Category: depression

Thoughts keeping me up at night

 (warning really long blog) Trigger warning for some parts of it

I have been up since around midnight. I have tried going to sleep again three times and failed. So I thought about writing why I can’t sleep. These thoughts might not make sense and I might go off tangent with them, running with them so to speak.

I just cut my nails and toenails, something I hate to do but needs to be done. Doing my left foot is always tricky because I have to be in a weird position to be comfortable to do it without causing a cramp in my thigh area. Once that gets set off, it’s hard to do. I managed ok tonight, though there is one nail I couldn’t grab. I might have to wait until it is a little longer to try again.

I was thinking about the blog and my suicidality piece. I don’t know why I am still alive. I was in one of the best hospitals in the world so for me to die from acute kidney failure would have been difficult. I was there for six weeks and my mind was completely gone. I had so many delusions and paranoia. I thought Mary Chapin Carpenter came up to see me. She was trying to get me out of the confused state I was in and failed. So she ate raw eggs and then got hospitalized. At one point I thought my father gave me the gift of knowing if someone needed oxygen. So I went around the hospital and told them who needed it and who didn’t. My therapist was there as a patient and she tried to get me to give her oxygen and I told her no. She then left the hospital before she was recognized. Mary Chapin sang songs. Taylor came and was looking for knitting needles that my father gave my mother. I don’t know why those needles were important but they were (in reality, he never did give her them). In my delusion, Taylor knitted whatever really fast like she wrote songs. She opened up the buildings and flew tickets for people to see her shows. It was weird. She would call the radio stations and people would flood South Station looking for tickets. One night she did a thing where she had to paint the windows of the hospital for some reason. I don’t remember why and then she called me to tell me she was resting and had to sleep. Then she got mad at me and did some stuff that I don’t remember but she said that was for her baby brother. I had like a Titanic dream where we all were dancing and stuff and Taylor won the lottery so she bought every passenger food and drinks. Ship didn’t sink but we were in the ballroom and had fun, my family. My aunts and cousins. I also had dreams where I was calling my sister and giving them the information that I was in East Boston though I didn’t live there anymore. Every time they asked where I lived I gave them my childhood address and I think I gave them my number too. I don’t remember. I just know that I killed my mother and she was buried in the house we lived at because we left the body there before it was going to be blown away by developers. I had my friend’s husband in Canada fix the boiler so that we could lay my mother to rest and be warm as it was cold (It was really summer but in my delusion it was winter time). I dreamt I died and they did CPR on me. When they did that they cracked some ribs on the left side. It didn’t happen. But according to one nurse, I was intubated. I don’t remember any of this and I honestly don’t know if it really happened. I was never in the ICU, I think. Just on the floor going to dialysis. I had a spinal tap and don’t even remember it as well as an angiogram of my heart. I have no idea why they imaged my heart. I am not able to see the notes of my admission unless I request my medical records. That would give me more information than my stupid delusions and paranoia. I know I had an NG tube in me for a while. I don’t know if they did that to feed me or what. I hardly remember eating. I know when I came to, the sitter tried to get me to eat but I only was able to eat a little bit of what they gave me and most of the time I didn’t like what I was given. When I was on the psych floor, they gave me shakes to drink that I swear was laced with meds I was supposed to take. Sometimes I would drink it, other times I wouldn’t. the nurses made me peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I would have one a day and that would be it with sometimes the shakes. I had lost like 25 lbs according to their scale. When I went to another hospital, I gained back the weight because I was eating so much. I was having my meal plus a turkey sandwich afterwards. I was just so hungry, either from boredom or just because I wasn’t eating enough. I didn’t feel full. When I did, I stopped eating the extra turkey sandwiches. Sometimes I would still have it after I ate because all I would have for dinner was a small piece of chicken and rice. I wouldn’t have anything else to eat.

It was weird when I came out of the confused state I was in. Memories of the delusions came at me very intrusively. I seriously thought my mother was dead and was only being kept alive by something supernatural. I couldn’t shake it even though I talked to my mother but when she made certain breath sounds I knew she was “dead”. I had hallucinations that she was mechanically moved like a puppet by my niece and through water/air balloons that my cousins would blow up to keep the oxygen in the house. I was also dead. When I was on the new unit that I never been on before I thought it was a deaf and blind unit. I had full hearing and sight but I was there because I was “stupid”. I heard everything and was not sleeping. I would lay down, but I would hear everything. Eventually, I did sleep and then I slept in weird positions. I remember waking up one night because my hand was between my legs. The night staff member checking on me had to ask someone else if this was ok. They woke me up and I was like WTF. I turned over and went back to sleep.

