writing just because

Writing just because

Because of the hurtfulness of the blog reader that sent cops to my house this morning, I never got a chance to talk about how my day went after the cops left.

I was nervous because I was going to be talking with my therapist and I had sent her one of the blogs that I privatized and wasn’t sure if she had a chance to read it before it went private. It was my declaration of what would happen should I die, an explanation if you will, that I wrote after I found a quote in the Idiot by Dostoevsky. I thought it was a rather nice essay and my therapist did read it as well as enjoyed it. She understood it. I had finished it sometime during the morning hours as I was up. I might change it to a password protected blog so that others might read it too. It isn’t dangerous, I don’t think. But my level of dangerous writing is obviously different than someone else’s.

For most of my session we talked about a lot of things. She really loved my sauce and squirreled it away from her family so they couldn’t have it. I laughed at that. I also called her a jerk several times for not leaving me and she laughed. I asked her why she laughed and she said it was because I didn’t say it with menace. I didn’t. I don’t think there is a menace bone in my body. The only person I am a danger to is myself and now this blog reader who thinks they have to save me.

I was talking with a Twitter therapist friend of mine who I gave one of the blogs I wrote last night. I asked him if he called the fuzz on me and he said that he didn’t and he would have talked to me about it should he felt my life was in IMMENINT danger. I stress that word because even though I wrote about taking my life in a few days (I can’t now because my family is watching me like a hawk), there was not a pressing need for that moment in time to call the fucking cops. Had I said that right this second I am going to take my life and there is nothing you can do, that would have been a different can of worms. You are an idiot blog reader who doesn’t understand how suicidality works. You may have bought me some time to think more about my plan, so I thank you for that. But that is all you did. And my therapist knows this. I make plans all the time. I usually have a high percentage rate of changing my mind and living, sad as that maybe. My therapist gives me the hope.

As I was talking with my therapist today, I was waiting on Walgreens to send me notification that my psychiatrist had called in my prescription. It’s still not in the pharmacy. I called three today and got no where. So she said she would call again. Anyways, notifications came through to my phone while we were talking. Since I posted an Instagram photo of my sauce with pasta, there is an Italian North End restaurant that has been tweeting me the last few days. They tweeted me again today asking if I tried out their restaurant. I haven’t replied because I was so upset about the cops showing up on my door. I still haven’t quite put out that fire. My mother found out about it and we had a “talk” today about it. I had to walk away, like I usually do. Maybe I can get a free meal out of the deal. I have no idea where they are located. I haven’t been to the North End of Boston since I was a youngster and things have changed considerably with the Big Dig. I am not sure I can find my way around. Anyway, my therapist is going head over heels over this. She thinks it is awesome that this restaurant has contacted me with my cooking skills. I am being humble as I don’t think my cooking skills are anything great. I just cooked some beef, threw it in with some crushed tomatoes and called it a meal.

My therapist thinks that my voices are not controlled well enough and are what is causing my suicidality to go 10 fold. Well, I don’t necessarily have the meds to control it fully so I am rationing my meds until I do. My psych is trying to get my meds to me but there must be a glitch somewhere with the new stupid system. I am going to have to call her tomorrow to find out what the hell is going on.

I have been crying and sneezing the last few hours because of everything that happened today. I have a headache and I am really tired. Luckily, my therapist has an opening tomorrow morning so I will talk to her. I sent her the short blog that I wrote about whether or not I should continue blogging. I am going to miss it if I do decide to stop.

About G. Collerone

suicide attempt survivor writing about the hopelessness that accompanies depression that no one likes to talk about. also writing about my daily struggle with chronic pain and how it affects my suicidality
This entry was posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to writing just because

  1. Maribelle says:

    Yay for you! So glad you wrote! Thank you for good wishes as we ride out the stormy weather.

  2. I think I want to hop on a plane so I can taste your pasta sauce and go explore the North End with you. I haven’t been there since the Big Dig either. I might be crushed like a Roma tomato 😔 but without basil 😭

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