****WARNING MIGHT BE TRIGGERING****
I didn’t mean to start off the day like this, I don’t think anyone does. But I am feeling miserable and when I am miserable I write. This darkness has invaded my soul. I am no longer a good person but just an empty shell off what was, if that makes sense. I haven’t had coffee and wouldn’t you know it, I forgot to order cream with my groceries? Figures. Guess no coffee today, unless I go to Walgreens and buy it when I pick up my prescription. I also need a case of water. I need to try and keep myself hydrated which I have not been too successful at, if my lips are any indication. My lips are wicked dry and chapped, like a desert. I never made my chamomile tea last night. I got too sleepy and wanted to stay in my nice cozy bed. I will have to change the sheets after I take a shower. It is going to suck as I hate changing sheets but if I smell, I know my sheets do, too. I don’t know why everything has to be a struggle. I am struggling to stay alive. Struggling to do normal living activities. It is just so overwhelming. I hate being overwhelmed. But then, it doesn’t take much to become overwhelmed.
I had my therapy session tonight with my pain in the ass therapist. It’s funny but today I was reminded that even though we have been working together for years and years she still fricken panics whenever I get into a suicidal state. It’s like the blog I wrote a few months ago, Mentioning of suicide, therapist panics. Instead of asking me what my story was that went behind my suicidal reasoning, she didn’t want to hear it. She just wanted to listen to my reasons for living, my reasons for dying, and what I was going to do to get me through the next four days until we talked again. It is the SAME THING every single time. Nothing changes. I can hear the panic in her voice soon as I divulge my plan. It’s like she cannot tolerate listening to it. I don’t know why it is. It makes me feel better talking about it. But she doesn’t want to hear it so I don’t speak of it. I keep it inside and I think that is where Mr. Hyde is born. Mr. Hyde is my suicidal part that like to come out and write suicidal notes.
Tonight I was reminded that my therapist is not Aeschi in the least because I scare her. I don’t mean to scare her. That is not my intention. But my suicidality freaks her out. I only have a voice here on my blog to talk about my suicidal plans and thoughts and feelings. You would think, that a therapist office would be the place to divulge this information but it is not. It freaks them out too much. Maybe that is why there are so many suicides. The talking about suicide doesn’t get talked about so the client feels more alone than they already feel. I think that if I was a therapist, I would want to know my client’s thinking about suicide and why he wanted to throw himself out the window. Maybe in talking about it, there would be some underlying thought process that could be explored and then, maybe the feelings wouldn’t be so intense. But my therapist doesn’t want to hear about it. She wants to know where it hurts but not really. It is too scary for her. Where it hurts is where I want to put the rope around my neck. Where it hurts is where I am hopefully dangling out my bedroom window. I want to know what it feels like to lose the oxygen to my brain and lose consciousness permanently. But no one wants to hear that part. She just wants to know that if I want to act, I will call her first or someone else or go to the ER. Those places will not help me. They do not want to hear my story. They do not want to hear my plan or know of my pain. They will just hear that I am suicidal and should be in a safe place for a few days and hopefully in those few days I won’t be suicidal anymore, like it’s a magic cure. They do not want to know the depth of my sadness, the depth of my pain, the depth of my intolerable despair that has come upon me with its unrelenting hold around my throat. I am being suffocated. And no one can see it. No one can bare it. So I say what is expected of me and move on to another session where the same things go on. I am not saying my therapist is a failure. She is not. She is just a person who panics with the mention of suicide like the rest of the world.
midnightdemons7 
hey,
That might be what suicide hotlines are supposed to do but over here, least in my area, it feels like soon as they find out you are suicidal and are intent on doing it, they want you off the phone as fast as they can. You don’t have lengthy conversations or anything. Maybe you are on the phone tops fifteen minutes. I hate using hotlines in times of need. I always go through it on my own.
I don’t know why my therapist doesn’t let me tell her. I sent her this blog so hopefully she will read it by next session and we can have some room for discussion. If not, I don’t know what I am going to do. It just pisses me off that after all these years she still can’t handle my suicidality. It sucks either way.
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Have you ever called a suicide hotline? I used to be someone who answered the phone at one and we were encouraged in our training to talk to callers about their pain, their plan, etc… Of course we also talked about things like reasons for living, but we didn’t tiptoe around the fact the person on the other end of the line no longer wants to live. Have you ever asked your therapist why she doesn’t let you tell her your reasons and plan and that you feel she’s uncomfortable/not wanting to hear about it?
Thinking of you!
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Hope I helped some tonight. I don’t think anyone wants to hear that stuff, people are just like that. But a person who cares about you or a mental health professional should be willing to hear about it and do the best they can to help. Sometimes I just want someone to listen. Sometimes I want someone to stop me. Sometimes I want to be comforted. Sometimes I want other people to help me figure it out. It’s tricky for me recognizing my intent or desired reaction when talking about suicide.
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