Poison

On Thursday last week, I had one of the worst overdoses I've had in years. Recently, they've usually been on psych meds, but not this time.

I took roughly 35,000mg paracetamol (70 tablets), many of which included codeine.

I'd been drinking and reading through my old journal entries and notes relating to the abusive relationship when I was a teen. The day marked the 10^th anniversary of when I met him. It's been ten years. Ten. Fucking. Years. A decade of my life lost.

I'd had an overdose on oxazepam the night before. An amount that has landed me in hospital many times, but this time, I just woke up the next day as usual. I don't remember much of the day. By the evening, I started looking at when I had left in my stash. My usual go-to, an over-the-counter sleeping pill, had disappeared. I had a box of paracetamol/codeine (500/30mg), and a box of cold & flu that had both paracetamol and codeine. There was also a sheet or two of plain old paracetamol.

As a rule, I generally don't keep paracetamol around. I know the dangers all too well. I had a bad overdose when I was 13, with hundreds of pills, everything in the house (including paracetamol, ritalin, post-surgery painkillers – anything I could find). Two weeks in hospital, one week in the ICU, most of that week in an induced coma. Since then, the cupboards are kept bare and everyone stashes their medication where I can't get to it.

After taking them, and writing down what I'd taken, how much, what time, and how many drinks I'd had (because not knowing/remembering just makes things more difficult for everyone), I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up on Friday, the room was spinning as I lay in bed. I got up and stumbled to the bathroom. Trying to pee, I instead puked black liquid all over myself and the floor.

#imsogothipukeblack

I rinsed myself off and changed into clean clothes, and made my way to the kitchen, desperate for something to drink. I measured out my low calorie cordial into a drink bottle, topped it off with water, then sank to the floor. I called out to mum, who was outside with her coffee, that I thought I needed help.

I gulped down the cordial, desperate for water, and threw up again. Mum was on the phone to 000. They told her not to let me drink anything. All I wanted to do was chug down the entire liter, even if it came back up again. Soon, three paramedics arrived and whisked me off to hospital.

I don't remember much of this day, either. A doctor gave me a lovely speech about how paracetamol can cause liver failure, and liver failure requires transplants, and most people who need new livers don't get them. I had to have the antidote drip for the next 24 hours. They put the drip in, moved me to the short stay unit, and I slept for most of the day, only waking up to throw up.

On Saturday, they took more bloods. An hour later, the doctor came back with the psych with the results. I thought it'd be to plan discharge. But they told me my blood tests showed my liver function was still declining, and was worse than when I was admitted. They'd be talking to doctors at one of the biggest hospitals in Melbourne to get advice. I thought I'd be out after the 24hr drip, but with my liver getting worse, they told me I needed another 16hr drip after the first one finished, and see where things go from there.

I'd been watching the time on the IV crawl down, my countdown for when I might be able to sneak out for a smoke. Not having smoked at all the day before, I was gagging for one. I asked the nurse, and after checking with the doctors, the nurse unplugged the heart monitor and let me outside, where I sucked down two before going back in.

When the psych came to see me (who is much nicer than the Horrible Psychiatrist who used to work there), he asked the general questions – are you still at risk, do you think you'll do it again, do you have any more at home. I told him I feel more passively, not actively, suicidal, but that an overdose will probably happen again. Whether it's in a month or a decade, it's probably going to happen again at some point. But it wouldn't happen again as soon as I got home, as there wasn't a single pill of anything in the house outside of mum's (heavily guarded) lockbox.

After maybe four hours on the second drip, I was sent home to follow up with my GP on Monday. A GI doctor had come in and poked at my gut, and apparently that was enough to counteract the whole “your liver function is declining” thing. I wasn't exactly filled with confidence, and couldn't help but worry about the test results. As it turned out, I was right to worry, and all was not well.

On Sunday, I slept most of the day. Mum said I looked like I should've stayed in hospital. Everyone seems frustrated at the hospital for discharging me when they did - myself included - as things got worse after I was discharged.

By Monday, the nausea had started to ease off, which they said was a side effect of the drip. I still felt sick though. It was like I had a lump in my abdomen.

