Miss S took an overdose.
80 pills. She’s alive, but I have no details of how long they were in her system before they got her to hospital and started the drug to counter the effects. I don’t know if there’s long term liver damage or prognosis.
I don’t know what the circumstances surrounding it were, I don’t know if it was planned or impulsive, if she wanted to die or wanted someone to finally help her, especially since she’d previously been turned away from CAMHS services for being too unstable and from crisis intervention services because she “hadn’t attempted suicide yet”.
People worry that asking someone if they’re suicidal will put ideas into their heads, no, it won’t BUT telling a 13yr old kid they can’t have help BECAUSE they haven’t tried to die by suicide WILL put ideas in their head.
It’s all so fucked and there are so many things I don’t know because I found out 2nd hand through social media, nobody has called or emailed and it’s the weekend so everyone is out of the office.
Departments shouldn’t be raising children.
This is fucking me up in 10 different ways and I’m so, so angry right now.
I’m angry with the mental health system, the foster care system, the judicial system and all the people who still haven’t told me what happened.
I’m really angry with parts of myself I have been trying hard to find compassion for over the last few years. I’m angry that this big part of me is still desperate not to live anymore and actually feels jealous of her having the ‘freedom’ to end her life.
Like what the fuck is that?! Seriously?!
I need to know what is happening and I can’t. Life feels like some sort of big cosmic joke, a ‘fuck you’ from the universe; I’m sick of it.