To start at the beginning, go to Part 1.
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It's hard to remember a lot. I know that I was in a low patch, I've read through my chat logs and I talked about struggling with suicidal feelings in my private blog and with a couple of friends in the days beforehand.
I felt like I'd been trying to endure this for so long, trying to just hold on and survive, and nothing got any better, and it would never get better. Even if the crazies abated some day they'd only come back.
In some ways I wasn't actually as bad as I get, but then I've always said it would be a mood like that that would kill me in the end. In what I tend to think of as the worst patches I feel utterly desperate and awful and just getting through the seconds is so difficult, and I can't do things, can't interact with people, can't get up, get dressed, cook, wash, eat, I just lie there staring into space or I sit and click through tumblr and facebook until the day is gone and I can try to be unconscious again. Sometimes I will hurt myself when I'm like that, although not much recently because in a strange way hurting myself sometimes kind of implies hope - it's something to do that might somehow make it better, but I feel like I've known for some time now that nothing can make it better, all I can do is endure because I'm not quite ready to die yet, and that's the only solution now. Those times are horrible and very hard.
This time I was functioning, I was getting up and getting dressed and talking to people and having really kind of a nice enough time. I could laugh at funny things and seem to be having a good time, and in some ways actually have a good time, although never really actually happy. It's just... fine. And then I'll go home and it's like... that's it? That's what this living thing is supposed to be? Just doing this forever. This is it when it's *good*, when I'm not completely out of it and desperate and life feels unbearable. This is what I'm supposed to be enduring all the bad for? And it just feels pointless. And so I feel like I'm kind of fine, or maybe I should die. What does it matter? Nothing matters. I had a friendly chatty conversation with a friend online the other day, sounding no doubt perfectly cheery and upbeat. At the same time I was getting together all the bits and pieces to cut myself. Which I then did after he'd signed off. Not badly, just little scratches. Hard to explain why. Just... I could read things or knit something or have a shower or slice myself up... what does it matter?
Friday I struggled with feeling like killing myself was the only option, and I was thinking about the fact that the future didn't seem to exist for me any more. I didn't have any image of the future in my head beyond July - I don't mean in the way people often don't really know what they're doing, I mean it just didn't really seem to exist any more. I tried thinking about christmas and it was the strangest feeling, it seemed like the oddest thing to think about because on some level I didn't really expect to be there. I'm supposed to be trying to move to a different town in a few months, and I realized I didn't really think I was going to, that life didn't exist to me, but nor did my life here continue either. It was just...blank, after July. I hadn't consciously made any kind of decision to kill myself then, but I hadn't really been planning to live, either. It was simultaneously kind of scary and kind of reassuring to realize.
I'd also had this recurrent thought lately about taking an overdose. I took mood stabilisers, one three times daily, and when I missed a dose by accident there seemed to be a sudden drop in mood the next day - hard to be sure whether the pattern was actually there or if my mood just fluctuated and I was seeing patterns because then it seems like you can control it. Anyway. So the association was that taking the pills makes me happier/less crazy, only they just didn't seem to work enough. So my brain felt like taking more should make me happier. If one helps a little, then 10 or 20 should help more. The frustration at not being better and enduring day after day made me impulsively want to take lots to see if I could get better quicker, sort of. I knew rationally that this wasn't how it worked. I used to work in pharmacy for fuck's sake, I do know that's not how it works. But I still felt the urge to take them, and thought about maybe taking a small overdose, just 10 or 20, not enough to kill myself, just to do *something*. I'd managed not to do it yet though, distracted myself with other things.
I talked to a friend about some of the crazy, and then went to bed. The next day I woke up and was still in the same headspace. Still functioning as well though. There was a little local music festival thing I'd been intending to go to, so I figured I'd go to that and see if I could distract myself, or snap out of it. I went along and it was nice, I was with good friends, we had fun. I went to the pub and talked to people and had a perfectly pleasant night. The end of the night came and we walked home, and I didn't want to be alone yet, so I asked my friend/fuck buddy if he fancied coming in for a bit - he said no, and that was okay, I hadn't really expected him to, but I'd asked just in case 'cause I didn't really want to be alone just yet. I didn't think I was in some terrible headspace and was going to kill myself when I got in, I was, y'know, fine. Just felt like having company a bit longer.
