not fully functioning, I still have to be reminded to eat/sleep/drink and some days I can't brush my own hair. But two years without trying something to delete me is something I'd never thought would be a possibility. Because I had decided to die, so I was going to. And that was that.
So I thought.
I was wrong about that. And I think I'll be wrong for a few more years yet. Apologies to my enemies'n'all...
Two years. *passes out celebratory brownies/cake/wine/water and plays jolly tunes*


  1. I love you. I'm overjoyed for you. I'm proud to know you. I'm tremendously glad you're here.

    :13331: x

  2. I'll take one of those brownies.

    Here's to two years (thought I'd say it again) and two more years and lots of other two years after that. You're fab.


  3. I am so proud to be your friend. I love your openness, your eloquence, and your honesty. And the funky socks, of course. Xxx

  4. Hurrah! I think that this is absolutely a cause for celebration. Well done. x

  5. This is inspiring! and a brownie would be lovely, thanks ...

  6. That was a really lovely, inspiring post. I think you are brilliant! Bip. xxx

  7. "I couldn't because unless I was certain to die, I couldn't cope with not managing it again. Couldn't cope with the failure"

    This is what has stopped me from trying in the first place, a fear of failure. While it's not really a nice way to be, it's kind of comforting knowing someone has a similar thought process.

    Two years is fantastic and deserves a congratulations! Enjoy those brownies!!