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Depression- hard to see light at the end of the tunnel
Former Member
Posts: 1,876,323 The Mix Honorary Guru
Hello, I’m new to the site-
I’m a nineteen yearold student, who’s been diagnosed with severe depression- is possibly bipolar since I seem to suffer from manic periods too and basically I’ve been through a hell of a couple of months, well a hell of nineteen years if you want to get technical.
In January I took an overdose in a toilet in a club and wandered into an alley to die. I did this because I didn’t want my family- who are very religious- to think I’d committed suicide. At the time, and upon reflection it was a very stupid line of thought, I assumed that if I took a two lines of methadone, the 48 paracetemols I had bought and washed it down with a bottle of vodka smuggled into the club that it would be dismissed as an accidental overdose. I spent a week meticulously planning what I thought would be the last night of my life-strange since I didn’t really have the energy to do much of anything else and for the first time in a long time I was happy .
It went a bit tits up though, and I was found and taken to hospital. I spent the night in hospital on my own, no one knew I was there, not my family or the friends I had abandoned in a club- they simply assumed I had gotten off with someone, as during my better periods I am promiscuous and often go home with strangers without telling them, so they weren’t worried. It was horrible in the hospital, and I vowed to myself that I would never end up there again. For me this was a simple decision, I would do what I had to to satisfy the doctors who contacted my GP and the next time I tried to kill myself I would do it properly, without the risk of being found.
Because I hadn’t written a suicide note, the mental health worker who I was referred to dismissed my attempts as spontaneous, despite the knowledge I had procured drugs almost a week in advance and put my risk of attempting suicide at low.
I live at halls and because I was going out to doctors a lot- which my roommates saw as weird because while I was in my low moods I hardly ever left my room- and frankly, just sick of being on my own I told a handful of friends at uni. Their reactions differed from being blasé about the whole thing to, frankly, disgusted but three of my friends were particularly supportive, offering to take me to the doctors and so on. I didn’t tell my parents, who live a few counties over, because I was terrified of their reactions.
I did what I was supposed to, took my antidepressants, went to counselling- we talked about the miscarriage I had over summer, about the painful breakup I’d had with my boyfriend of two years and about my relationship with my parents which is emotionally manipulative to say the least, went to see my tutor about missing a term of work and arranged to sit my exams in September not May. But I was still horribly depressed. During the evenings I felt the lowest, which I think may have been due to taking antidepressant during the day. I considered taking another overdose, and bought more paracetemol and champagne- not cheap on a student’s budget, but I was going to die so I didn’t care. But something that evening made me change my mind and I got rid of it. I started self harming again with razor blades, and because I’m anaemic I often feel woozy when I lose blood so I would cut myself until I felt faint and it would help me get to sleep.
It took a few weeks before I decided again that things couldn’t continue and once again, when I planned my suicide I felt a renewed lease of life. The day before the evening I had a wonderful day with friends- but it didn’t make me want to live, I was happy because I knew I wasn’t going to live. That night I was going to slit my wrists. I wrote a suicide note this time, because this time it was going to work- I wasn’t going to allow for any room for failure.
But of course, with my track record of suicide attempts, it didn’t go to plan.
I drank a bottle of wine before hand and needed the toilet quite badly. I know that when you die, your bowels evacuate but I couldn’t quite bring myself to go to my grave in a dress soaked in piss- and I’d picked out a really nice dress too. So I staggered off to the toilet. Unfortunately, my friend had his door open and knew I’d been drinking, he also saw the cuts up my arms, because this very nice dress unfortunately did not have sleeves and in my drunken state he - he knew about the first suicide attempt, about the antidepressants and that my doctor had told me not to drink and demanded to know what I’d taken.
“Shhhh...” I giggled, “don’t worry I didn’t take an overdose. I’m going to slit my wrists this time.” This did not end well.
The University Security got called. I was given the choice of going to hospital or the police station. I chose the hospital and my friend and me spent four hours there, just so I could get an antiseptic wipe put on my cuts....like I couldn’t do that at home.
