The Morning After

This is a stream of conciousness, diary style writing piece talking about the morning after a hospital visit. Mentions of suicide, suicide attempts, and mental illness.

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This is the morning after. Yesterday and ambulance was at my house. They took me to the hospital because i was going to take my life.

Rather that stand up and grab the pills, I stayed in bed a little longer and called an access line. And then I got mad when they called an ambulance. My depression in a way saved me. "The pills are so far away. We are so tired. Just make a phone call first. You dont have to get out of bed for that."

The ambulance was weird, it always is. They dont know what to say to you. They distract you best they can. I wanted so badly to scream. Tell them to let me out. But the man on the phone told me if I resist or fight ill be made involuntary. So I didn't fight.

I sat in a waiting room. A nurse came to talk to me. Asked me questions. I couldn't stop crying. Then another waiting room. A doctor came to see me. Took me into a room. I still couldn't stop crying. Then another waiting room. And a peer worker and student doctors came to see me. We went in another room. And that helped. They listened to me. They let me go home to bed after that.

Now I wait for a call from the hospital. Alone in bed. And I try to figure out how im going to move forward. Do I act like everything is fine? I could have died yesterday. No one came to see me at the hospital. No one is coming to see me today. I could have died and no one did anything.

I asked for help. No one can say I didn't ask for help. I told people what was happening. No one can say they didn't know.

So this is the morning after. My head hurts, my eyes are puffy, my throat is dry, and I need a shower. But a shower feels impossible. I need a hug. But no one is here.

"Who can we call to be here?", is what the doctors kept asking me. No one.

I've been told to stay in bed, reach out to people, and try to rest. But clearly the world doesn't stop because I almost died. Hours keep passing, world keeps turning, people keep living. While I feel dead.

This time was different. I didn't write a note. I feel like people are so use to me being unwell that I wouldn't even need to leave one. Everyone would just move on. The lack of people being there when I didn't die kind of proved that. If I did die what would have happened? Would people have cared then?

What does it take for someone to help me?

Am I just not worth helping?

Is it just too much?

So many questions in my mind, on this morning after. Im clearly not doing much resting. Im spiralling.

Im going to go now. Maybe stare at the ceiling. Try to zone out of this strange place. Escape the morning after.

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-Jen xx