Last week, it was decided with my GP that I am to be referred back to the Wiltshire & Avon Mental Health Partnership to be psychologically assessed for suspected Bipolar disorder.
Today, I stood on the top floor of Cabot’s Circus in Bristol city centre and looked over the edge with one thought in my mind;
“Is the drop from here high enough to kill me?”
Although I had no real intention of jumping, the thought was still there.. Broadcasting loud and clear like an irritating public address announcement.
“You could jump from here and put an end to everything.”
“Go on. Do it. Jump. Nobody will care. You’ll be doing yourself and everybody else a favour.”
I’d like to think that there are much more glamorous ways to end my life than resorting to the lazy and cliched method of hurling myself from a great height. But at that moment, and indeed, each and every time I find myself in the vicinity of anywhere with a decent bit of altitude, it’s the thought that rings the loudest inside my mind.
Things are tough at the moment you see. But not in the traditional financial sense. Far from it. For once I’m actually quite comfortable in terms of money and what have you. No, it’s my mental state of mind. Although I’m always somewhat teetering on the edge between the stability of sanity and the enormous gaping chasm of insanity, right now I’m finding myself to be hanging from a bungee rope deeper and deeper into that abyss far more often than not.
It’s difficult to know what’s pushing me over the edge so much at the moment. My dealings with the DWP the other day certainly didn’t help matters, with the eventual outcome of that causing me to self-harm for the first time in months. Then there’s the whole Christmas season and it’s seemingly never ending full on forced frivolity. The media trying to dictate every aspect of our lives for weeks on end.
Here’s the thing. Not everybody has to or wants to go to countless tedious festive parties. Not everybody spends three days over Christmas in the company of their entire extended family. Not everybody wants to eat roast turkey and sprouts for their Christmas dinner. It’s all just what the retailers and the mass media as a whole tell us we should be doing. And if we aren’t conforming to their festive ideals then there’s something wrong with us.
Anyway, this wasn’t meant to be another rant about Christmas. Simply a bit of an unloading session. An attempt to get the thoughts that are in my mind out of my head and into something somewhat coherent.
The long and short of it is that right now I have a voice in my mind niggling away all the time that’s telling me to harm myself and it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore.
I’m planning to up my anti-psychotic meds back to twice daily again to see if it helps. At least until I can see my GP in the new year or until my Psychiatrist assessment comes through. The downside of doing so is that I’ll spend at least half the day asleep, but at least I’ll have more chance of staying alive.
If only mental health services in the UK were better. If only there were more mental health nurses and more sufficient funding. If only the Tories weren’t in power. Perhaps then myself and the many others in a similar situation wouldn’t be made to suffer for so long.