And then I got in and that same feeling of 'so this is it then. this is all living is' hit me. And I felt so tired of doing this day after day after day, of enduring it, when I had no hope, felt like I just couldn't keep doing this. My mood dropped like a rock. I talked to a friend online, one that lives far away, for a little while, but I was very detached from everything and hopeless and I just kind of... gave up. I gathered all my pills and I had about 120. I didn't decide 'this is it I'm going to kill myself'. But I had to do something. I couldn't pretend to be okay to my friend, I was too out of it and down for that, but I didn't want to tell him what I was planning on doing, obviously. So I just said I didn't want to talk any more and signed out of chat or blocked him (I can't remember which). He rang a couple of times and texted to see if I was okay, but I didn't respond, just hid from my phone until it stopped making noise.
I popped out all my pills in lines on my laptop, 7 to a line, one block of lines either side of the mousepad. And I still wasn't exactly clear on what I was doing, and I got a glass of water, and I wasn't sure whether I was going to do it or not and then I was just taking pills and I just kind of... turned my brain off. Refused to think about what I was doing, just did it. Three or four pills at a time, working my way backwards through the lines. I had to go back to the bathroom to refill my glass of water several times. I got halfway through and then just stopped. Couldn't quite face keeping going any more.
And then I kind of realized that all I had to do to die was... nothing. Before I hadn't been quite ready to actively take the step to kill myself, living was the default. And now dying was the default, and living would require the step to intervene. And so I thought maybe I could die. That it wasn't taking an action. I just had to wait and then everything would stop and I wouldn't have to deal with any of this again. It didn't even matter if this was the right decision or not, I couldn't possibly regret it, because I wouldn't exist, there would be no me to regret anything. It couldn't possibly be the wrong thing to do. I just had to wait. If I changed my mind I could call an ambulance, and otherwise I just had to wait and everything would be okay.
I felt very alone, and I just wanted to not be alone while this happened, so I messaged a friend on facebook, someone I don't talk to very often, that I used to be closer to, and asked him if he could do me a favour and talk to me for a while. Tried to talk about inconsequential things. I'd moved the rest of the pills into a glass so I could use my laptop more easily, and I took a few more while talking to him. I was feeling kind of stoned by this point and not thinking very clearly at all, and feeling lonely and unsure. I knew he'd been going through a bit of a bad time and I was feeling kind of connected to him for that reason, and through the blur I decided to ask him if he'd ever been happy, really properly happy - in my head he was kind of equivalent to me in that moment, if that makes any sense? And he said yes. And I asked if he'd ever known me to be happy, really properly happy? And he said yes. And I asked if he was sure, and he said yes. And then I wasn't sure what to do any more. And thought maybe I should give things another go just in case. I wasn't exactly optimistic that they were going to get better, but I decided if I wasn't sure I shouldn't die - I could always do it another time if it turned out killing myself *was* the right call.
I thought about ringing 999 for an ambulance but I couldn't face it - I have phone phobia at the best of times, and that would have been a hard phonecall to make, so I figured I had to tell my friend and ask him to ring an ambulance for me. But the conversation had moved on and I wasn't sure how to tell him. Saying 'I've taken an overdose' just seemed so melodramatic. And I didn't want to interrupt when he was talking about other things. I know, that sounds dumb, but that's how my brain works. And I was worried about depressing him - y'know, telling someone you've just tried to kill yourself can be a bit of a downer, and I didn't want to make him feel bad or anything. :headdesk: My brain, ladies and gents. In the end I managed to do it though, I asked if he could maybe do me another favour, and explained that I'd taken an overdose but changed my mind and could he possibly call an ambulance for me? Sorry.
He immediately did so, and told me him and N, a mutual friend that he lives with, would come over too. I was very calm at this point, and feeling pretty stoned and out of it. It felt like I'd put something in motion and now I just had to go through with it, I wasn't really thinking or feeling much about the situation, I'd kind of disconnected. I took the pills that were left and put them in the bathroom under something so my cat couldn't get to them, because it suddenly occurred to me my cat might try to eat them and die and that made me feel terrible. I found some pants, because I hadn't been wearing any and figured the hospital might need to get at my stomach and I was in a dress and didn't want to flash everyone. One of my friends from earlier came online and linked me to something relating to a conversation we'd been having earlier, just as the ambulance got there, and he's someone I would have trusted with the truth but there wasn't time to explain and I didn't want to just say 'sorry gtg ambulance is here' so I just said I'd read it later mebbe and that I had to go. I was also worried about telling him or my other friend from earlier about it because I thought they might be confused because I'd seemed fine, or maybe feel guilty like they should have somehow known and stopped me, even though that's ridiculous. *I* didn't know I was going to go and try to kill myself, how should they have?
