Trigger warning: discussion of suicide.
I was supposed to die today. My plans were firm, my reasoning was definite in my head, I’d found ways to say goodbye without actually saying the words. I was meant to be dead.
Then, in a frenzy, I had a phonecall from the crisis team manager who didn’t have long to talk to me as she was due in a meeting but she said she would call me within about 2 hours because she was worried. Half an hour later she calls back and it turns out that instead of going to the meeting she had spent the time talking to the local bed manager, the ward manager and the ward consultant and completely took me by surprise by opening the call with “Would you agree to an informal admission?”. After bafflement and coaxing from her I eventually said yes. Half an hour later my keyworker turned up to take me to the hospital. The bed wasn’t ready so I was sat in reception and had a stream of visitors from the crisis team as they went in and out. 2 hours later I was able to attend art therapy and produce some mixed up pieces.
My keyworker from the crisis team then walked me on to the ward and both he and the crisis team manager visited me to see how i was doing and help come up with strategies with the ward staff to reduce risk and help me in the most appropriate way.
I don’t know what I think about all this. I don’t know how I feel.
All I know is that if it wasn’t for the prompt and amazing work of the crisis team manager, her team, and the ward I would be dead right now.
My head still thinks it’s selfish that I’m not dead.
I am befuddled and scared.