OK, I've been incredibly stupid.
I've not bothered talking to people, let things slide, let things get on top of me.
I have a lovely bruise on my arm as a temporary reminder of my stupidity.
At about 1:30am in the early hours of Monday morning I woke up soaking wet with sweat.
I went downstairs and drank nearly two bottles of Lucozade. I then wandered back to bed, still dripping with sweat. Shortly after I was back downstairs having a drink of milk because my stomach felt a bit acidic, two bottles of fizzy blackcurrant drink will do that to you.
Of course it wasn't just that it was the painkillers I've been slowly overdosing with for the last few weeks, only slightly initially but up to nearly four times the daily recommended dose for the previous week.
As I say downstairs on the couch I realized that I'd gone too far with taking paracetamol, had let it get out of hand and didn't really want to die.
I prayed to God to let me get through the night and that if he did then I would seek help first thing in the morning. I was tempted to get up, get dressed and go to A&E there and then. The things that stopped me doing that were I wasn't sure I was in a state to go there on my own and whether or not I went on my own I'd have had to explain to my other half why I was going to the hospital. If she'd come with me then we'd have had to wake up her dad, who has been staying with us this week, and tell him.
I am so stubborn and pig-headed about things sometimes.
In the end I managed to get back to bed at 2am and get some sleep, even though I was still pouring with sweat.
6am and I was awake and out of bed as normal. I pottered around downstairs before everyone got up.
A shave, quick shower to get rid of the stale sweat and then I got dressed as if I was going to work. I sent my closest friend a text message to ask if I could come round to her place because I'd been really stupid and needed her to hold my hand. There was no way that I could face going to the hospital on my own.
At 8:30am I was ringing her doorbell.
Shortly after that we were in her car and driving into the town center.
Parking around the hospital is usually bad and Monday was no different. Rather than pay to use the hospital car park we drove to one of the town center car parks and left the car there. Its only a short walk back to the hospital from there.
I gave the receptionist at A&E my details and told her the reason I was there. She told me to take a seat.
Fortunately it wasn't busy at that time and I was seen by the triage nurse shortly after.
I went over why I was there and she filled in the paperwork and sent us back outside to wait for the doctor. Again it wasn't a long wait and we were back into the main department.
The doctor was really nice. Asked a load of questions and then took some blood so that they could check to ensure that I'd not done any damage to my liver. He also took the packets of paracetamol that I had in my bag, must have been about a dozen packs of 8 tablets in there.
With all that done he sent us back outside telling us that it would take between 20 minutes and an hour for the results to come back. In the end it took closer to 3 hours during which time we'd been for a coffee and then come back, stood outside A&E and then sat inside waiting.
When the results did come back everything was OK.
The doctor gave me a card with an appointment for the Tuesday to see the mental health team for follow-up. He'd assessed me as low risk. He was right, I'd scared myself so much that there was no way I was going to do something that stupid again.
After leaving the hospital I went back to work.
Before leaving for home I got a phone call from Alex, one of the nurses at the hospital who I'd contacted when I got into A&E first thing in the morning. We talked about what I'd done and a few other things.
Tuesday was a busy day.
I managed to get out of work and to the hospital for my 1pm appointment. The mental health nurse came to get me, explained that there would be two of them. She did most of the talking, asking me lots of questions. Her colleague took notes and asked the occasional question.
By the end of the appointment they were satisfied that I wasn't at risk of attempting to take my life again. They made some suggestions as to people I could contact if I did find myself experiencing similar feelings. They also agreed to send a copy of their report to my GP and also The Laurels GIC.
My GP is currently on holiday so I can't see her for a couple of weeks to follow up on everything.
The Laurels will get the report next week and the doctor will read it before I see him. I was told that its likely that what I tried to do will effect my treatment as the Primary Care Trust will want to know that I'm going to be able to cope with transitioning.
I fully expected that there would be some consequences. I'll find out what they are soon enough.
Right now I feel fine and know that there is no way that I would ever be able to do something like this again. There are quite a few people know what I've tried. My friend who was with me, the nurse from the hospital who my son has been meeting up with to talk things through and two women from church, one I bumped into outside A&E on Monday, the other I was meeting up with on Tuesday to tell about Jen.
If things start to get on top of me again I now know that there are plenty of people to turn to.
I have no intention of ever letting myself get so bad that I do something so irrational again. I've got far too much to live for and I don't want to become just another statistic.