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Hi, my name is bluebird_410. I'm here because I just had something on my heart that I wanted to share. Last March 10, 2025 I was spinning out of control and in the midst of a panic attack, I overdosed. I was on the phone with the suicide hotline unable to breathe, heart racing and shaking half to death. The panic would not stop. It was relentless. I told the person talking to me that I needed to calm down so I took a clonazepam- yes prescribed. It didn’t work. I continued taking them until I had consumed 10. By then the police were at my house along with the paramedics. I was out of it and told them that I had taken 10 pills. I also tried to convey to them the other medicines I was on. During this attempt apparently I said I had taken 8 tramadol. I was trying to tell them I took 2. It was put in my medical records as an opioid overdose with suicidal intent. That was not the case. It was an diazepam accidental overdose. Having this in my medical records has destroyed me because no doctor wants to prescribe decent medications that might work to ease my severe chronic pain, I understand why - their license that they worked so hard for would be on the line. It is sad that no doctor seems to believe in me now and no one will provide me with medicines that work. 7/10 is my daily pain score on just about every day. I remember the medics gave me Narcan and I did not respond. If it was an opioid overdose I would have. Furthermore, I did not want to die. If I had I wouldn’t have been on the phone with the suicide hotline person in the first place. I just wanted the panic to stop and to be able to breathe. Now whenever someone looks at me they see what I did and not who I am. It hurts, the stigma hurts. Instead of trying to help me, everyone judges me. Doctors look at me funny and nurses patronize me. Everyone wants to help in general but the sad reality is no one is there when someone like me comes back out of that rabbit hole. Those who say they want to help should see the person who needs help as a whole person or they will finally succeed in acting out their intent. People like me need a community of love and forgiveness not anger, I don’t have anyone except my husband who helps as much as he can. I am bipolar. I was diagnosed at 12. I am a survivor of severe childhood trauma. I am the child in the book who wore long clothes in the summer to hide the bruises, who didn’t believe in herself because she was told on a daily basis how stupid she was - the one that everyone stayed away from and laughed at because of her smelly hand me down clothes. You probably would have laughed and stayed away yourself. Everyone did. My childhood was lonely. Now I spend many days writhing in agony because I can’t get necessary pain meds because lots of the medical community think I am just out to score. I am not and my proof is I still have a box of tramadol a year and a half later. I would not still have these medications if I was an addict. I use them sparingly and am terrified about what I will have to endure when they run out. I have been judged, found wanting and abandoned. I know the inability to get necessary pain medications is my fault, but the failure of others to listen and take the time to really see me is not. I have decided to share this deeply personal moment in my life because I want to advocate for those who are mentally ill. My bipolar disorder is part of what makes me who I am. I have bad days - really bad days and I have good ones. My new primary care doctor is trying to get my medications straight. For 20 years I was so heavily drugged I was not myself and drug interactions existed from doctors carelessly prescribing drugs without taking the time to look at the other medications I was on. I left my psychiatrist for this reason and I am actively seeking a new one - one who doesn’t violate HIPPA by talking so loudly about me that I can hear him in the halls while waiting for my turn to see him in an empty room. I am not the only patient he talks or complains about either. I am seriously considering TMS to rewire my brain and fight the depression and fight my fibromyalgia. My POTS and malabsorption syndrome I guess I will just have to live with forever. Chronic illness is no joke. I am not looking for anything except support. Please see past the stigma. Please help those who fight mental illness everyday without pointing the finger and laughing at who they are. I hope as a community we can stand together and educate bringing awareness about those who are different and ways to meet those individuals needs. Being me is tough but I wouldn’t trade being me for all the world. Thanks for reading and God bless. If anyone reading has thoughts of self harm please call the suicide hotline or get help. I may live with stigma but at least I will get to see another day. Thank you.
#MightyTogether #Anxiety #Depression #BipolarDisorder #Migraine #Fibromyalgia #PTSD
