Miracle baby Harry *upsetting content*

I don’t feel much better to be honest! I’m just feeling angry all the time and re-living really awful things all the time, my mind just doesn’t stop. Harry is ok though 🙂 That’s the main thing, he’s completely fine. I’m still looking after him alright and doing everything that needs to be done for him despite my raging, crying fits.

I really should be grateful for Harry, he really has saved me from the long, winding path to suicide I was taking. I wouldn’t try to commit suicide or self harm again, I know I won’t. I wouldn’t want to leave Harry and my self harming was going way too far. I was given a warning for my left arm that if I carried on, I would lose it. And even if I did dare do it again, it wouldn’t make me feel better anymore, it would make me feel worse because if I make one slip up Harry will be taken away from me. Besides my body doesn’t deserve to be hurt and poisoned all the time, it did an amazing thing being pregnant with Harry and making sure he arrived fit and healthy. Also ok I used to self harm for punishment but the people close to me were being hurt by it to see me so injured and in such danger.

Harry came about under the most amazing circumstances really. My last admission to a mental health ward (January 2012- August 2013) really was a horrendous one, I played Russian roulette too many times and I still don’t understand how I survived. I nearly died from an overdose; my blood pressure had dropped nearly to the point of kidney failure and I had to have a drip of something that would force my blood pressure up. The woman I spoke to that morning was blunt and simply said “That overdose should have been fatal.” I took an overdose of paracetamol before that and had to receive the antidote, but it was my third overdose of paracetamol, I took one when I was 14 and another when I was 15; the effects on the liver are accumulative so I was really pushing my luck there, but still my liver was functioning normally. Actually during this admission I had to have one of my ovaries taken out because I was having pains and it turned out I had a dermoid cyst on my left ovary measuring nearly 7cm! I had to have keyhole surgery which was pretty awful! 

There was another nasty incident that I will never truly know what happened…it was March 2013 I think and I was hit by a bus outside the hospital I was in…it hit me at 26 or 27 miles an hour I’m told…but I have no memory of this incident, I can only go by what everyone told me afterwards. I woke up three days later in hospital and had no idea why I was there or what had happened to me. My right collarbone had fractured twice on impact with the bus, I’d had a brain haemorrhage and was suffering major concussion. I also had stitches in my face and both my eyes were black. I had my picture taken in case I died. My family weren’t happy with how I was treated; if I died they wanted a picture to show I really was in a state and didn’t deserve to be neglected. Apparently nurses didn’t tend to me properly because I was a mental health patient, they all knew I was sectioned. They left me without water, I was so dehydrated my lips were peeling…my mum told me she was asking everyone for help and that eventually a young man who was meant to be working on a different ward came to sort me out, my mum said he was very good and spent more time looking after me than being on the ward he was supposed to be on. From the sounds of all this I’m glad I don’t remember any of it. Anyway my dad showed me the picture and…it’s horrible. He often shows it to me to make me remember how lucky I am, I know what he means, that’s what I’m saying here now, but it’s not always nice to see it tbh 🙁 I spent the next few months thinking I was living in a dream, that I’d slipped into a different universe where nothing was right. Eventually my head injuries recovered and I felt normal again but it took months and months. The worst thing was my psychiatrist told me that I’d gone to see her in my ward round that morning of the bus accident and apparently I’d stated I was feeling suicidal and I actually said I had plans to jump in front of a vehicle. So I could have done it on purpose, but I’ll never remember. Why the hell did they let me off the ward then if I’d stated that? Apparently I went to the shops to clear my head as I’d been so wound up in my ward round.

I wasn’t released in August 2013 because I was better either…the boundaries had moved and I was no longer in the right area to stay in the hospital I was in. My section had been recently renewed but then broken weeks later as I was no longer allowed to stay in that hospital. The hospital had been trying to find me 24 hour supported accommodation because I wanted to leave home but my psychiatrist didn’t want me living on my own under any circumstances. When I had to leave the hospital after this boundary shift they still hadn’t found this 24 hour supported accommodation. My psychiatrist asked if I would reconsider going back with my parents or I’d have to carry on in a different hospital whilst they started a new search in an area I wasn’t familiar with. I wanted to just leave hospital full stop so I agreed to go back home.

