I am hammered. I’ve just downed a bottle of wine in less than 20 minutes. It was such a good idea at the time. Now I feel like shit. I’m going to take the rest of that paracetemol just to punish myself. STUPID BITCH. Why have I done this (again)? Goshhh. I need some help.
I’m going to call the crisis team tomorrow is I have to. I need help and I need it now.
I have taken 12 tablets so far. I feel a bit sick but that could be more because of the wine. I don’t know what I’m planning. I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just want something to change.
I’ve taken 16 now, feeling a little sicker. I hope I can keep them down, I don’t want to throw up again. I’ll wait a good 2 hours before taking any more, just incase.
___________________________
Several hours later:
Wow I really fucked up today. Well, more accurately I got fucked up last night.
Went to A&E…blah blah. Same as always except this time I genuinely wasn’t trying to kill myself.
Here’s a poem I wrote about the kinds of feelings that have been haunting me recently. I’m too zonked out for a more articulate entry. Apologies, I will make up for this tomorrow. Promise.
Rotating Thoughts
Stained bedsheets
Scarred skin
Sad eyes.
Dirty fingernails
Long sleeves
Weary sighs.
Bloody tissues
Picked off scabs
Hysterical cries.
Racing thoughts
Feeling forgotten
Doctor’s lies.
Shaking hands
Worried mother
Constant fears.
More distractions
Googling death
Hiding tears.
Avoiding socials
Cutting up
Downing beers.
Inner turmoil
Anger bleeds out
Ringing ears.
And stop.
Life on the Borderline 