I remember the paramedic and N coming into the flat and me worrying that my cat would escape and trying to say be careful, my cat mustn't escape, and trying to grab her, and then being told it was okay, my cat was fine, so I thought someone had got her, and I shut down my laptop and got my coat and my phone and my keys and my crutch, because these are the things I bring when I leave the house and I was on autopilot. I remember the paramedic asking me what I took, and asking for the empty pill packets, and me giving them all the ones I could see, and they asked why I did it and I tried to explain that I just wanted it all to stop, that I hadn't been doing so well lately, but it was hard to explain, the words never sound like how I feel and I was feeling shut-in and ... shy? I guess? I find it very hard to talk about my crazies to doctors and such-like, especially when I'm in the thick of them.
I didn't see my other friend, although he was apparently there (the one who rang that ambulance for me), but I remember getting into the ambulance, and them asking if I wanted one of my friends to come with me and me nodding and reaching out for N, 'cause I was scared and didn't want to be alone.
I don't remember the ambulance journey or arriving at the hospital.
I remember being told to change into a backless hospital gown, and being put in a bed. My friend stayed with me and held my hand a lot. He told me my cat had escaped, but my other friend was looking for her, and I was very anxious, because she's not been spayed and she was in heat. N got a text not long after saying he'd got her and she was fine and back in the house so I stopped worrying about her. A woman came and asked questions and wrote the answers down on a form. She asked for my basic details - name address DOB etc., and about my diagnoses - I explained that I definitely had recurrent severe depression, possibly bipolar disorder - my GP was reluctant to diagnose bipolar herself, even though it sounded like it, so she'd referred me to the local mental health place and I'd been assessed by them and then referred on for a short course of CBT/problem-focussed counselling, but I was still on the waiting list for that (and had been for months), and as far as my GP knew no official diagnosis had been made yet, but she was treating me with mood stabilisers in the meantime, and they'd seemed to be helping. I remember her asking how I was managing my bipolar disorder without any support from a psychiatrist/counselling/whatever and me saying 'um, not very well?' (or words to that effect). She asked about any other ailments I had, and I told her about the fibromyalgia, IBS and I think I mentioned the possible TMJ disorder. She asked about what medications I was on, and I told her about the carbamazepine and tramadol. I forgot to tell her about my recent possible asthma diagnosis, or that I'd taken ventolin earlier that day. She asked about what I'd had to drink and I told her (one glass of wine and four pints of cider, although that was spread over more than 6 hours). She asked about allergies and I said no, although technically I do but I was having trouble thinking very clearly, and I thought she meant was I allergic to any medication, and I'm not. I do have dust, pollen, cat and wool allergies, and I have food intolerances, but I didn't think to mention any of them. She asked why I did it, and I can't remember the exact answer I gave, but essentially the same as to the paramedic I think, that I had been struggling lately and I just wanted it to stop, and then I wasn't sure any more so I figured if I wasn't sure I shouldn't, which is why I told my friend. She asked if I'd ever self harmed or tried to kill myself before, and I said yes, that I'd self harmed with scalpel blades and by hitting myself and things, and that I'd tried to kill myself before but largely ineffectual half-arsed attempts while drunk - slitting my wrists, going into the sea at night. I sometimes sat on high places and thought about jumping but could never make myself do it. Once I stood in front of a lorry. Once I slit my wrists sober. I'd never taken an overdose before. She may have asked other things, that's all I can think of.
She then took my pulse and blood pressure and hooked me up to sensors to check my heart. I think she said they were all normal. I went to the loo and they asked me to give a urine sample while I was there, which I did. I was using my crutch and leaning on N's arm, and was feeling very stoned by this point. I remember making a silly joke on the way back from the loo to N about how people pay good money to feel like this. I didn't feel good, just stoned to fuck.
My memory gets very patchy from here.
