Dec 6, 2020
About 7-8 years ago in my early 20s, I was in contact regular with my GP and the UK mental health services. I was on a combination of risperidone and olanzapine, to negate me becoming too accustom to 1. These meds severely impacted my ability to work, I had to choose between trying to live life, and keep everything inside and deal with it, or give up on life and accept them meds and their harsh realities. I tried for 6 months, filling my prescriptions, playing the part at the GPs and for my Employers, playing that everything was slowly getting better and the meds were helping. meanwhile I had acquired a stash of 6 months worth of the daily maximum mg allowed.

I was young and naïve and thought this would be enough with a small vodka to do the trick. I emptied the pills onto my bed and begun to swallow. I finished the pills and the bottle and laid down and shut my eyes. I was at peace. I didn't feel scared at all. I felt like all my problems were finally leaving me and the pain and emotion, I was finally becoming free from it in as long as I could remember, I felt bliss.

I woke up 3 days later in bed with the worse gut I could imagine, I was staying at my parents at the time having moved back home due to health issues, in at the time was a tiny room with open wash/ toilet facilities. I emptied myself something nasty and passed out on the bed again for 24hrs. I checked the phone to see the Mrs at the time having blown up at me for ignoring her and how she was this and that and going to go out with mates, I was a cunt ect, ect. the usual. I simply text her "sorry OD, just woke up" you can imagine the phone call, double fucked guilt trip. It was nice to know no-one in the family decided to just simply open my door and see me there after 4 days. So I just carried on with life as you do.

I was diagnosed finally this year with PTSD, I had to inform the Dr at this point the majority of which I could directly attribute to how I was treated by the mental health services in the UK over the past 2 decades. The "Help" I received when in reality it only made me worse.

Fast forward to this year. I finally told my family what happened. more over I explained the aftermath to them. Due to my sever autism I have hypersensitivity issues, thus washing can be an issue, I also have sever bowl issue I have had for my entire life it has been an average of 5 times a day without fail. I was also a young idiot apprentice in my youth who spent to much time sat where he shouldn't and now I also suffer from piles. Due to my attempt on my life I was left with a bed sore, you guessed it, right up the crack, what a great scar to have I must admit.

So from my attempt I am now left with a near constant open wound that I have to wipe excrement through 5 times a day, It bleeds daily and it can leave me in such agony on the toilet at 3am there's no way I can get back to sleep, I now need baby wipes and powder with me as a 30yr old man. It's a lovely constant reminder of what and why I did what I did.

My aftermath is nothing in comparison to what you can have to go through should an attempt go wrong.

Everyone has different tolerances to different things.

Some cope where others fail.

We all know the do-gooders, self righteous suffers of empathy deficit disorder, so far out of touch with reality they might be on acid hate themselves for not being able to accept what is in front of their eyes, but will never accept or acknowledge this.

We all have different journeys to take, we all have our own pains to face.

I've been lurking over a year now as a non mem.

No-one here wants anyone else to die.

We all just want our suffering to end :heart: