I've been feeling suicidal today. I feel like this every now and again and I want to try and articulate it whilst I'm feeling it because after the event I very rarely can.

It sweeps over me every now and again in the way a physical pain can come on. The smallest thing can spark it, and it's usually something relating to one of my friends or family. Usually, some kind of let down. I don't explain to people how bad these things make me feel, because my reaction is disproportionate. I know that. I'm coming down from the worst of the feelings now so I can see that what happened this morning shouldn't have brought me as low as it did. But that isn't the point.

All that happened was that someone who I have considered to be one of my closest friends decided not to come to my birthday party and I think her excuse was a little lame. So I got pretty angry and (I do regret this) told her that things have gotten pretty bad lately. We had a bit of a row, and as far as I'm concerned I'm not going to get close enough to her for this to happen again. This is probably the end of a good, supportive, fun friendship and that hurts.

As it happens, I think I'm very lucky that this all took place on the way to a lecture. For the next 3 hours there was nothing I could do but think about theology and I was able to focus enough that when I got back to my room (15 minutes ago) I felt better. Not ok, but better.

There's always a cycle to my emotions in this situation. When it happened today it went like this:

• I felt terrible. Sick to my stomach and my chest contracted so it felt like I couldn't breathe. All I could do was cry. I honestly couldn't think of a good enough reason not to kill myself and I started to make a plan. 
• I got distracted by arriving at my lecture, and went in on autopilot.
• By the time I got my own space back after the lecture, I had calmed down but, as I often do in these situations, I don't feel good I just feel nothing.

So that's how I am at the moment.  I don't feel ok, exactly, but I couldn't honestly describe what I'm feeling as bad either. I can dispassionately consider my reaction this morning as an overreaction but I don't regret it. I still feel inclined to follow through on my plan but I can't find the energy necessary.

If things go as they ordinarily do, this will go one of two ways. Either:

1. I will gradually begin to feel better, particularly if I find someone to spend time with or talk to.

2. Something will happen to knock me back down and either the cycle will start again or I'll end it by trying to kill myself.

Here's what spooks me when I'm feeling rational and calm. I can't honestly say that I would go to hospital if I attempted suicide here. I'm in a city that I still don't know well. I don't know where the hospital is, much less how to get there. And I'm far too anxious about calling people or causing a fuss to either call an ambulance or ask someone to go with me. 

Another day, another appointment

I had hoped that I might have something of an ally in my GP. The person I saw last term has moved on, unfortunately, so I was starting with someone new today. All I was intending to do was update them (en bref) on how things were over the holidays. I didn't really need anything, particular, I was just following orders to keep them updated. However, I got a lecture on managing expectations and how difficult it is for doctors to treat people with mental health difficulties.

I had previously had an agreement that I would check in with a GP at least once a fortnight, but the doctor I saw today seemed to think that my being there about an ongoing problem was a waste of his time. He didn't say so, but he also didn't make any effort to check on my progress. He didn't ask why I was seeing the crisis team, or whether I feel any better now.

When you've had mental health difficulties for a long time, going to the doctor is a bit like checking in for a flight if you fly regularly. There are security questions as a formality that are asked to make sure you're safe;

"Do you feel suicidal today?"
(If so, "Do you have a plan?" or "Do you have access to what you would need to harm yourself in that way?")
"Have you been self-harming recently?"
(If so, "Do the wounds need medical attention?")

The absence of these questions, not to mention not telling me to come back if I need  to, just makes me think that they've had enough of me. Maybe it's easier to just withdraw from the system for now. But if I do that, and then something happens and I end up seeking urgent treatment later on, I know I'll be told off for not seeking help sooner.

I just don't know what to do any more. The services that are supposed to help are almost a hindrance, what's a crazy girl to do?!

One Month Before Heartbreak

I became aware of this blog today. In one month the government's consultation on DLA (disability living allowance) is due to end. Many people have contributed stories about how their DLA has made their lives liveable, in some way. This is mine. It's not as dramatic as some people's, I don't receive very much in the great scheme of things, but this small amount keeps me safe.