Well, I thought it was business as usual, that I’d go through the procedures I went through last time and maybe take my antidepressants in the evening. But the university had other ideas and my parents got called to take me home, despite my insistence that as my parents didn’t know about my difficulties that I didn’t want them to know.
So now I’m at home and hating it. Everybody who knows what I went through last term is two counties away and when I feel like talking to my friends I don’t know if they have lectures or are in the middle of something. My parents are being better than I expected, my dad hasn’t hit me yet so that’ a blessing, but that isn’t to say they’re being brilliant. The doctors here are so much crapper than back at uni. After the first suicide attempt, I got referred to the mental health services at my GP and they called me the same evening. Ive been waiting more than a week and a half to hear from anyone now I'm home.
The parent's chief concern is that I have wasted a lot of money on my two terms of university and that I should back on track as soon as possible, not quite realising that when you want to kill yourself you don’t really feel up for attending a contract law tutorial and that coursework is a pretty arbitrary endeavour. My Dad shouted at me today because I wasn’t putting the work in, but the trouble is I still don’t really feel up to it- to which he answered that nobody wants to do work, that’s why it’s called work- and I can’t make him see that theres more to it than that. Probably shouldn’t even be on this site right now since he’ll be checking what I’ve done today.
I do want to take my exams in September and go back to university next term because frankly I can’t stick being here and if being at university around people I like and who support me made me want to kill myself, I can’t imagine being around people who tell me I did it all for attention, who won’t give me my antidepressants because my Dad says they would make me too unfocused to do my work and that I don’t have anyone at uni will make me suddenly realize the wonders of a baby’s laugh or a flower petal or all that other life is great crap.
So basically this is where I’m at now. I want to kill myself- and I think off a building is a good way to do it, certainly harder for people to intercept you and for the hospitals to stick their oar in. But unfortunately being through all this has realized that a lot of people would be pissed off, which is not what I want to do at all. Hell, I know that people have it way way worse than me- I’ve done volunteer work with the sickest people and that makes me hate the way I feel more, because I should be happy and feel grateful for my lot in life, and god knows I want to- but when I tell myself that, there are these voices in my head telling me that it isn’t fair that I get to live when other people are dying and that if I do kill myself then well, that’d be a carbon footprint reduced, and NHS time spent on people that have illnesses, and that my friends would get over it since I’ve only known the people at uni six months and before that I moved around so often that I hardly made any lifelong friends anyhow, my parents have three other kids too- so they’d save money and get to concentrate on the sane ones
.I think being around my parents is a poisonous environment, though I know that they love me- they just haven’t really got showing it down just yet and I want to go back to uni. But since I tried to kill myself there, the parents are a little reluctant to let me go back just yet.
I’m not really sure what to do, since I’ve done everything I was supposed to- been to the counsellor, tried the antidepressants for a bit, talked and talked to people till I was sick to death of the sound of my own voice, made plans for what to do during the day and I’m trying to get my life back on track. But I just want to die.
You’ll probably say I need to give it time, that things will get better- but from nineteen years of experience things mostly just get worse and this life I’m living isn’t any kind of state for a person to exist in. I think there is something in me that is hoping things will get better, but I can’t reconcile hanging on in this muck in the vain hope that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel when in all likely hood there really isn’t.
I’m a nineteen yearold student, who’s been diagnosed with severe depression- is possibly bipolar since I seem to suffer from manic periods too and basically I’ve been through a hell of a couple of months, well a hell of nineteen years if you want to get technical.
In January I took an overdose in a toilet in a club and wandered into an alley to die. I did this because I didn’t want my family- who are very religious- to think I’d committed suicide. At the time, and upon reflection it was a very stupid line of thought, I assumed that if I took a two lines of methadone, the 48 paracetemols I had bought and washed it down with a bottle of vodka smuggled into the club that it would be dismissed as an accidental overdose. I spent a week meticulously planning what I thought would be the last night of my life-strange since I didn’t really have the energy to do much of anything else and for the first time in a long time I was happy .
