The Irony of the Overdose

After being diagnosed with mild depression I was put on a mild 15g of prozac. Because this was such a quick diagnosis I just went along with what ever the doctors were telling me. It wasn't until things had calmed down a little bit that the shock and realisation of what was happening sunk in. One of this biggest factors for the bad turn I took was the social pressures involved with being a depressive.

Natually I felt the need to inform my housemates at the time what was going on and why I suddenly had this relationship with the Uni Doctors! I had no expectations of what their reation was going to be. They had obviously heard of depression but I feel they had a completely wrong pre-conception of what it entails. I was associated with being needy, pathetic, whiney and all the other negative views people have on depression even though I wasn't actually any of things. I tried my hardest to keep my student life style alive. I socialised, I worked hard and obviously party'ed hard. A little too hard maybe.

It was on a night out for a friends birthday it all kicked off. I was far far too drunk for my own good and had the feeling everything was going to be fine. Obviously being drunk I don't remeber much of what happened and I am too scared to ask the people who were there so this is what I remember. Drinking loads, telling people I was ill, working my self up, crying, becoming scared, apoloigising than being walked home in a state! bad times. The next morning I was so horrified of what had happened and scared of life I felt the need to overdose.

I took 30 of my anti-depressents which on hine sight is a little bit ironic. I stayed in my room for 2 days with no food and no drink. I had a fever was in and out of cociousness, sweating, having delusions and seeing/hearing things. I vividly remember thinking my housemate was trying to kill me. I dont think I have ever been so scared in my life even though I now know this wasn't real. On the third day I realised this wasn't going to kill me and that I needed to go to the doctors. I found someone to give me a lift then was moved straight from the doctors to the hospital.

So what have I learned from my gamble with death. I learned how important life is and that even though at one point I didn't want to live that now, a year later I am happy and moving forward with my life. Things can and do get better. The three days alone in my room after the overdoes were the lowest point of my depression. All sorts of crazy shit was going on and I am still to this day haunted by a lot of it. In my next post I will take you through my time in the hospital, the social impacts of my over does and a quick bit on how I found God when I was the most alone I have ever been.

The Begining

I officialy was diagnosed with Psycotic Depression on the 28th March 2009. I was 20 and a Student at University. They caught the illness in a very late stage at could estimate I had been suffering for about 18 months. And too think I only went to the doctors because I didnt have an appetite. So how did I get Diagnosed?

After my first semister at University things started to go down hill. Friendships became a struggle to keep up with and I was finding myself become very needy and dependent on people. Strangely enough I thought it was just a bad stage or me trying to 'find who I was'. Turns out it was the begining stages of depression. During my second year I went to the doctors as my weight was rapidly decreassing but I just wasnt finsing myself hungry. After going in for what I thought could be a stomach bug I left being told I was depressed and I had to take medication. Natually this was a big shock and I don't think its too much to say I was slightly ashamed and ebarresed to be depressed. I did't want to tell anyone what was happening so I kept it quiet, took my medication and started to see a councilor.

After about a month things went from bad to worse as I tried to keep up the student life. After a terrible drunken night out where the depression really got on top of me I lost a lot of respect from friends. After that night I overdossed on my medication I had piced up the day before. I will write about this expreience in a seperate blog for more detail. I ended up spending two days in hospital I was released on caution being told I had to be checked for psycotic sytmptoms.

Since then I have had to live my life with this illness. I had a big struggle telling people about it and trying to get them to understand, which I will write about. I am also now on placement. Which basicaly means I had to up and leave to another city where I didn't know anyone and try and live and work. Ive had to struggle with girl friends. I have also become a Christian through this experience which I will also write about. If any of this relates to you, or you know someone like this, please read on to try and understand a few of the problems people with metal illness's suffer from!

Kind Regards.