I have a mental health condition diagnosed as Borderline Personality Disorder. The diagnosis is largely irrelevant; it is characterised by anxiety and depression and I have suffered from those as long as I can remember. Day-to-day, the following things cause me problems:

• I self-harm when I am left alone, in a variety of ways,
• Emotional fatigue causes me to have difficulty concentrating for long periods of time,
• Anxiety sometimes prevents me from leaving the house on time (or at all), and sometimes I need to get the bus for a short distance to compensate for time or get off a busy street,
• I forget to eat, my lack of concentration and low motivation means that I can't cook for myself unsupervised,
• I forget to take my medication, or take it without food so that it makes me ill,
• I don't sleep well; right now I haven't had more than two nights uninterrupted sleep (5 hours or more) in a single week since I started monitoring it in July.

In practice, this means that whilst I am studying (which I am now) I have to live in College and my food is provided usually by the in-house catering. If I can't eat in (if I forget to sign in for meals) I have to buy microwave meals (if I can leave the house to go shopping) or go without. I am lucky that living in College I have a timetable that I can follow and the routine helps me to remember things like eating and taking my medication. If it weren't for my DLA I wouldn't be able to afford this. 

I also need to buy a lot of first-aid kit for self-care. My DLA pays for what I need over-the-counter and allows me to pre-pay for my prescriptions so that I can afford what I need on the NHS. DLA does not entitle anyone to free prescriptions so the rate I receive has to cover my medication. 

When I leave university, I will continue to need this money to pay  for food, and I will need to employ someone to check in on me and make sure I am eating and taking my medication. If - as I anticipate - I start intensive psychological therapies in the months after I leave university, I will also need this small income to supplement my wages as this will compromise my working hours and limit the type of work I can do.

All of that on less than £50 per week.

In a nutshell, my DLA keeps me productive. It kept me in work when I had a crisis in the middle of 2010, saving the government a lot of money in Statutory Sick Pay / Incapacity Benefit / Housing Benefit / etc., and it will enable me to go back to work when my course is over. As someone with a 'hidden' disability, unrelated to mobility, I would probably be one of the 20% who are suddenly ineligible for DLA and if that happens, I honestly don't know what I'll do.

Is this the worst PCT in England?

So, I confirmed my appointment on the 20th January at the complex needs service within the deadline. I spoke to a real person, not voicemail this time, and he said he'd let my contact know. I did ask at the time if it could be brought forward, or if there was any indication that the crisis team from y had made the call they promised to make(!), but apparently it can't and there isn't. Quelle surprise.

Then I got a message on my voicemail at 5pm yesterday saying that I haven't confirmed my appointment, but not to worry because it has to be moved to the 10th February anyway. I tried to call back to say that I had confirmed and although I can make the 10th February I am concerned that's a long way off, but the office closes at 5 so had to leave a voicemail.

Phoned back today to confirm that the message I left yesterday was actually picked up, and apparently it was but I got a bit of an earful for asking if I could see anyone any sooner than the 10th Feb. Never mind.

So I was getting a bit pissed off at everything that's happened with services in both x and y, and started mumbling about the worst PCT in England. It's probably unfair, but I feel that they've been truly dismal. Nothing they've offered has been followed through on, most appointments have been cut short for one reason or another, and when I try to ask for any support at all I'm dismissed and patronised. I left a PCT with the best reputation in London for this. Maybe everyone's right after all, and I shouldn't have bothered trying to move on.

Then, in a truly weird turn of events, I found a voicemail on my phone after an exam today saying that "Doctor [inaudible]'s secretary from [inaudible] got the message from [my local surgery] and will send me an appointment." So I have no idea who they are or what it's for but maybe this represents progress? Or maybe I'm being called in for the obligatory smear test in honour of my twenty-fifth birthday...

Something that makes me really angry

...is when people broadcast deeply personal things on Facebook for sympathy.

Someone, yesterday, put in his Facebook status that he had to go back to the doctor because his depression is "so bad". Another friend of mine broadcasts her anxiety disorder. I don't understand it, I really don't. If I posted "Iris is contemplating suicide ... again", what on earth would I expect people to say? What can you possibly gain by all that? If you need to talk to someone, by all means, do so. Talk to me, if you like. But don't just indiscriminately broadcast your emotions, in the long run that will alienate the people you rely on.

New Year's Eve

Today's appointment with the crisis team wasn't so bad. I've agreed not to see them any more (I don't think the stress / constant let-down was particularly helpful, after all), and they've said they'll get in touch with the complex needs team in x to get them to move my next appointment forward (have just had a letter offering me one on the 20th January).