I remember the woman coming back and telling me my urine tested positive for cannabis, which meant I must have had cannabis in the last 4-5 hours, and me being very confused, because I hadn't had any cannabis in the past 4-5 hours. I tried to explain this to the woman, and explained that I really would tell them if I had, that I *do* use cannabis sometimes, for pain relief largely, but I hadn't had any in quite some time. The last time I could *possibly* have had any would have been a week prior at my birthday party, but I really didn't think I had - I had a lot to drink so I couldn't be entirely certain, but I really didn't think I had. And definitely not any that day. I'm not sure that she believed me. I tried to explain that I really would tell them if I had, that I wasn't ashamed about the fact that I use it sometimes, but, y'know, I hadn't! I said that I had been at this music festival thing about 6+ hours ago, but it was indoors so there weren't people smoking, the most I could possibly think of is that it was possible I'd walked past someone smoking some? But I didn't remember smelling any and was only outside very briefly, and she said that couldn't possibly account for the results.
I remember listening to the nurses talk a little way away on the ward and it sounded like they were talking french, and asking N if they were talking french, because it seemed very unlikely, but it really really sounded like french. He said no, they were definitely not speaking french, and I said something to him in french, I think largely because I know he can't speak french, so it amuses me to talk french at him sometimes. I can't remember what happened after that.
The next thing I remember is being sick a lot, the nurses gave me a little dish to vomit into, sort of kidney-shaped, and I was curled up round it in bed vomiting - not bringing an awful lot up I don't think, but I couldn't stop being sick and it was horrible. I remember a nurse saying she could put a tube in, would I like that, and I didn't really understand what she meant, but if it would help then yes please. Memory goes blank again after that.
I don't know the exact order of the memories from after this. I vaguely remember someone sticking me with a needle, I think to take blood. The staff up until this point had all treated me fine, I remember being surprised by how nice the first woman who took my details down had been, 'cause when I'd been in after self harming before or when I'd taken in friends who had self harmed I was used to the nurses and doctors generally being really unfriendly and disapproving. (I hadn't been in for myself in several years though.) They weren't being all 'oh you poor dear' or anything, but they treated me respectfully and didn't make me feel despised or like I was wasting their time, and I really appreciated that.
My memories after that are mixed in with hallucinations and delusions, and the sensation of being very very out of it, my body didn't work and I couldn't talk - it took a ton of effort to get even a single word out and it came out so slurred people couldn't understand me - trying to communicate was immensely frustrating.
I will detail what happened from my point of view in the order I remember it, and then come back to explain what actually happened from what my friends have told me. I thought many of these memories were dreams until I talked to people and realized that they were actually memories, I was just hallucinating and delusional at the time.
I remember having really bad pain in my abdomen extending down to my vulva - I've had pain here a lot recently, I've seen the doctor about it and had an ultrasound, we don't know what it is yet. It could be an infection, I need to do a urine sample to find out. Anyway, this was flaring really really badly, worse than it ever had before, I was in a lot of pain, and I was on a table surrounded by hornby trains, and I looked up to see my friends K and L. K is pretty much my best friend, and L is a good friend that I consider family, she was my little sister's best friend growing up, but she ended up moving to my town and we've become good friends. Because she's family though I feel funny about her seeing me when I'm in a bad way, I feel protective of her, she's kind of my little sister. She's one of those people that looks after everyone around her, and it's important to me that I'm not another one of those people, that I'm someone she can turn to when *she* needs advice, not someone she has to look after. So when I looked up to see her there I was really really upset, I really didn't want her seeing me like that, especially as there was something particularly embarrassing about to happen, particularly undignified - I couldn't remember what, but from talking to friends the nurse was going to examine where I was hurting, which meant pulling my skirt up, and given the pain was extending into my vulva I may have thought my pants were going to come down as well. I really really didn't want her to see me in that state and was really anxious that she not be there, and angry that N had called her when he should have known I wouldn't want her to see me like that. I was also upset that K was there because I'd told him not to call her until the morning, I didn't want him waking her up in the middle of the night, and as far as I was aware it was still night. I think I also didn't want her seeing me exposed to be examined, either. So I tried to explain I didn't want them there. I couldn't speak properly though, I was stuck behind thick fog, and no one seemed to understand what I was trying to say, and I got more and more upset, because it was very important they understand I didn't want them there.
