Once again, I'm starting a blog post with apologies for leaving it so long since I wrote. Once you read why, I think you'll understand.
Back in June, I made two attempts on my own life. I won't go into detail here, except to say I was hearing voices at the time, urging me to take extreme risks with my health. Fortunately on both occasions, I told somebody what I'd done and was persuaded to get medical attention. After the second attempt, I spent three weeks on an acute psychiatric ward. This was a difficult experience for me, for a host of reasons; particularly the lack of privacy, since initially I was being observed every 15 minutes.
Despite the difficulties I had in adjusting to hospital life, it was made more bearable by lovely visits from family and friends, some fantastic staff and some amazing fellow patients. I was well looked after, on the whole.
I'm now on medication but more significantly (for me personally), my weekly psychotherapy sessions have started again, so I can work on those inner demons.
My only wish is that I'd reached out and got help before I got to where I did. I was in such a place where I felt I couldn't talk to anyone about how I was feeling, neither loved ones nor, say, Samaritans. I can only hope that if I ever, ever feel that way again (which I hope I don't, obviously), I'll ask for help. I've spoken before about not being embarrassed to discuss our mental health, so it's time I took my own advice. Don't be shy, speak out.
Best wishes to all, thanks for reading.