And it's New Year's Eve so I'm going in to London to see some friends and have a thoroughly civilised meal and drink. I was let down by the person who was meant to be putting me up overnight but after a ring around I've managed to procure a sofa elsewhere at the last minute so now I can try to relax. Girlie can't be with us because she has to work overnight but it will be nice to see everyone before I go back to uni in a couple of weeks.

A bit of a let-down (again)

So, I have had another interesting morning with my local Crisis Team.

I eventually phoned them (under parental duress relating to Dad's general stress about leaving on time) at 10:45. I was rewarded by a lecture from a nurse about the fact that, "we had 22 people to phone this morning so you can't really expect us to phone at exactly 9". I did try to explain that ordinarily I wouldn't mind but I was specifically told to expect a phone call before 10 for a good reason. Anyway, apparently the nurse I saw was all talk. There was no note that the team psychiatrist should see me, nor one suggesting that anyone make an appointment with me or call in the near future at all.

Once she had calmed down, the nurse on the phone was very nice and arranged an appointment for me on Friday at 11 so that I don't have to hang around waiting for any more phone calls. She acknowledged (without me having to say so) that I have obviously been badly let down by the team as a whole and apologised.

So I'm pretty angry about the whole thing and beginning to wonder if continued contact with this team is making my day-to-day low moods worse than they would be if I'd never seen a doctor last week.

We're in the car on the way to the funeral, so I can't do anything more until Friday. Have to look after the family now.

Another appointment

Not sure that appointment went very well. The nurse I saw didn't seem to want to be there and the whole thing only took twenty minutes. He didn't ask if I'm still suicidal (I am) or if I have any plans (I do) but did say that he thinks I should see the team psychiatrist. Apparently she isn't in until Wednesday. I have to go to the other side of the country on Wednesday afternoon for a funeral on Thursday morning but this time I managed to arrange a concrete time. Someone will phone between 9 and 10 and try to see me before midday.

Progress.

Just got a call

The Crisis Team just phoned to tell me that they're worried about me, because I didn't call. I'd never agreed to call, that wasn't the arrangement. I waited for them to call on Christmas Eve., as arranged, and they didn't. Then I waited for them to call on Christmas Day, as arranged, and they didn't. Then I waited for them to call and give me an appointment on Boxing Day, as arranged, and they didn't. So I was a little surprised that I am suddenly told I've worried them by not phoning.

I'm going down later today. Clean start, and all that. I would have said no except that, if anything, I'm feeling a whole lot worse than I was even on the 22nd so I think I need the support.

Just leaving for midnight mass

...and the Crisis Team didn't phone. I don't doubt that it's silly to feel hurt and let down but that's exactly what I feel right now. That and still suicidal, but I'm making my own way around dealing with that by sticking to my original plan to be with people (especially my lovely Girlie) so I can't act anything out.

Up and down like a yo-yo

Today was pretty bad.

So I go to university in town x but I have to spend my holiday at my parents' house in town y. This is not especially unusual for undergraduates (rarer, admittedly for postgraduates) so I would have thought it would be easy enough to understand. I also thought I was pretty lucky because, although they're in different counties and not connected by public transport, x and y are in the same Primary Care Trust (National Health Service local authority). Apparently this doesn't make a difference.

When I phoned them at 11 (under some duress, my mum had to make me do it, I hate feeling like I'm making a fuss) the Crisis Team y had no idea that the psychiatrist from A&E had tried to refer me, and claimed they had no record of a phone call at 8 the night before. Despite that, they agreed to see me at midday so I made my way down there.

After a half hour conversation with two of the nurses, which mostly consisted of telling me off for leaving an area where I had had consistent local health support in order to get on with my life and education rather than remaining in a job I hated for the sake of a thread of support (casting no aspersions on my care co-ordinator, who was brilliant). I just can't do that. I have to go on with my life. One of the nurses also told me that I shouldn't worry about the fact I had a bad time at my first appointment with the complex needs team in x, because "if someone in a shop was rude, you'd still go back". Firstly, that is an appalling analogy. Secondly, no I wouldn't. I have an anxiety disorder and a crippling fear of being disliked. If someone is rude to me, I assume they don't like me and I avoid them at all costs.

I also got a bit annoyed that I was more or less told off for being "emotional", because "that's how you presented to your GP in October". I don't understand why that's not ok? I'm emotional because that's how I am at the moment. I'm a wreck. I don't really leave my room unless it's to go into London because I feel safer there.