2014…by March I’d had like 32 admissions to A&E for stitches and a warning that I’d lose my arm. I had long since been in a relationship with Will which started not long after I left hospital…things still came to their worst point ever. I was ordering lorazepam and zopiclone illegally over the internet and was consuming 100’s during the day in a week. My body had gotten so used to them, it was taking more and more to feel any effect. I was driving on the overdoses, I was risking others lives as well as my own. These drug companies could have sent me anything, luckily they were what they said they were but you never know on the internet. It was a risk I took hundreds of times with the hundreds of pills I bought. These medications are strictly on prescription only. October 24th 2014 I took 46 tablets and decided enough really was enough. I climbed over a railing and looked down at the cars rushing past on a 70mph dual carriage way. It didn’t take long for police to close in and the traffic halted completely. A man stood at the bottom yelling to please step back over the railings, another police man was asking me if he could come closer and I said no. The man at the bottom yelled I’d kill him as well as myself in his attempt to try stop me if I jumped. So I shuffled over to try jump where he wouldn’t reach me. I asked if it would definitely kill me, I had to know it would kill me for sure. I didn’t jump. I’m not sure why. Police put a six hour section on me and took me to an A&E I wouldn’t normally go to so they didn’t know me there. I remember screaming I wanted to die and everyone just yelled at me to shut up. My dad came to the hospital to try help but the police tackled him to the floor, dragged him out and banned him from the A&E. He was covered in bruises. After seeing what they did to my dad I became worse. I tried to run out of the hospital, but didn’t know the hospital and couldn’t find the way out. A staff member was following me saying I was acting like a stupid, perpetulant child so I tried to kick him. I was pulled off, handcuffed and banged up in a prison cell, miles and miles away from my home. The prison staff were horrible, I said “I feel like I should have jumped off that bridge,” their reply was “we wouldn’t have had to look at you then and be stuck with you all night.” I was dragged around and restrained. Eventually the police station realised I was a mental health patient with a mental health team. When my team knew I was in a prison cell (think my mum phoned them for help when my dad had no choice but to go home after what happened to him at the A&E) they sent two nurses to the police station to help me. I said to one of the nurses “I think I’m pregnant,” but refused to do a pregnancy test.

I was cautioned with the lowest level of assault, but it was my dad and I covered in bruises when I was released in the morning. At home I was in the deepest despair of all time, I decided I wanted to hang myself from the curtain pole in my room. I would sit on my bedroom floor for hours crying, staring at the curtain pole. I tied the noose many times, but I’d put my parents though hell and back with the whole police incident, how could I let them find me hanging like that. Instead I decided to pray to God and I begged Him, crying and crying, to please just kill me. I remember saying to Him I had no use in this life anymore, nothing left to offer, I was nothing but a nuisance, causing pain, going nowhere, I no longer serve any kind of purpose whatsoever, so please just kill me, make me ill, let me get hit by a bus again, do something. I would get even more wound up and angry because God had his chance when I got hit by that bus, when I overdosed…I got angry that He never took those chances to end my life. It would have been so easy for Him, especially with the bus accident.

I began to feel ill as days went past, I thought I had another water infection. I thought I’d make an appointment and get antibiotics. I thought I would start trying to look after myself with simple steps. Get my water infection treated. I said to the GP there was a chance I was pregnant (didn’t think it could actually ever be true though) and she said she’d test that first. I got two strong pink lines and a “congratulations, you’re pregnant.” She said she was guessing I was about 4 weeks pregnant with the strength of the pink lines. November 10th I had a scan to check I didn’t have an ectopic pregnancy and thank goodness I didn’t! The scan said I was 5 or 6 weeks pregnant, meaning I was pregnant during the events of October 24th and a bit before that…when I was standing on that bridge deciding whether or not to jump, Harry was probably a ball of cells multiplying. I lived and Harry is nearly sixteen months old, happy as can be. He’s my miracle. I don’t care if people hate me for posting this; this was the end of my life of destruction and the beginning of Harry’s life. He’s my miracle baby and all this is why. I know I’ll never self harm or try to kill myself again. My body is amazing for what it still managed to do despite the stitches, poisonings and the beatings. Despite the lack of one ovary and being hit by a bus. I recovered from it all and Harry was born. My body deserves respect from me for all I’ve done to it and it still managed to deliver a healthy, beautiful baby boy. Amazing. I’ve been such an idiot the past few days, typing this I’ve just really realised how stupid I am being, I am so damn lucky. I will never die by suicide, I’m a mum now!


3 thoughts on “Miracle baby Harry *upsetting content*”

  1. Rebel,
    Hun, how could we possibly hate you for posting this? This journal is the perfect place for you to yell, kick, scream, and let it all out! I’m not a doctor, I’m not a psychiatrist, and I’m not you, but I think part of the reason you feel so sad is because you very much so care what other people think. You worry and worry about everyone around you, but you.

    Girl, you rock! This is your one life. Make happy memories for you and Harry. Screw every one else. Live your life for you. You’re important. You are special. You deserve to feel loved and be happy.

    Thanks for sharing.

  2. Thank you for saying supportive things in your comment 🙂 though I don’t think I really deserve them now really. On other diaries I’ve had I often got a lot of hate for entries like these. Journals really are good ways to just release your thoughts. And I know you’re right, I worry all the time about what everyone else thinks and no matter how much I tell myself they don’t matter, I still feel bad and worry about other people all the time, I can’t seem to switch it off and it is driving me to madness 🙁

  3. Do you meditate? I highly recommend it. I think it will help you calm your mind. Even 10 minutes a day will make a big difference. It’s helped me really clean up my life and stabalize my emotions.

Leave a Reply