Two years on

Two years ago today I tried to kill myself.

At the time I was unbelievably unhappy in my job and while my fledgling relationship was working, for the most part, in retrospect I can see that there were many problems that I wasn't addressing. I was taking all manner of psychiatric drugs in very high doses and over the course of the six days leading up to the overdose I took three months worth of Ativan. I would never get up earlier than 8am. I never had breakfast because there was never enough time and even so I was still always late for work (everyone else was there at least an hour before my arrival.) I had no inclination to do anything when I got there and would spend hours just surfing the net. Everything I did carried minimum effort and thought. I couldn't stick with a book. I would listen to the same track on my iPod over and over and over again because I couldn't muster the energy to choose something else. There were other things, things that I can never tell anyone about because they wouldn't understand why I had to do them and I am too ashamed of who I was. I would lie all the time to cover up the truth of just about everything. I wouldn't be able to sleep through the night so sometimes I would have to sleep under my desk during the day. I would cry all the time for no reason and I would break things quietly, in my room or my office because I needed to vent my anger without anyone knowing. I would starve myself and then I would binge. I lost a lot of weight. I could drink a quart of Vodka and not even feel that drunk, even though everyone else knew that I was smashed. I would smoke at least 20 cigarettes every day, often chaining. More often than not.

A couple of weeks ago my Mum came up to London to spend the day with me. When I got up in the morning I decided that it would be easier, cheaper and nicer of me if I cooked lunch for us as opposed to going out and getting something to eat at a restaurant. So I went to Sainsbury and I bought a bunch of ingredients and made chicken parmesan, served with a salad and a home-made dressing. I washed up as I cooked. I hung up washing in between and emptied the trash. I think I also made some phone calls.

On Tuesday I dropped my iPod while waiting for a tube train. I calmly picked it up, ascertained that it wasn't working, felt a little bit pissed off, but then went back to reading my book, knowing that it wasn't the end of the world and I could get it fixed. Later on I checked Apple's website for troubleshooting. I reinstalled the software, charged it up again and it worked.

Yesterday (on a Saturday) I got up at 8am to finish writing PR plans for the launch of a new computer software. When after a couple of hours I started to have a brain collapse I decided to go to the gym because I knew that I had to do something else for a little while that would give me some focus again.

At the gym the brutally hot boyfriend of a well-known DJ on the London gay clubbing circuit came onto me in a not unsubtle manner in the steamroom. While I was immensely flattered by his interest and while I knew that accepting his advances could be awesomely hot, I was also very aware that it could potentially put me in a world of pain. So I cheekily smiled at him, left the steamroom, showered, changed and left the gym.

I get paid next Friday. For the first time ever, ever, ever my bank account will be in credit before I get paid.

Four out of five days of the week, without fail, I get up at 6am, make some breakfast, drink some coffee before going to the gym to do an hours workout. Even after that I still get to work 30 minutes early. I check and respond to pressing emails and then I write my action list. When everyone else comes in at 9.30am I am wide awake, energised and well into my day.

Let's recap:

I made lunch, multitasked and did some household chores.

I dropped my iPod and dealt with the problem, calmly and rationally, without losing my temper.

I had the focus to do some work on a Saturday, but I was also aware enough of my own capabilities to know when to stop.

I spurned the advances of someone entirely hot, but entirely unsuitable.

I have been careful with my spending.

I get up early and go to the gym and arrive on time at work, if not before time.

I think that most people would look at that list and say, "So what? Big deal." But the truth is that for me these things are major, major achievements. Two years ago the possibility that I could not go overdrawn at the end of the month was categorically absurd. The idea of getting up before 8am, ridiculous. The idea that I would spurn the advances of a super-hot guy, absolutely non-existent.

One of the hardest things I have had to accept in the last two years is that the person who wrote that note and took those drugs and washed them down with neat vodka and then climbed into bed to die could be the same person sat here typing away coherently on his laptop.

While I think that part of him is still in me somewhere, I know with 100% certainty that he will never have another opportunity to cause mayhem and bring it all to an end. And I've given up on trying to convince other people of that too. The best way to prove that you can do something is simply by doing it. And you prove that you won't do something else, by not doing it.

I have learned that there really is life in the details. And that there is pleasure in finally knowing what you can and can't do.

And knowing that everything is going to be ok.