Anyway, the rest of the day was spent up-and-down with the Crisis Team. When I left, I had an agreement that we would talk by phone tomorrow and Christmas Day and I'll see them on Boxing Day. The two nurses I saw both agreed that if I feel safer away from home it's not worth changing my plans to be at church on Christmas Eve and Day.

About 20 mins after I'd left, maybe less, when I was with Mum in the supermarket, I had a phone call saying that if they're going to keep me on I need to register as a temporary resident at my parents' surgery so I agreed to that.

I phoned back an hour or so later, just to confirm that I had registered and that seemed to be ok, but almost as soon as I had hung up I got another phone call to say that they won't be able to see me after all, but I can go to my GP if I take another overdose and then maybe they'll see me now I'm on their books.

So that was pretty shit and my parents decided to get involved. I wasn't particularly keen, but couldn't stop them from getting the number and calling so they went ahead and did so. After about 30 minutes of circular argument Dad managed to get them to agree to go back to the original plan, so I'll talk to them by phone over the next two days and see someone on Boxing Day. Don't know when they'll phone but I made it clear when I intend to be travelling, and even offered to go by in the morning if they'd rather see me in person but they said no after all that fuss.

I don't know how much I want to engage with a team of people who don't give a shit but it's only fair to give them a chance, right?

(On the plus side, had to keep an appointment with my parents' surgery in order to maintain the temporary registration, and they were pleasant enough, so if I do have to go back that wouldn't be awful.)

Back in accident and emergency

I was in London today, at the library, and it occurred to me that it would be easier to go to my old GP in Islington than to try and see someone where I'm staying with me parents. So I made a temporary resident appointment and popped in because I'm worried things have been on the decline recently.

I had been worried about seeing anyone at all, and trying to avoid it, but after agonising about it at a friend of mine agreed with her that I would go, and that I would take their advice (after all, if you aren't prepared to take advice you shouldn't ask for it...), but the advice was to go straight to A&E at UCH and ask for the duty psychiatrist.

I've managed to never go to A&E on my own before, so I was pretty nervy but there was no one around. In the end I did go and managed to explain to the receptionist what I needed. Triage was pretty easy. 4pm on the Tuesday before Christmas turns out not to be the busiest time to show up in hospital, thankfully.

The duty psychiatrist saw me at about 5 and she was really nice, worked really hard to understand what was going on, where I'm living when and why, etc. She wanted to admit me at first, but I wasn't keen so she said if she could find my local crisis team (UCH isn't in my local PCT) and get them to agree to see me, then I could go.

So, after a two-hour discussion with her and an hour waiting for her to arrange everything with my local Crisis Team, I'm finally home and under orders to phone the local crisis team if I hadn't heard anything by ten. For some reason I'm nervous. It's not like I've not done this before but I'm nervous. I'm relieved I didn't have to be admitted and surprised that I was taken so seriously. After all, I showed up without having done any major harm to myself. Last time I was at UCH I had taken a fairly large overdose (or two, one in the evening and one in the morning) and all I got from the duty psychiatrist was the following interview:
"Do you feel safe at home?"
"Not really."
"Are you alone a lot?"
"Yes."
"Are you likely to try again if we let you go?"
"Well, I don't feel any better, so I might."
"OK, well I can't see any reason to keep you here...."

So I suppose today was a positive experience, as much as these things ever can be.

Driving home for Christmas

So I'm home. Boxes all upstairs if not unpacked, said goodbye to those brave souls around this morning after a heavy night at the Christmas party, and I'm back.

But I'm not looking forward to a six-week break. Everyone seems to think I'll be safe here, because it's home, but I feel less safe than I have done for ages. For me, it's just a really hard atmosphere to be in. My parents fight a lot and my dad thinks that yelling and swearing is the only way to get anyone to do anything for you. Subsequently, I spend most of my time at home in my room on my own trying to hide away. 

Added to which, I don't have any friends here. My friends are in London or at uni. There are people here I know from school, but although they know I'm here they don't invite me out or anything (just like when we were at school) so I feel very isolated. 

So, along with all my support systems being in place in the town I'm at university in, it's all pretty isolating. 

Not a good appointment

Since I've been at university, my GP and my former care co-ordinator have both been trying to get me some contact with the local CMHT (Community Mental Health Team) to set up an appointment with a care co-ordinator there. This is currently not happening and no amount of suggesting it might be important (as I am currently without care) is making it happen.