I realized that because I had done a medically serious suicide attempt and survived but still wanted to be dead was not good for me. I tried to think what Jobes would do/say and my head would hurt so bad. It hurt so bad to think, like I could actually feel the neurotransmission in my head as they fired while I was thinking. It was so painful. The more time that passed while I was with my senses were the hardest. I honestly didn’t know what was real. I remember I was in the ED and asked the nurse if I was alive. He said I was and I asked if I could touch him to make sure. It was so bizarre. The psychiatrist at this hospital wanted to do ECT. I entertained the idea if I didn’t come out of the confused state I was in but I adamantly said no and I knew what was involved. I had heard what they do now for ECT treatment through another hospital. I wasn’t a dummy. I knew my rights. I felt they also knew I knew so they always talked to me privately, rather than around other patients like they sometimes did. Another psychiatrist on the unit did this a lot and I thought it was quite wrong but didn’t say anything because she wasn’t my psychiatrist. Even the rounding doctor on weekends talked to me privately when he spoke to other patients with patients around them. I got better at this hospital than I have in hospitals prior to this.  But I was so scared I was going to die when I got out. I didn’t know if I was going to be independent again as they talked about relations giving me my meds and having nurses come with locked boxes and things. Today I am doing my meds without assistance or supervision. I like it that way. I do have lethal medication but I try not to think about it much. I held on to it because I wanted to make sure I had top surgery. If I didn’t, I would try again and take my life. But then my mother got cancer and died four months after diagnosis. Turned my world upside down. The last month of her life she accepted me or at least called me son and used the right pronouns. It was a complete mind fuck. I have no idea if she called me son because her mind was gone due to her illness or what. I never got a chance to ask because I got top surgery and she wasn’t for it. She didn’t see me as a man. She saw the bandages and stuff but not my true self. She died a week after my surgery. The last time she was conscious, she didn’t recognize me. I never really had a chance to tell her goodbye. I couldn’t go into her room without crying as she laid there dead. She was finally dead. Really dead and there was nothing I could have done to keep her alive. She died peacefully surrounded by her kids and grandkids. I have no idea why I am writing this. I hated her for so long. Did I have that right? She called me son, why?? Why after five fucking years?? After adamantly opposing me and calling me daughter all the time?? I swear she was not the kind hearted person people take her to be sometimes. She was mean and sarcastically fucked. She would slay you with her words. She done it to me so many times. We be talking and I would come back with a sly remark and she would be, in her slay voice, tell me “don’t get smart”. She could always give but never take it back. She was a bitch. I am glad she is dead because now I can live as my true self in the house she gave me without fear of abuse anymore or transphobia. She abused me when I was a kid. She did things to me no mother should have done to their child. She never believed me when I told her I was abused by my cousin. She practically blamed me for the molestation my cousin did to me. But what she did to me was perfectly fine. It was within her mother’s “rights”. She always looked at me when I showered or bathed. Watched me. Was always interested in my genitals. I won’t say more as it could be triggering for someone other than me.

While I was in the hospital in my non compos state, I imagined that my cousin was trying to abuse more people and I had to stop him. I told people about the abuse he did me, that he raped me (he didn’t). it was difficult to comprehend because instead of nurses coming to my room it was my cousins, the nice ones, coming to check on me. They would sneak and I had these two Swahili women watch me as they were assigned to me. They were the sitters as I had to be watched to make sure I didn’t harm myself. They spoke their language around me but they also knew English and I talked to them about my abuse as I was up in the middle of the night usually after a weird dream. My sister kept wanting me to watch YouTube videos and things so I watched Instagram videos of one of the trans affirming surgeons in Oregon. He was giving me messages of what to do to prepare for top surgery. In one of them (not real) I was told to swim like a fish making sure the breast tissue touched the ground (mattress) as I headed toward the headboard area. I did this a couple times. I don’t know why I did this. And one point I had to expose my nipples to let them breathe. It was all bizarre but at the time it made perfect sense to me. I was so far fucking gone. I honest have no clue why I am still here. It’s a miracle I came back to my senses. Otherwise I probably would have had ECT. I honest was thinking this would be good if I didn’t come out of the state I was in and maybe the threat of it (medical decision were made through my proxy who was my sister), caused me to really come to my senses again. I had a good doctor. She made me feel at ease. The staff there did too. It was a very good unit where I was.

that is all for now. I think I can sleep finally. thank you for reading this boring stuff.

