Hanging On In Quiet Desperation - August 2002

On Friday August 16, 2002, I attempted to take my own life.

There I was sat all alone in my retreat in Scotland when a feeling of hopelessness slowly began to take hold of my mind. I tried to shake it off by concentrating on other things but as the day progressed I sank deeper and deeper into the mire.

I tried to find something to look forward to - no chance! I tried to look back over my shoulder to see if any of my past experiences could bolster my flagging spirits - no chance! Oh the futility of it all.

By mid-afternoon on Friday I found myself sat looking at a glass of water and the 66 Clomipramine pills I had popped out of their blister packs.
I had read on the Net that it was possible to overdose on Clomipramine and I hoped that the 3300mg that I had in a glass jar would be enough to take me to a brighter place.
At approximately 3.30pm I started taking the capsules, a mouthful at a time. They went down pretty easily. After successfully swallowing the lot I lay down on my bed and waited for unconsciousness to embrace me.

As I lay there I thought about the few friends and family that I had and thought that I had better not leave them in the dark as to why. So I phoned people up to say goodbye.

AHA!

This smacks of the 'cry for help' syndrome, the blatant act of someone who wants to be found 'in time'
I haven't really analysed the reason as yet but I can tell you one thing. As I came to from being unconscious for 24+ hours I was bitterly disappointed to find myself alive.

Anyway the next thing I knew was an ambulance woman looking in through my ground floor bedroom window calling my name. She asked me to open the door so that she could avoid having to climb in through the window and - yes folks - Peter got up and opened the door.

Shortly afterwards the police arrived and I was informed that I could either go in the ambulance to hospital or be arrested, taken to the police station and then taken to the hospital. Personally I didn't give a damn what happened to me but I was trying not to inconvenience others. Funny how the mind works.

I cannot remember arriving at the hospital. I can remember fleeting glimpses of the journey but not the arrival. The next thing I remember is someone calling my name. It was Saturday afternoon.

What happened to me whilst I was unconscious I cannot tell you. I have been told that I was uttering some rather strange sentences but that is it.
For a few hours after coming round I drifted in and out of reality. Before I knew it Sunday morning was upon me.

I was discharged at 12.00 noon on Sunday. Woozy, weak and slightly disoriented I was taken back to my residence only after being told that I should see my own GP and psychiatrist at the earliest possible moment.

Figure that out? I know I can't although I have sat and pondered for hours. Why did I take all those pills? If I wanted attention I could have taken a lot less and gained the same effect.
Why was I allowed to leave the hospital with only a cursory interview with the duty psychiatrist?
Why did I feel as if I were being viewed as a pariah by the medical staff?

Where the hell do I go from here?