I went to get the follow-up blood test, wondering whether my liver had kept getting worse, or had started to recover after the doctor poked and prodded at me. I'd written a note for my GP, explaining what had been going on, asking her to arrange an appointment for later that week. Although she'd have a letter from the hospital, I felt it important to explain myself.

I gave the note to reception, asking if they could pass it along, and went to get my bloods. On the way out, my GP was at reception, holding the note. She booked an appointment for me, but didn't have any gaps until Friday, but I ended up seeing her before then anyway. Mum even agreed to drive me to blood tests and appointments as it was follow-up from the hospital.

On Tuesday, my GP texted in the morning, asking for my mum to call her. I immediately panicked. When she called, my GP told me I needed another blood test that morning. My liver function had gotten a lot worse since the hospital discharged me. She told mum to keep an eye out for signs of confusion, as my brain may start to swell.

On admission, my ALT level was 76, when it should be under 45. When they discharged me, it was 132. By Monday, it was up to 1,237. As of my last blood test it had come down a bit and was at 1,066, but I'm not out of the woods yet. I've had bloods every day this week, except for yesterday and today, being the weekend.

Wednesday, I had an awful headache/neck ache. When it started on Tuesday morning, I thought it was just stress, until I woke up in the middle of the night in pain and couldn't move my head without my neck hurting. When I was getting my bloods done, mum went to the pharmacist to ask about painkillers. They couldn't give me permission to take anything, and my GP had the day off, so I just had to wait it out.

When I saw my GP on Thursday, she told me that the pain was my brain responding to the paracetamol. She gave me paracetamol/codeine (500/30), to take one at a time, four times a day. I've actually been taking them as instructed. This week, I should be able to wean off them. She thinks my bloods should be improving this week too.

My blood pressure has also been very low. I've been checking it at home, but it's not changing much. On Thursday at my GP's, it dropped from 104/59 sitting to 72/50 standing. I just feel like crap physically. She said to drink more water, as my organs are holding on to it, but it's proving difficult to get more than my regular 3-4 liters a day.

Mum even asked me if I wanted to set up the couch with pillows and blankets, which I did. I think she wants to keep an eye on me for signs of confusion or anything like that. She's even checked on me when I'm asleep in my room in the middle of the night. I think she's scared too, but it's nice to feel like she actually cares. She actually visited me in hospital a couple of times, and picked me up when I was discharged, which she never does anymore. During a breakdown on Tuesday night, she actually gave me a hug. I can't remember the last time she did that.

Since the overdose, I've just been taking it slow. I'm completely exhausted, mentally and physically.

I've been told to try not to drink as it could make my liver worse. I've had drinks three nights since the overdose, but only 4-5 drinks, instead of 10-15. I know I shouldn't, but I need an escape, and my only other coping mechanisms are self-harm and overdosing. And I'd be lying if I said part of me doesn't hope it'll mess up my liver even more. By the fifth drink, I end up feeling sick and giving up, despite how much I wish I could just get drunk.

I didn't necessarily want to die. I wanted to hurt, which is why I take most overdoses in the first place. It's self-harm, not a suicide attempt. Thinking of taking the paracetamol did worry me, knowing the dangers, but I was desperate.

But between things like drinking in the hopes my liver will get worse, and the fact I'd do it again if someone handed me a 100pk of paracetamol, it's got me thinking. I don't think my suicidal ideations are are passive as I thought they were.

I'm not coping with life, traumaversaries, moving out, medical issues, depression in general. Part of my is scared I'll do it again. Part of me wants to do it again. Mostly because it was very effective as self-harm, but part of me hopes my liver fails, and the decision to live or die will be taken out of my hands.

I also saw my psych on Monday. We spoke about the trauma for the first time, as it's always a difficult time of year. She wants me to do 10 appointments in the next eight weeks because I'm 'suicidal' (I really don't know if I am or not). I want to ask her about an admission to the Clinic. This week, I'm seeing her on Wednesday, which is the worst trauma date, then again on Friday, plus my GP and dietician on Tuesday. We made a safety plan, which I haven't done for years. Is it sad that my only 'friends and family' contacts are my GP, dietician, and psych? Or that my only 'reason to stay alive' is “I don't want to die fat”?

I know this post is long, but there's been a lot going on. I haven't been talking to people about it, because I didn't want anyone to worry, but since my liver seems to have turned a corner, I thought I better update.

xxBella