I remember that I was on a school trip to Belgium and I was sat on a raised cushioned area on the floor, and there were curtains, and there was a conspiracy and I had to uncover it, I had to get behind the curtain to find out what they were hiding from us. But my body didn't work - I tried to crawl towards the curtain, but whichever way I tried to move my body would massively overshoot and the world would tilt and I would slam into the ground or the wall, I couldn't make my arms and legs do as I told them to, I couldn't control where they went, and if I tried to compensate when they went too far I'd swing violently back the other way. I was determined to find out what they were hiding from us though, so I clumsily crawled my way across the floor, awkwardly smacking into the floor and the wall and trying to make my way along through the complete lack of motor control or balance. People kept coming and dragging me back to the cushioned seating thing and then leaving again behind the curtain, and I had to start again.
I remember that I worked for a chocolate company, and it was the end of my shift and I'd called my dad to come and pick me up and take me home. However, just before he got there they insisted on doing more tests on me. They kept doing this, and I felt that it was wrong, chocolate companies weren't supposed to do this to their employees, but I couldn't stop them. I was upset though, because my dad was there to take me home, and he gets really mad if he gets there to pick me up and I'm not ready to go. (This is true, from my teenage years, if I rang for a lift home from a friend's house or the pub I was supposed to be ready to leave when he got there, or he'd be angry at me for making him wait.) They'd promised me they'd already done the last one and now they were doing more, they were putting sensors all over me again, and I was upset because dad was going to be mad, and they'd promised, they'd *promised* they were done, no more, and they insisted on undoing my top - I was wearing a halterneck dress - and pulling it down, exposing my breasts (in a bra) so they could put sensors on my chest, and I really didn't want them to because I didn't want to be exposed in front of my dad. Again, my body didn't work, I couldn't control where my arms and legs went, and if I moved in one direction at all I would swing really hard that way, I couldn't stop it, so I couldn't stop them from undressing me and putting the sensors on, and I kept falling off the mattress (which was on the floor) and hitting my head, and couldn't sit up or even lie still, any time I moved I violently swung in that direction and couldn't stop it. I just had this sense of how this was all so wrong, it shouldn't be allowed, someone should be stopping them, chocolate companies just aren't supposed to do this to their employees! I'd said no, I didn't want them to do this, over and over, but they just held me down and did it anyway. And fear, because my dad was going to be mad, and it wasn't my fault, and I kept trying to explain to him, they'd said it was done, no more tests, but I couldn't talk properly so I wasn't sure if he understood.
I remember at one point being in lots of pain (my abdomen again) and K and L were there, and I kept trying to explain I needed my painkillers, kept saying 'drugs' - I couldn't manage entire sentences, it was so hard to push a single word out, my mouth didn't work properly, no matter how hard I tried it still came out distorted and slurred, and they didn't understand what I wanted and kept offering me a drink and feeling so frustrated and upset because I really really hurt and needed pain relief and I couldn't make them understand, I was trying so hard to enunciate, to get it across, but it just didn't work. I had my tramadol in my coat pocket, and I wanted them to bring me some.
I remember being sat in a wheelchair and given a bag to hold onto, and wrapping my arms around the bag and kinda cuddling it.
I remember being in an ambulance going home, only the ambulance had a wooden floor and I didn't understand why, and L was there, and a woman I thought was a paramedic, and I could hear K - I couldn't see anything because I had my eyes closed because everything was spinning. I remember the paramedic asking K if someone was going to stay with me, and K said yes, and I remember her asking L how she knew me, and her explaining she was my sister's best friend from school, and me and her were friends, but not, like, best buds or anything. K had to run back to her house to get my keys, so we had to wait for her to get back, and then people helped me get into my flat. My body didn't work, my balance and motor control were still fucked, so people were supporting me and I was trying really hard to aim for the door, whilst everything was spinning and moving and out of control, and I was swinging from side to side because my arms and legs didn't work and we managed to get me to the bed and I collapsed onto it.
