I ODed Sunday night. Won't say with what, but the docs were pretty amazed at how high some of my blood tests were. Puked a lot, so my levels went down quick after choking on charcoal. I was pretty out of it for most of the time in the E.R., especially when the idiot social worker came in to talk to me. I really don't get how they think "the system" is helping us. I had 5 different people (doc, resident, nurse, pharmacist, nurse) tell me how dangerous what I took was and how I could've gone into liver failure. No? Really? Wasn't that kind of the point? And the social worker managed to misinterpret everything I said and lead my boyfriend to believe that this was my second attempt (it was the first). The kicker was the doc who started talking about lethal doses of aspirin (not what I took) with my bf IN FRONT OF THE SUICIDAL GIRL. Really? Epic fail. And the nurse who said "you know sometimes we just don't talk about things and they get all bottled up inside and it's like eeeeeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrr." (Add a ridiculous cartoon face to that). This guy obviously does not get depression.
I easily could be gone right now. I'm not because for some reason I changed my mind right after and started freaking out. Then I couldn't decide whether or not to tell my boyfriend. He ended up getting me to tell him why I was freaking out, called poison control, and drove me to the E.R.
Now, two days later, it feels like it was a dream. I'm not happy I'm alive, but I'm not sure I wished I'd died either. Now, I've just got doctors asking, "why did you do it?" Well, if I knew why I probably wouldn't have done it, now would I. If I had a buck for everytime someone in that ER said "I don't believe you" to me, I would've gone to a 5-star restaurant last night.
Now to tell my dad before he gets the insurance statement...
I easily could be gone right now. I'm not because for some reason I changed my mind right after and started freaking out. Then I couldn't decide whether or not to tell my boyfriend. He ended up getting me to tell him why I was freaking out, called poison control, and drove me to the E.R.
Now, two days later, it feels like it was a dream. I'm not happy I'm alive, but I'm not sure I wished I'd died either. Now, I've just got doctors asking, "why did you do it?" Well, if I knew why I probably wouldn't have done it, now would I. If I had a buck for everytime someone in that ER said "I don't believe you" to me, I would've gone to a 5-star restaurant last night.
Now to tell my dad before he gets the insurance statement...