32 X 500mg of paracetamol. A lethal overdose of 16g of paracetamol. I weigh 91kg. I knew it was enough to kill me as I’d worked it out.
I’m currently sat in hospital, recovering. Let’s work back from here…
I’m bored. My phone is out of charge. I have no money, nothing to read, I don’t even have clean knickers. My eyes are scratchy from a mix of crying and lack of sleep. Going to the loo is a pain as I need to unplug and wheel my drip of acetylcysteine with me flashing my bare arse as I go. I hope this is my last dose. It’s 16 hours this dose. At the end of it they will test my blood to check for organ damage. I hope so so much that I’m ok. A consultant reassures me. He thinks I’ll be fine.
The previous dose was a 4 hour drip. That ran out at 330am. It was annoying as obviously that set an alarm off and woke me up. I had only just gotten into a proper sleep because…
…the vomiting cycle had stopped. The cycle was :
- Incredible stabbing stomach pain
- Feel like I need a humungous poo
- Vomit and then again…and then again
- Sweat. A lot.
- Calm down.
- Feel better
And back to 1. again and this is how it went for hours and hours. I really was questioning what the fuck I had done to my body and I was scared. Absolutely terrified. A paracetamol death is supposed to be excruciating so I knew that if the pain could escalate. I caught between wanting to die to stop the pain (from the overdose) and wanting to live so, so much.
This was all on the ward. Before the ward I spent many upsetting hours in A&E. Writhing in pain. Worrying. Why aren’t they giving me the antidote? I’m going to die and it’s going to hurt and it’ll serve me right and I’m alone. All alone. I was asked the same questions over and over: why did you do it; how many did you take; will you do it again; how heavy are you. Over and over. Then my friend came which helped. I tried to be jovial sitting there with a lethal dose of paracetamol in me. I wore my sick bowl like a hat. It hadn’t been used yet. I had no idea how much I’d be attached to those sick bowls later. I was drowsy and the pain kept increasing.
Back in the triage area I had sat on the floor in a cubicle, alone, sobbing. What had I done? What had I done? Oh you IDIOT. The paramedic gave me some tissues and a nurse handed me the first sick bowl.
The ambulance ride had been like an out of body experience. Chatting about school whilst sobbing that I didn’t want to die and I was sorry. Leaving the kids was hard. I had to keep it light. Mummy’s poorly so she just has to go to hospital. See you soon (will I?). Ben was furious. How could I be so stupid? Were things that bad?! (YES!) He couldn’t even look at me. I was disgusted with myself. I had rung the ambulance myself after speaking with mental health support line.
I phoned them as soon as I’d finished taking all 32. I did it in bursts of 8 washed down with diet Irn-Bru. I wandered about for a bit after the first 8 deliberating on whether to take the rest but a force compelled me. I needed to do this. I was brave. I could face death.
All the way back to almost a fortnight prior. I march into the supermarket and buy a pack of 16 X 500mg of paracetamol. Two boys I teach were right there as I picked them up off the shelf. I went to the shop a few doors down and picked up the 2nd packet of 16 X 500mg. I felt elated. I now had 16g of paracetamol in total. Enough for a serious suicide attempt! But if I could rewind back to the time I picked up those pills I’d never fucking touch them.
This is absolute hell.