I remember being a Belgian minister, and I had just done something of great political import, I had sent a message to the world (or at least Belgium) and it was hugely important and world-changing, and now I was dying - my arms and legs didn't work and I couldn't see properly, but I had done it, and now it was okay, I could die, the message had gotten out, people knew now, and that was all that mattered. K was there and trying to get me back into bed, but it was so hard, I kept smacking into everything because I couldn't control my body, and it didn't matter, because I'd gotten the message out and that was all that mattered, I might as well die there on the floor. She didn't seem to understand though, and kept trying to get me into bed as if it was important, and I kept trying to explain about the message, that so long as the message was out, it was okay, although I couldn't speak, so all I could get out was a slurred few word about the message. She kept saying 'what message? the *text* message?? WHAT MESSAGE?' and I couldn't understand why she didn't understand, and didn't know how to explain, because it was obvious, it was THE MESSAGE. Her boyfriend R was there too.
After this the delusions end, I remember being in my flat and needing the loo, but my whole body didn't work, just like in the dreams, I couldn't control it, when I told any body part to move one way it would swing way too far, I had no control, and if I tried to compensate I'd swing completely the other way, I couldn't hold still or be steady at all, and my legs wouldn't support me. K was trying to support me, but my entire body weight swinging from side to side meant I kept crashing into everything anyway. I tried to crawl instead of walking because walking was too hard, but obviously my body still didn't work, so it was a case of my whole body smacking into the floor this way and then throwing itself that way and back and forth and making very little progress. Eventually we made it to the bathroom (my bathroom is about two metres from the foot of my bed, I live in a tiny bedsit, but it took forever just to get that far) and I was trying to get up to the loo but my head kept smacking between the shower and the sink and the toilet, whichever way I tried to move I just kept faceplanting. I remember trying to hold onto the loo seat to steady myself and swaying violently from side to side, completely unable to balance, and accidentally pulling the loo seat off (I have a raised toilet seat) and smacking into the floor of the shower again. I have a vague memory of being proud of having managed to pull my pants down once I was on the toilet seat. I didn't want K to look while I peed. I think I fell off the loo at least once, although hopefully not, y'know, during. I don't know if it was this visit or another time I remember after all that finding I couldn't actually pee, and telling Kit (very slurred, but able to get more words out than before) that this was embarrassing, after all that I couldn't pee, and finding it sort of funny in a ridiculous kind of way. I remember vomiting into the sink whilst sat on the loo. I don't remember the trip back to bed, other than the sense of being glad it was over, and that it had been this immensely difficult ordeal to do, and taken a long time, and oh gods I didn't want to do that again.
I woke up when L and N (they are a couple) arrived to take over from K, who'd been sat on the sofa while I slept. I couldn't get back to sleep once they'd gotten there because they kept talking to each other - quietly, but enough to keep me awake. I hurt all over and felt nauseous and everything was spinning and my body still didn't work properly, so I lay there with my eyes shut for quite a long time.
At some point I started talking to N - I think L was sat in the garden at the time - and asked him what had happened, and he started telling me - I was confused and temporally disoriented when he said 'that was the first night' because I thought all that had happened last night, and it was now Sunday morning. Apparently it was in fact now Monday morning - I'd basically missed an entire day.
He helped me to the loo and it was easier than it had been with K, but still difficult, my balance and motor control still weren't working properly, and I needed a lot of support, but it was an awful lot better than last time, and I was able to talk, just very slurred, and I still felt stoned and like I was trying to think through fog. I had bad bruising on my arms and legs, especially on my elbow and knees, one of my teeth felt odd, numb and sore and wobbly, my jaw hurt and felt wrong when I opened it wide, my entire forehead and surrounding area hurt and felt bruised and swollen - it all felt very tight, and my left eye was swollen so the flesh above my eye impinged on my vision, kind of like I could see my own eyebrow. When I looked in a mirror I found I had a nasty black eye, and my lip was split. (The next day my other eye bloomed into a black eye as well, both of them very impressive, very dark and stretching down a good inch or so in a stripe below as well as on my eyelid, and there was some visible bruising on my temples - my forehead and top of my head didn't change colour, but was swollen up.) I couldn't seem to straighten my legs properly, my left shoulder felt wrenched, and there was something wrong with my right leg, although I can't remember what now. I was nauseous and it flared up in waves, which I spent cuddling an empty washing up bowl, but I wasn't actually sick.
Over the course of that day I found out from N and L and then later from K what had happened in the period I couldn't remember. He explained that the hospital had decided I was faking, and discharged me whilst I was still unable to speak or walk, and called the police to take me away.
In the next post I'll detail what happened in the parts I can't remember from everything N, L and K have told me - Part 3.
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