I’m reading Critical Suicidology and am on the section of youth suicide. This excerpt is from page 86 of that book and discusses the wish of suicide. I had to stop reading because it triggered me. I have both, wanted to live and die during the most severe depressions and suicidal thoughts. As I was reading this section, Never Grow Up by Taylor played. I thought about the time I was 10 and wanted to die but also wanted to know what I got for Cheistmas. This is the dynamic I have dealt with all my life. Even while attempting suicide last year, I rolled the dice and nearly died after my efforts. Sometimes I wish I never grew up.

On the bus ride home I thought about my suicidality. It hasn’t really changed much over the years. I still believe I am going to end my life one day by suicide. I was talking to my friend yesterday and I told him the stats are against me. I didn’t want to be alive after the attempt and research has shown that most people do not survive subsequent attempts. We seem to get better at ending our life, I guess. I am not sure if methods change for the attempter or not. That is something research has not shown.

I came home to an empty house, again. I was still listening to Taylor by my Bluetooth headset. I rested for a bit while listening. The new songs are my favorites. It is hard to choose one that is my top 5 song as I love the Speak Now album. But the lyrics get me every time and each time I hear the song, it moves me in a new way. I love it.

I have been thinking about doing something about my beard. I am not exactly sure what. I bought a new trimmer. I need to shave the neck beard. It just gets uncomfortable. My friend that I saw yesterday said I was more of a man than he is because I have more body hair than him. LOL No denying I am Italian.

I’ve had a headache most of the day and it has returned as I am listening to the Sox play. We are leading 2-0 right now in the 3^rd. I am tempted to send my pcp a message asking what else can I do about them. I am not 100% sure they are migraines or the beginning of them. I just know my head hurts and trying to read or write or even do something that brings me pleasure (few things do) has been hard to do with the stupid pain. I sent a message to my pcp and psychiatrist as I think broken sleep is contributing to my headaches. My psychiatrist keeps asking me what I have taken for sleep. I feel like it is a broken record at this point. I am on a low dose of mirtazapine so we could go up. I’ll find out tomorrow what he wants to do.

Suicidology and stuff

Today I met up with a writer from DC who is writing a book about suicide. He was involved in a research study I participated in a few years ago. I told him about my year and it wasn’t good. I had given him my journals the last time we met and unfortunately, we didn’t have time to talk about them. It was interesting because I was thinking about the time I was in the hospital once I came out of the catatonic state I was in and thinking about my future. It didn’t look really good as I was still suicidal after the suicide attempt. But now that I have had top surgery and my mother has passed, which is both a blessing and a curse, I think things will be ok enough for me to live. I hope so anyway.

Talking about the suicide research and about lived experience really helped get me out of the rut I was in. I have the third edition of CAMS, waiting to be read. I might go to Starbucks tomorrow and read for a bit. I have no plans tomorrow or Friday. Thurs I am to meet with my psychiatrist. My sleep has been terrible the past two days. I have gone back to my sleep for a few hours, stay up for a few hours, and then sleep for a few more hours. The drawback is I am tired all the time. I showered today and went out to see my friend. I came home and exhaustion hit me like a ton of bricks. Then brain fog settled in and I am fighting for words.

I had some idea of what to write for my blog today and it all escaped me soon as I sat down to type. I feel really frustrated. Sox are playing another late night game. I think I am going to do the same thing as last night and just keep checking the MLB app for score updates. I am so tired, I probably am not going to last all 9 innings. I tried last night and laid down a half hour before start time only to fall asleep and wake up at 2330. Game was over by the time I checked the score again around 0100. We lost. I am very upset that I tried to stay up to watch only for them to implode on themselves. I want to see them make it to the playoffs but at this rate, it isn’t going to happen. Season ends in two months.

I picked up my meds. My pcp will be calling in my pain meds. I had to have a discussion with the nurse about it. I feel like sometimes they don’t believe me. My pcp was under the impression the gabapentin was enough right now. I said I don’t have anymore meds and pain has been bad since I have been doing stairs again. The pain has no predictable course. It just flares up whenever, mostly at night. My headache is back. I am very tired but I don’t know if I will be able to sleep. It is early, only 2000. I was hoping to do some reading tonight but it is unlikely with this headache. I had to stop listening to Taylor because it was too much for my brain.