I didn't know what to name this post, so I have left it without a title.
Today I had felt better, had nothing but good things on my mind. Until this evening that is.
We were watching a medical drama and suddenly my mind was full of thoughts of hospitals, and my last visit. Why was I there? Because I wanted to die. Why did I leave early? Because I wanted to live. How can that be? How can emotions change so quickly and suddenly? Did I really want to live or did I just feel the need to apologise for what I had wanted to do?
I've seen the effect that attempted suicide can have, I've caused it. More than once. I've never done it properly - obviously. So I've seen the aftermath. The shouts and the tears. I've seen pain that I have caused and it must match the pain I feel inside.
Not entirely sure where this post is going, so please forgive me for my incomprehensibility.
I wonder what would've happened to me if I had stayed to go up to the MAU, am I still dying inside? Is that a gross over-exaggeration? I've spoken to, and been reassured by, a psychiatrist, that I'm not in fact dying and whilst bipolar disorder slightly lowers the morbidity age amongst its sufferers it is not likely that my death is imminent.
Sometimes I wish I had stayed in hospital. That's selfish because my family needed reassurance and I needed to provide that. But it was calm in hospital, laying on a trolley connected to monitors and drips. Would they have helped me more? Would the crisis team have come? What would they have done?
These are all questions that I will never know the answers to. All I know is that I have caused pain, because I felt pain. Pain for pain? That's not something I ever want to be responsible for again.