Instead, I have been referred to the laughingly euphemistic "Complex Needs" service. I accepted and confirmed the appointment as instructed (left a voicemail that wasn't returned and also sent an email). I was really impressed with the appointment letter they sent me, which contained detailed directions through the health service complex to the right building and an outline of how to gain admission.

Sadly, the reality was somewhat different. It was snowing over most of England today, and the south was badly hit. I arrived for my 2:30 appointment in the middle of a snow storm, and reception was closed. A helpful note on the door suggested I ring the buzzer for my appointment. I did, and no one answered, but I was 10 minutes early so I waited.

At 2:30, I rang the buzzer again. Again, it rang inside the building but wasn't answered. Gave it a few minutes, tried again. And a third time. Then a nice person from the next door building stuck their head out and said they'd tried to phone the complex needs team but no one was answering. Now, I know from experience that appearing not to show up for an appointment (for whatever reason) pushes you right back down the pile and mental health waiting lists are unpredictable things. So I waited some more. At 2:55, just as I was about to give up, a member of staff walked out of the building. I explained the situation, and she let me in and found a colleague of hers to help. He then found the woman I was due to see and she came to find me.

It didn't get much better from there. Firstly, she kept calling me Rachel (which is not even close to being my name), and then she told me that she did call reception but because no one answered the phone she assumed I hadn't shown up. Not especially logical, but she wasn't to know I was stranded outside.

The appointment itself then didn't go too well. I had filled in a detailed questionnaire, which she mis-read and barely gave me a right of reply. She ended up concluding the following:
1) I haven't self harmed since I arrived at university
I self-harm daily, often more than once in a day
2) It is easy to get to my university town, x, from my home town, y
I don't drive and there is no public transport between the two.
3) Despite that, I shouldn't bother coming back for appointments during the six-week vacation...
????
4)...because I am safe at home
I feel least safe at home


So, although I tried to interject and explain where her assumptions were wrong, I failed. So that was perhaps the worst appointment I've been to since the Austrian psychiatrist who told me (aged 17) that I'm gay because I don't feel attractive enough to be straight....

The perils of black tie

It's probably become obvious that I struggle with looking the way that I do. In the past this has come out as serious bulimic episodes (the longest of which lasted seven years, does that still count as an 'episode')?

The state of play at the moment is that I am trying to deal with things as best I can. That means self-harm to stave off the worst, but it also means that with the black tie affair coming up at the end of term I have the usual chaos trying to find a dress - any dress - that will suit the purpose.

So that means, first challenge, it has to be up to a 38E bust. On the high street, that's a tall order (normally I find myself around a size 14 waist, 18-22 top, and most designers don't accommodate me). Then, I need long sleeves. And there are some pretty dresses around with sleeves, but they're almost all 3/4 length (i.e., not long enough) and the same goes for the boleros and shrugs around. Anyone would think it wasn't round about freezing point outside!

For the first time in years, I have managed to find a dress that fits the bill thanks to the wonders of Bravissimo. I first discovered their dresses last year and I love the fact that they make me feel, not slim, but at least somewhere smaller than Dumbo.

So here is a two-fold bid to the clothing industry (which I expect to have zero impact):
1) Could you consider accommodating different bust sizes?
2) Please, please, make long-sleeved tops that aren't plain or frumpy.

This is the idea, for reference:

Bravissimo - lifesavers

Some struggles

I perhaps over-use the word 'struggle' but most of the time that's how it feels. An up-hill-struggle from the moment I get out of bed in the morning. I do manage to do that - I make it to prayer nine out of ten weekdays at 7:30 - and I work my hardest to seem functional. As far as I know, none of the other students have any idea what goes on in my head, and although I haven't managed to control the self-harm in any meaningful way, I have hidden it from them.

The only problem has been the cleaning staff coming into my room. I suppose I didn't expect them to take any notice of my rubbish or whatever, but I must have done something to make it obvious because they took it to my tutor, who came to me.

I'm still reeling, feel like a teenager. It's been years since someone came to me and asked. And I feel terrible about it, but I think it keeps me safe in a funny sort of way and I need that right now.

Change of scene

Student at my university in academic dress (from Wikimedia)

I've moved from London to start a course at one of England's ancient universities. It's quite a change for me from being at one of the largest colleges of the University of London for several years. My college is really small, I think I have met all the students studying here over the last week, which is quite nice. Everyone seems to have a certain pride in the college as well as the university, and that is contagious.

