I had a good talk with my psych last night that I am still thinking about today. Unfortunately, the better mood didn’t last as today I am feeling really blah and down. I am trying to hold on to the feelings and words from last night but it is so hard, like trying to hold water in my hands. I had ordered food. I thought if I bought something I would be able to finish it even though I wasn’t hungry but I only ate about a little more than half before I couldn’t eat anymore. I couldn’t even finish the onion rings. I just feel so down. Makes me wonder if going on an antidepressant would be a good thing for at least a few weeks rather than continuing to hope this is going to pass.
I was able to clear off some of my desk stuff. I just put it in a box to go through at some point but at least my desk is clear. I just need to really dust it off. And get rid of some of the other stuff that isn’t paper related. I kicked a bunch of dust in the air, which my lungs loved. I did one thing to clear my room and now I just need to take out the trash and recycle. Kind of stinks because today was trash and recycle day. Oh well. Least the stuff will be in an empty bin.
I wasn’t on my feet too long but long enough that my foot and ankle are hurting me. It is mild right now and hope it doesn’t get worse. I am thinking of having my doc actually write up a doctor’s note just to see what she would say. She was so adamant about getting my family off my back, even having them call her if they don’t believe me that I need to be off my feet or whatever. I am not saying that to make it seem like I need an excuse not to do stuff around my room. I have been doing stuff but not at the pace my sisters want it to be done. My middle sister thinks that because I am home all day means I need to just clear and clean the whole time, not even going out of the house for coffee as if I can do that than I can do this then. I am so frustrated and being upset just contributes to my pain. It has been such a nasty cycle of pain and bad mood feeding off each other. I was having flares nearly day or just went on for days. The suicidality piece has been on mind for a long time. My psych told me not do it over this. I could hear her trying to plead with me (for lack of a better word) not to do it.
I have mixed feeling about this because I have been planning my death since January. This was well before I knew my sister was going to be moving in with us. I just had enough of the pain and low mood that I felt the end of March was to be when it would fall through. But the day I planned rained and nearly every week after that has rained or my psych intervened some how to prevent me from going through it. April was a tough month. I know the increase in my extended release med has been helping me because my pain isn’t as severe as it was. I am back down to a low 3, which I wasn’t on since starting this new med more than a year ago. I haven’t been too active since starting it only because I had flared up my leg so much compensating for pain I needed to rest it. I thought I was okay but yesterday I went out and flared it up again. I didn’t even walk more than a block. I hate that this syndrome of pain has crippled me so much. I have only left my house to go to appointments. There was only one fun day and that was when I went to a ball game the second week in April. I barely leave my house anymore for anything, not even to sit and write at Starbucks. I have decreased my funds at Starbucks because I have not gone in so long.
I understand why my psych doesn’t want me to die by my own hand. I have grown on her for a while now and even though I forget the few times she has shown her feelings for me, I know they are there. I don’t know if she can comprehend just how much I want to die, though. I know it sounds stupid, even though she does understand why I want to end things right now and I can go ahead with it any time I choose. I just haven’t. Maybe she is banking on my ambivalence. I don’t know. All week I have felt like a burden to her and a waste of her time. But last night, I felt like I wasn’t.
Since becoming disabled, I have been involved in the suicide prevention community on Twitter. A good friend of mine worked with a researching in bereavement of suicide people. That person did a large research project and found that for every suicide at least 135 people are affected. Often, those who think of suicide don’t think their lives have any meaning to anyone. I feel guilty knowing that there will be at least, if not more, than 135 people who will feel the loss of my life. I often block out my family when I am most suicidal but often think about how my nieces and nephew will be after I am gone. Sometimes it is enough to keep me here. Other times, I just can’t think about it because my suicidality is too great. I hate feeling guilty. I feel like being told this is just a huge guilt trip and that you are being forced to live a life you don’t want to live because of other people. Is that how you should live? Is somehow my suffering not enough to die but the others are? People need to stop ending their lives because of the pain of others. It is just exactly like saying your pain doesn’t count. It makes me mad that these statistics are there. But to me, I feel that everyone is just that. A statistic. That all anyone is, whether you have brown hair, red hair, blue eyes, brown eyes, etc. That is why I plan. I plan and when the day comes I decide if I am going to be around or not. Yes, I could do it tomorrow, and I may. No one is telling me I have to be here. My psych wants me to be around and I am sure there are others, too. I just don’t want to be and know one day soon, I won’t.