I used to believe that the phrase “accidental overdose” was used to protect families when someone commits suicide. Turns out, it’s really pretty easy. I’ve done it. Twice. It’s why I decided to approach my illness as a scientist, not a victim.
I could not sleep.
It had been days.
In the four years since my depression diagnosis, I’d been on dozens of medications. And still I was spiralling out of control. I had no idea that my affliction was actually bipolar disorder, and that most of the drugs I’d been taking were making things worse. Much, much worse.
I sat on the sofa in the front room, typing frantically to my online support group. The doctor had told me that the new medication would help me sleep. So, after three days without sleep, I took an extra dose. Two hours later, I took another dose. I became more and more wired. I took another dose, and waited to be knocked into oblivion. Continue reading “Firecrackers and Accidental Overdoses”
You’ve had one, ergo you can empathize with the other. Let me explain how that works…
Being very sad is like falling into the shallow end of the pool. It sucks. It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s squishy, and you’re going to be bitchy about it for a while. You may have to toss your new shoes, and that will leave you frustrated and disappointed. Your phone is probably screwed, and it’s going to be pretty damn inconvenient until you can afford to replace it. But things will dry, you’ll get new shoes, and you’ll carry on.
Being depressed is like being locked in steerage on the Titanic. Continue reading “A Story of Depression and Drowning”
When I decided to start my own business, I took my personal blog down.
I’d written deeply personal posts about my experiences with mental illness and was afraid that if a potential client saw them, they wouldn’t want to work with me.
More recently, I decided that I’d use whichever medium I could to become an advocate for the very thing I was so ashamed of. Continue reading “A Fresh Start”