Reflections of hard times

For the record. I am writing this so that I can look back and reflect on what I went through. This is not a plea for help, nor am I seeking attention or sympathy, I am writing ths as part of the recovery process. I feel it's important that I write this while I still feel dysfunctional so that in a few weeks time when I am thinking 'Maybe I just made all that up' I can look back and know that I felt WAS real. I am writing this so that if I ever start to feel so low again that I can look back on what I've written and idenfity with myself that things are getting bad, and send Craig the signals he needs, so that he can get me the help I need but cannot ask for. This is a painful thing to write, it's hard to admit when you need help, and so if it appears jumbled that's because my thought process is jumbled.

I haven't updated since last Tuesday after I made that last post. Looking at it now I can see how desperate I was feeling. I was just hanging out until I could see my Dr. I knew that once I had seen her that I would be able to think clearly again. Instead somehow I fucked up my appt time at missed it by 30 minutes. And although I told them it was urgent that I see her, and that I was desperate they still refused me. I sent Craig in, I couldn't handle another rejection, they refused him too despite him saying to the receptionist that I really badly needed to see GP because I was depressed.
From that point on, things when from bad to worst. I felt like no one cared, no one understood and no one wanted to understand. I felt angry at Craig because he should KNOW that I desperately needed help and that he should have fucking done something about i, I felt like he'd let me down. I felt angry because I felt that secretly my GP and the receptionist girls thought I was making it up and that I'd get over it. Of course looking back now, Craig didn't know how bad things had turned, he had no idea I'd gone so far. And of course the receptionists didn't know either.
Circumstances changed and I drove Craigs car home, and he took the van and took a mate home. I came home, went to the toilet and put wood on the fire. My SIL rang to tell me I could go and stay with her if I needed some time out, I think she was secretly trying to make sure I was okay because she knew Craig had taken J home. I hung up, looked online for a friend to talk to as a distraction. No one was online so I wrote Craig a short letter
I love you guys
It's not your fault
It's better this way
Ara- You are my princess who I never gave what you deserved
Frog- You are going to grow up into an awesome young man
Craig- You are a great guy who deserves so much better <3

Theb I took 20 panadol I had planned on taking the whole packet of 100 but I couldn't take anymore because they weren't caplet ones and they were hard to swallow, and all the water I needed to swallow them was making me feel bloated and swishy. I went to lay down, I wanted to rest, I wanted to sleep, I wanted the pain to stop. I had an appointment booked with my GP for the 27th of May and I couldn't bear the thought of having to carry on feeling like this for another 3 weeks to get the help that I knew I so desperately needed.
Then the phone rang. I was cross, because I was just starting to get all warm and dozy in bed. It was my GP, my SIL had been concerned about me, and rang and demanded to talk with my GP who in turn rang me immidiately.
We talked for a while, but I was tired and not feeling like talking. I couldn't bear to tell her that I'd taken panadol, i didn't want her to know, I didn't want her to panic, I just wanted her to leave me be so I could go to sleep before Craig got home. She asked me if I'd taken anything and I said just some panadol. Craig arrived and I gave him the phone, he found out what had happened and what he had to do now. He yelled at me to get out of bed, and dragged me up from the bed telling me to get in the fucking car and why did I fucking do that. I bawled and bawled. I felt terrible but he was making me feel so much worse. In hindsight I can see that he was angry at himself for letting me come home alone, and he was yelling at me because he was scared.
We met his Mum halfway and swapped cars and went straight to the GP's office. She came out to meet me and sent us up to the hospital to get some charcol and some maxalon.
Then we drove the hour trip to the city hospital to get my panadol levels checked. We spent 7 hours in the emergency ward waiting on blood test results with me falling in and out of sleep and feeling veyr nauseas. I vomited a couple of times. I was hooked up to machines to check my heart rate. Thankfully the blood tests came back okay, I hadn't fucked my liver. (Who knew that panadol could fuck your liver, then shut it down and then you die?)
Then I had to see the mental health team before I was released. They were two lovely ladies who didn't make me feel worse than I already did. I felt terrible for putting Craig through that, he was genuinely scared. I felt physically ill from the effects of the panadol. I was mentally exhausted from 3 days worth of depression build up and hours of crying. The mental health team assessed me as okay to come home. Our rural GP on call was unhappy with this diagnosis but this meant nothing I was still able to come home. I knew that my GP had wanted to admit me to the local hospital for some R&R but I didn't know what I was supposed to do about it. So we arrived home at midnight. My MIL was here, and Ky woke at 5:30.
I was lost for the next two days. I didn't feel so low but I still felt out of sorts. It felt wrong to be at home with my kids. I didn't feel that I was up to looking after them. I took 2 days off work, and then had a few days rostered off. I had expected that my doctor would call me, but she didn't, I still feel disappointed about that.
Wednesday afternoon, a psych rang me I have an appt with her Wednesday. We had a good chat, but everything felt so surreal, was it really just 12 hours ago that I was in the hospital attached to a million different machines? Thursday I got Craig to make an appointment with my GP for Friday. I went to see her, and Craig came with me, thank god for him being so supportive. He offered to come with me so that he can know what's going on inside my head that I can't even talk to him about, it's not that I don't want to, it's because I literally can't. He's offered to come to the next few appointments too so that he can be up to speed with what's going on, it will also give him a good insight as to what signs to look for when I need help. I know now that he will stick up for me when I need help but can't ask for it. My GP thinks that a combinatoin of how I was treated(by the same receptionists) with my early miscarriage coupled with the miscarriage itself has sent my hormones out of whack, amongst other things of course. I can't really remember what we talked about for that hour. I remember her apoligising for the receptionists behaviour and promising me that it wouldn't happen again. I remember her saying that had she known I was in trouble and needed her to bad she would have been there to help me in an instant. I remember the 3 of us talking about devising a plan to send Craig the signals to get me help without me having to come out and say "Hey I'm feeling suicidal again" I remember her telling me that she was really worried about me and on the fax she sent through to the ER has had recomended that I be commited to ward 1E. She told me that when she came out to the car park to see me she was really worried because when she'd told me that she had to send me through to town I hadn't argued, and she could see in me that I just didn't care and didn't have any energy left in me to fight.
That's all I can write for now, I still feel mentally exhausted, not to mention confused, anti social, and pretty much lacking in the life department. I don't feel like cleaning, and I don't have much energy to look after the kids right now. I guess I can only hope that this doesn't last too long.