Hanging On In Quiet Desperation - August 2002
On Friday August 16, 2002, I attempted to take my own
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
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
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.
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
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
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
Where the hell do I go from here?