Life looks very different from floor level.
A lounging cats eye view, if you will.
I know because I’ve spent much of the last few days lying on it, either flat on my back or curled up in foetal position trying to ameliorate the pain whilst simultaneously, humbly trying to persuade my deeply affronted body to forgive my thoughtless, clumsy, ham fisted self.
On the plus side, I’ve discovered many things lying down here on the carpet.
- That hard surfaces really are better for the back.
- Where the lid to my little antique treen pot went.
- About half a dozen badly mauled tampons that the cats seemingly kidnapped from my make up bag, tortured then inadvertently flicked out of reach.
- That I really do need to shift the furniture out the way when I vacuum as there is at least three pounds of fur under the TV.
- That despite what Johnny Mandell might have warbled in the theme tune to M.A.S.H., suicide is definitely NOT painless.
Not if you do it by pills at any rate.
Please note right now that I did NOT try and top myself, so this is this not a ploy for ‘online attention’ or sympathy as some oh so brave anonymous visitor accused me of the other day.
I have made a lot of jokes about mixing meds and combining alcohol with meds for cheap thrills, and don’t deny that I have sometimes disrespected my body that way in the not so distant past, but what happened on Saturday night was entirely accidental.
It was a normal day by my estimation anyway.
I woke up at a reasonable hour.
Took my medication in the morning, didn’t do much during the day, arranged to go out in the evening but was too late and missed the beginning of the event so went home early, had a small glass of red and went to bed early.
I was conscious all day of feeling a bit hot, heady and out of sorts, but we are currently having a bit of a heatwave here in the capital, so put it down to shock at seeing the actual sun/lack of ventilation/dehydration.
Did that make me drink more water? Of course not. Oh foolish, foolish Sista…. 😦
So when I work up in the early hours with a piercing pain above my eyes and under my occipital, I immediately thought MIGRAINE, panicked and fumbled for some over the counter medication in my bedside table drawer.
Something most migraine sufferers would have done. Right? Because anyone in their right mind would avoid one?
Well, let me tell you, all HELL broke loose.
Instead of immediate relief and deep, drug cushioned sleep, within ten/twenty minutes I knew something was seriously wrong, as I felt extremely shaky, nauseous and wanted to be sick.
Confused, I fought the feeling, and stayed in bed, trying to give my body time to absorb the medication and fight the symptoms.
BIG mistake. My body had other ideas.
Cue the onset of a ten hour migraine/drug/dehydration induced projectile vomiting session so violent that I ended up with ulcers on my throat, accidentally head butted the toilet, and I am still finding dried up bits of puke on the bathroom wall.
The cats, terrified, took refuge on top of the wardrobe in another bedroom and three days later still look alarmed if I even so much as burp. 😦
I couldn’t even hold down sips of water, and at the end I was half frightened it would kill me and half wishing that it would because my fucking head hurt so bad. Regular migraines are bad enough, there is no escape or refuge from the pain, but believe me, launching yourself repeatedly at the porcelain telephone bellowing for ‘Ralph’ does not fucking help one jot. On top of this I was bringing up snot and my throat had weird yellow patches on it, so 24 hours later, when the puking had stopped and I was able to hold down a small glass of milk I timidly took a cold cure capsule, it all kicked off again and I seriously wanted to die.
By the time I was able to get myself to Dr B yesterday, I was a pale, trembling, aching wreck and refused to take off my sunglasses in the surgery. According to her, I have something called ‘strep throat’, my sinuses are blocked (which would explain the migraine style pain, and I kicked myself into a migraine by (a) taking migraine mediction when I didn’t need it, (b) mixing my meds and (c) drinking red wine on top of it all.
In sum, a recipe for disaster.
Today I am miles better but still in pain. My back is fucked from not moving much for three days, my throat still hurts, I have a permanent shitty taste in my mouth and if I bend down too quickly, my head pounds and clenches like a mothafucker reminding me not to ever mess with it again, thank you very much.
‘Wasn’t my fault anyway. S’not fair’ my inner child mutters sulkily to herself.
‘Didn’t mean it!’ she whines defensively.
But my Body is merciless, intractable and quite frankly, not in the mood.
‘You’ve take the piss out of me more times than I can remember Child, and this one time it has blown up in your face and you don’t like it’ she says sternly, ‘remember this lesson, especially the next time you even so much as think about taking ‘an early bath’. Because if you think that was bad, do the ‘goodbye cruel world’ bit and this will seem like a walk in the park.’
So if you’ve ever even countenanced the idea of taking an overdose, learn from my experience and don’t do it. Because the Body does not take kindly to that kind of shit and will punish you for days if you are lucky, or potentially for the rest of your life if you are not, because the damage some prescription drugs can do is irrevocable.
And anyone thinking that you will have a guarenteed peaceful passing and float off with the angels might want to have a read of this lady’s blog post:
So depending on what you take:
- It might not work
- You could be in terrible pain for up to 12 hours and/or until one of your major organs fails
- It could take days to die, during which time you change your mind but no longer have the option to live
- You get to see your family and loved ones suffer alongside you
- If you do recover you may never be the same again
So, please learn from this rather stupid, grim experience of mine and don’t do it.
DON’T DO IT anyway, because you know what?
Even though I’ve wished myself away numerous times and in my darkest times have had a little mooch on t’internet to research the ‘best’ way to conga off this mortal coil, I have more than a sneaking suspicion that, if you go AWOL and turn up at the Pearly Gates, instead of being greeted by a beaming, welcoming St Peter/Buddha/Shiva/Allah, there will be a huge, imposing, border line homicidal bouncer, wearing one of those stupid blue tooth speakers on his bullet head who’ll look you up and down, sneer at your splattered shoes, sweaty hair, red eyes and that little blob of vomit on your chin, and without even checking, tell you ‘You’re not on the guest list’ and send you back.
And not just back to the place and time you were when you kicked it. Oh no…
I reckon that suicides are not only sent back to earth, they are sent back and made to do the whole bloody thing again from scratch. So kind of like being given lines or detention at school but a whole lot longer and significantly more tedious/irritating.
Because my belief is that we’re gonna be made to stay and complete this life, learn the lessons we are meant to learn before we can go onto whatever the next stage is.
Because God is a dictatorial, pedantic so and so with quite the, well, God complex.
Oh, and that also goes for wrist slitting, hanging, erotic asphixiation and any other form of ‘knicking off’ (that’s truancy to you posh folk).
And whilst this life wearies me most of the time, and some days I find it quite hard to even get out of bed, let alone fulfill my purpose, let me tell you, there is no way I’m doing this shit a second time over.
I will if you will 🙂
DON’T, DON’T DO IT.
‘Rang dang diggedy dang di-dang….’