[CONTENT WARNING: SUICIDE]
I have just put down the ‘phone to the Adult Mental Health Team. My G.P. agreed to my re-referral; the AMHT must have been keeping me afloat, even if they did’t make me better. But, as yet having had no assessment, no care-coordinator – having weathered Christmas without a mobile ‘phone signal – they aren’t sure who can help me.
They will call me back. In the meantime, I must “stay safe”. Call them if I feel I am not. The irony? That’s why I called them in the first place. I have endured a Christmas period of extremes between my parents – the one wanting me to “talk” – carefully studying the symptoms of my disorder online, flatly denying that their parenting had any contribution to it – at all – whilst wondering what to tell relatives if I stop work for treatment (how about the truth?); the other, not mentioning it. The one living in imaculate domestic bliss, having renovated and decorated an entire bungalow in three months flat (too busy to talk – wallpaper stripping) – the other, living with the odds and ends of the familial crockery collection, in squalor, the flat not having seen a paintbrush in years. One, espousing the opinions of the Daily Mail – the other, a Corbynite.
At one home, wound up by my brother, beyond the point of no return, I explode at him. Meltdown in fury. I am the devil epitomised. I should be destroyed. At the other, I silently implode, because no amount of cajoling is going to change things. As the to-do list mounts untouched ( I need to get a solicitor, bookshelves, double-glazing…), it all falls on deaf ears. My mother is demanding a share in my father’s meagre pension. Divorce settlement. (I want to do this humanely). Like, right.
I must wait for an assessment with a psychiatrist, maybe tomorrow. My G.P., it transpires, heard the suicidality and desperation: made an urgent referral for support. They are duty-bound to see me soon. Amidst the extremities, caught up amongst them, is a jealousy so hot it burns. I am the only one in my family without a partner. My cousin’s parents visit. Talk solidly about The Wedding of 2016 (my Mother, later: You are coming? You’d have to have a really good excuse to miss this one, you have to be there). Two, maybe three other sets of friends get engaged. Others get pregnant, get partners. Get on with life. I congratulate them. I am numb, but for the jealousy coursing through my veins, revealed in cutting, scratching, tearing, biting. Revealed, but not abated.
I am so angry with myself. So angry with not being able to cope, with messing up every f-ing relationship, with having no motivation, with being hateful and horrid, with being stuck. Nothing changes for me. Nothing has changed for the better in a long, long time. Rather, evidence has amassed for people’s utter hatred towards me. I want to die. I would rather die than carry on like this. I have the material means to die. What I need is the courage. It is only fear that stops me now.