“There’s rock bottom, then there’s 50 feet of crap, then…there’s me” said Rachel in Friends back in the 90s.
Yeah, we’ve all been there. You think you’re at your lowest and then, somehow, you plunge even further.
Today I handed Nora a collection of items:
- 32 paracetamol (16g)
- 8 cocodamol (4g paracetamol, not sure how much codeine)
- 2 knives
- 1 bottle of rum
- 1 bottle of Jagermeister
- 1 bottle of triple sec
- 1/4 a bottle of gin
- A smidgen of vodka
Strange list. My list of dangerous items that required removal from the house to keep me safe. Handing over these things was a new rock bottom. I handed them over freely, of my own choice, but it still made me feel very bad. This is what I have become. One of those.
I don’t know what ‘one of those’ is but I know that I am one.
I cried to Nora because I don’t want to die and I’m scared that I might at my own hands. It’s a head fuck right enough. Although not a surprise (I knew a crash like this would follow Up#3).
I explained to my husband later where our booze had gone. He asked if I’d drunk any. He asked in a really horrible, accusatory way. His tone almost said I knew you would, I knew you’d drink it. Well his tone was wrong. I told him the truth – I hadn’t touched a drop. He told me he had taken photos of it anyway so he’d know. Right. Because I’m one of those am I?
Back to this afternoon and Nora gave me two choices:
- Contact the crisis team. They may hospitalise you. If they do hospitalise you it will be many (at least 50) miles away. There are no beds in this city.
- We come up with a plan to manage your distress and reassess in a couple of days.
I chose option 2. I’m not a huge fan, not any kind of fan at all in fact, of the crisis team. They just bring stress. Platitudes from self help books spewed forth like magic medicine. No thanks. Who’s to say they’d even grant me a bed in hospital.So option 2. Tomorrow I’m off to an art gallery, on my own, because it’s something I want to do. I love art. I don’t know anything about it particularly but I like to look at the different scenes, the different styles, the different moods. When I look at art I feel small – in a good way – I’m just one piece of this big old jigsaw called humanity. It’s certainly a lot better than the plan I had which involved drips, beeping monitors and a stench of faeces from the incontinent patients that I’d be joining on AMU (acute medical unit – that’s where us paracetamol overdosers go on account of the organ damage. I know. I’ve been before).
Thinking about it like that…today’s rock bottom could certainly have been worse.
It was a close call but I may just have spared myself 50 feet of crap.