It went a bit tits up though, and I was found and taken to hospital. I spent the night in hospital on my own, no one knew I was there, not my family or the friends I had abandoned in a club- they simply assumed I had gotten off with someone, as during my better periods I am promiscuous and often go home with strangers without telling them, so they weren’t worried. It was horrible in the hospital, and I vowed to myself that I would never end up there again. For me this was a simple decision, I would do what I had to to satisfy the doctors who contacted my GP and the next time I tried to kill myself I would do it properly, without the risk of being found.
Because I hadn’t written a suicide note, the mental health worker who I was referred to dismissed my attempts as spontaneous, despite the knowledge I had procured drugs almost a week in advance and put my risk of attempting suicide at low.
I live at halls and because I was going out to doctors a lot- which my roommates saw as weird because while I was in my low moods I hardly ever left my room- and frankly, just sick of being on my own I told a handful of friends at uni. Their reactions differed from being blasé about the whole thing to, frankly, disgusted but three of my friends were particularly supportive, offering to take me to the doctors and so on. I didn’t tell my parents, who live a few counties over, because I was terrified of their reactions.
I did what I was supposed to, took my antidepressants, went to counselling- we talked about the miscarriage I had over summer, about the painful breakup I’d had with my boyfriend of two years and about my relationship with my parents which is emotionally manipulative to say the least, went to see my tutor about missing a term of work and arranged to sit my exams in September not May. But I was still horribly depressed. During the evenings I felt the lowest, which I think may have been due to taking antidepressant during the day. I considered taking another overdose, and bought more paracetemol and champagne- not cheap on a student’s budget, but I was going to die so I didn’t care. But something that evening made me change my mind and I got rid of it. I started self harming again with razor blades, and because I’m anaemic I often feel woozy when I lose blood so I would cut myself until I felt faint and it would help me get to sleep.
It took a few weeks before I decided again that things couldn’t continue and once again, when I planned my suicide I felt a renewed lease of life. The day before the evening I had a wonderful day with friends- but it didn’t make me want to live, I was happy because I knew I wasn’t going to live. That night I was going to slit my wrists. I wrote a suicide note this time, because this time it was going to work- I wasn’t going to allow for any room for failure.
But of course, with my track record of suicide attempts, it didn’t go to plan.
I drank a bottle of wine before hand and needed the toilet quite badly. I know that when you die, your bowels evacuate but I couldn’t quite bring myself to go to my grave in a dress soaked in piss- and I’d picked out a really nice dress too. So I staggered off to the toilet. Unfortunately, my friend had his door open and knew I’d been drinking, he also saw the cuts up my arms, because this very nice dress unfortunately did not have sleeves and in my drunken state he - he knew about the first suicide attempt, about the antidepressants and that my doctor had told me not to drink and demanded to know what I’d taken.
“Shhhh...” I giggled, “don’t worry I didn’t take an overdose. I’m going to slit my wrists this time.” This did not end well.
The University Security got called. I was given the choice of going to hospital or the police station. I chose the hospital and my friend and me spent four hours there, just so I could get an antiseptic wipe put on my cuts....like I couldn’t do that at home.
Well, I thought it was business as usual, that I’d go through the procedures I went through last time and maybe take my antidepressants in the evening. But the university had other ideas and my parents got called to take me home, despite my insistence that as my parents didn’t know about my difficulties that I didn’t want them to know.
So now I’m at home and hating it. Everybody who knows what I went through last term is two counties away and when I feel like talking to my friends I don’t know if they have lectures or are in the middle of something. My parents are being better than I expected, my dad hasn’t hit me yet so that’ a blessing, but that isn’t to say they’re being brilliant. The doctors here are so much crapper than back at uni. After the first suicide attempt, I got referred to the mental health services at my GP and they called me the same evening. Ive been waiting more than a week and a half to hear from anyone now I'm home.