One of the really interesting things for me is that the day is structured around a program of daily prayer and worship. If I want to, I can get up at 6:30 for meditation at 7, followed by Morning Prayer and Mass. I do have a faith, although it is pushed to the limit sometimes by the things that go on in my mind, and I am hoping that this structure will help me keep on top of things. It should help me to focus my mind on what really matters, as well as getting me up in the morning.

Having said that, I made the mistake of going to Mass this morning even though I wasn't feeling very well, and felt like a bit of an idiot because I sobbed my way through most of the service. It's somehow OK to do that at my home church, but I was very self-conscious today. Aside from the new environment and new people - none of whom know about the state of my mental health - the pews are arranged facing across the nave so that you feel like you're on display.

So there are some challenges coming up. As well as the course, I have to try to stay well enough to stay here and complete. The course is entirely assessed by exams, and I am a terrible exam candidate, so I have two terms to get over my nerves in that department, too. Then there is the fact that I am under a new PCT*, who can't offer me the care I had in London. After the struggle I had to go to just to see someone at my local mental health team regularly, it feels like it's going to be quite hard work for a bit. Whether I stay well enough to complete is, therefore, still anyone's guess. Wish me luck!

*Primary Care Trust, the regional NHS

Dreading going to work

I haven't dreaded work ever before; it's a new thing for me. I used to dread going to school so I remember the feelings. I used to get so worked up that mum would assume I was ill and keep me home, which at least kept it at bay for a couple of days. But I can't phone in sick today, I've been in a new job (at the same workplace) for less than a week. I can't afford to lose face.

But the truth is I'm not enjoying it any more. My role is to keep the displays neat, but there's so much time between my shifts (I only work 6 hours a day, not always when we're open, and the shop is open for 10.5 hours) that it's always a mess by the time I get back. I know I'm not the only one feeling the pressure but I get a lot of the heat from the shop manager, who expects me to have instant knowledge of the new department and new role and I'm finding it too hard. Not to mention that I'm working with people I hardly know. One of my new colleagues, in particular, is very difficult. She frequently follows me around (when the shop manager is having a go at someone else for once) and tells me the displays look "shit" or rebuilds something I spent hours on just as soon as my back is turned. Already I've spent more time than I should crying in the back room, I can't go on like this.

Trying to hold off the feelings

It's probably not the case, but it feels like my mood swings are getting worse. And they seem so much less justified than even a few days ago. I'm so confused. I'm losing some of my hours at work; I know that. I don't know how many yet and I don't know how I'll survive the pay cut. But then I got accepted to a good university for a good postgraduate course (which I'm not sure how to fund) and I'm trying to make that mean I have something to live for.

But the truth is that none of that matters when the aching starts. When there's that horrible empty pressure in my throat and my chest. When I end up sat at home writing lists of what I want people to know, to do, to have, if I don't get through it this time. Because it doesn't feel like I'm in control here. I try to be. I try so very hard to be. But I don't know how to beat it except by playing along. Lucid Iris, conscious Iris, smart Iris wants to see her friends again. But then there's this 'other me' that gets overpowering. And it gets to the point where I start to think that, actually, it's not like they don't have other friends. My Girl would find another girlfriend, The Boy has all his university friends and my family don't need this shit anyway. And what's the point of a place at university if I can't fund it?

And that's how the compromises start. How I end up taking risks or making plans. I tell myself I'll stave it off but 'just in case', I'll write a note or itemise my possessions. Or maybe I'll get as far as counting out my tri-cyclics, painkillers and other medications. Maybe I'll 'just' calculate the dosage of this or that I would need for my body weight. Maybe I'll 'just' try to strangle myself, or cut slightly closer to a visible blood vessel this time.

Maybe one day I'll go too far. That scares me, and right now I'm glad it does.

Here's 10p, call someone who cares...

Sometimes that's how it feels when people ask if you're ok and then say, "Oh. Well, you'll be ok. I guess if it gets too much you can call someone." You can just hear the unspoken end of the sentence "...else."

And what is all that, "if you feel suicidal, you can call the crisis team or go to A&E or whatever..." Yes, because showing up at A&E and telling them that you sort of maybe thought about taking an overdose and feel quite constantly like I want to die. Especially when I was ok last week. I'd either be laughed out of the place or committed. I don't know which scares me more.