The parent's chief concern is that I have wasted a lot of money on my two terms of university and that I should back on track as soon as possible, not quite realising that when you want to kill yourself you don’t really feel up for attending a contract law tutorial and that coursework is a pretty arbitrary endeavour. My Dad shouted at me today because I wasn’t putting the work in, but the trouble is I still don’t really feel up to it- to which he answered that nobody wants to do work, that’s why it’s called work- and I can’t make him see that theres more to it than that. Probably shouldn’t even be on this site right now since he’ll be checking what I’ve done today.
I do want to take my exams in September and go back to university next term because frankly I can’t stick being here and if being at university around people I like and who support me made me want to kill myself, I can’t imagine being around people who tell me I did it all for attention, who won’t give me my antidepressants because my Dad says they would make me too unfocused to do my work and that I don’t have anyone at uni will make me suddenly realize the wonders of a baby’s laugh or a flower petal or all that other life is great crap.
So basically this is where I’m at now. I want to kill myself- and I think off a building is a good way to do it, certainly harder for people to intercept you and for the hospitals to stick their oar in. But unfortunately being through all this has realized that a lot of people would be pissed off, which is not what I want to do at all. Hell, I know that people have it way way worse than me- I’ve done volunteer work with the sickest people and that makes me hate the way I feel more, because I should be happy and feel grateful for my lot in life, and god knows I want to- but when I tell myself that, there are these voices in my head telling me that it isn’t fair that I get to live when other people are dying and that if I do kill myself then well, that’d be a carbon footprint reduced, and NHS time spent on people that have illnesses, and that my friends would get over it since I’ve only known the people at uni six months and before that I moved around so often that I hardly made any lifelong friends anyhow, my parents have three other kids too- so they’d save money and get to concentrate on the sane ones
.I think being around my parents is a poisonous environment, though I know that they love me- they just haven’t really got showing it down just yet and I want to go back to uni. But since I tried to kill myself there, the parents are a little reluctant to let me go back just yet.
I’m not really sure what to do, since I’ve done everything I was supposed to- been to the counsellor, tried the antidepressants for a bit, talked and talked to people till I was sick to death of the sound of my own voice, made plans for what to do during the day and I’m trying to get my life back on track. But I just want to die.
You’ll probably say I need to give it time, that things will get better- but from nineteen years of experience things mostly just get worse and this life I’m living isn’t any kind of state for a person to exist in. I think there is something in me that is hoping things will get better, but I can’t reconcile hanging on in this muck in the vain hope that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel when in all likely hood there really isn’t.
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Comments
with regards to university, it won't be going anywhere, you can go anytime you want or feel able to. if you don't go back this year, there's nothing saying that you can't go next year, or the year after, or the year after that. your parents are probably worried that if you don't go back now you never will, but there's no reason why that should be the case. your health has to be your priority, and you're more likely to make a better job of your degree if you are well.
you've been so brave writing all of this down for us and you've come through so much already. you are a lot stronger than you think.
please take care. x x
Welcome to TheSite. Thanks so much for posting on the boards and opening up, it’s a really brave thing to do and I’m sure that everyone who’s read your story supports you 100%. You’ve been through a huge amount, far more than I can imagine, and I really hope that things improve for you.
This article on TheSite.org gives support to people who are feeling suicidal, so maybe have a read of that. You can always call the Samaritans on 08457 90 90 90 and speak to someone completely confidentially, at any time. Alternatively, you can email them at jo@samaritans.org. This thread gives a really good insight into what happens when you contact the Samaritans, so you may want to have a look if you decide to get in touch as it will give you an idea of what to expect.
Omg hi has given some really good advice regarding your university situation. There’s really no rush, university will always be there, please don’t forget that.
You say that there’s a little thing inside you that’s hoping things will get better – please hold onto that because situations can change and improve as we learn and grow from our experiences.
Take care of yourself