Got a stupid migraine today that is incapacitating me. Every sound and light beam is making my head hurt. I woke up with it and I hate that more than when I get one during the day. My right eye hurts and the area around it is numb.
How do you feel right now? what are you thinking about?—Stationary Addicts tweet for today. Seems appropriate somehow. I feel like crap and my head is pounding. I don’t want to have a session with my therapist tomorrow but she is being a fink and won’t let me cancel. She is worried about me because of my suicidality has peaked. I still have not told my psychiatrist what is going on. I just don’t want to. I just want to be left alone with myself for once and think things through enough to end my life. Why is that so bad?
I’m thinking about my friend who I told about my plans. She says she wants me to tell her goodbye. I don’t know how. I never have told anyone good bye before right before I acted on a plan so this is weird. I am also thinking that if I don’t go through with these plans I am never going to be free from my suffering.
Someone once asked me if you had to suffer and have misery to be happy. I would say that yes. For me in order to write I have to feel something powerful to get it out on paper. My journals are filled with my pain and suffering. But also writing on this blog has helped me to see that my writing helps people. I think the main reason for this is that most people suffer but do not know how to articulate it very well. I have a knack for being able to articulate these dark thoughts and put them out in the open (aka, the WWW). I don’t know how I am able to do this, my writing style has always been free, but I think I have learned some stuff from my English professors at the junior college I attended. They were really good in ripping my papers apart and having me redo them. But it taught me to write the way I write.
Song of the day is Casey James’ crying on a suitcase. I love this song and the guitar chords. I have a knack of finding a song that connects with me. I can’t explain it. Whatever I am feeling, a song will come on the radio to describe it perfectly. I have made CDs for my therapist trying to explain how I feel about her through the music and lyrics. I have been doing this since I first met her. It is sort of our thing now. Funny story, when the song by Sugarland came out, I didn’t play it for her because it was so freaky. Somehow the song came on her radio one day and told me about the song and I was like OMG no way! Song is called Stuck like Glue and you can say that the lyrics mean something for us because no matter how much we have tried to end this (Or rather I have tried) it seems like we were meant to be together.
Category: mental illness
ramblings 8
Someone gives me an idea and then I write. That usually is how my blog works. But lately, despite many ideas, I have not been able to think of anything to write. I have a black dog of depression following me around and I just can’t shake it. I can’t stand being home bound and not going out to even get a cup of coffee. I have been thinking about this for a while and wonder if I will be able to shake it this time. I want so badly to end my life and I wonder if I will ever go through with it. It has been constantly on my mind for weeks now. All I need to do is make a date with death. I am a useless human being. I can’t stand myself. I really just loath myself and feel that I deserve to die. I don’t deserve to live.
Other than that I am all out of ideas to write…
black dog
The black dog seems to be rearing its ugly head around the same time every night for the past four weeks. I have been so down that I just have not made it in to see my psychiatrist. Not much she can do for me anyways. It’s not like she can put me in a cast and tell me I will be better in 6-8 weeks. I have been on every medication out there and nothing seems to help me. I just want to give up. The feelings of hopelessness are strong. I can’t seem to shake the worthlessness I feel nearly every day and the self hate that goes with it.
The other night I found an old script written in 2009 in my journal for an AFO (Ankle Foot Orthotic). Seems if I had gotten that PT order in, I might not be disabled today and out of work. I have no one to blame but myself for being too lazy to see that I needed an AFO sooner rather than later. I really loath myself and all that I do. I just can’t help thinking that I am the saddest human on the planet. There is no hope for me. I try to give it for other people, hoping my story will inspire some. I just don’t want to be anymore. Living is just too hard. It hurts every day in some form or other. I can’t get over feeling so horrible day in and day out. I wish that I could just pass away in my sleep. Things would be easier that way.
There is a question on the ballot for passing a law for assisted suicide. The supposed pharmacist says that 100 seconal tablets would be enough for some one to die. And “they call that dying with dignity”. I say that it is. I will say yes to question 2 because I believe that everyone has a right to die the way they want rather than to have their cards played the way they are supposed to. Why should someone with Alzheimer’s or ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease) be allowed to die a slow and painful death knowing there is no cure for them. I just don’t understand how people can allow other people to suffer and yet euthanize a cat or dog so they “don’t suffer anymore”. Why is it more humane to kill an animal over a human being? I just don’t understand it. Why is dying with some sense of faculty so difficult for people to understand? I know that people who think about suicide are not really rational, but I have been suicidal for so long, I have to wonder whether I have become rational in my thinking. I can justify taking my life because I do not want to suffer anymore. I can’t bare to breath at times. Taking in a breath hurts like a person with asthma struggles to breath during an attack. I have to force air in my lungs when I don’t want to. I feel so dead inside. I swear my brain just doesn’t know that I am dead so it just keeps on functioning the way that it supposed to. I feel like I am on life support with no one able to pull the plug but me. But the plug is out of reach…
a fictional story
Started out as an idea then blossomed into a plan. He knows that killing himself was the only way out. Thoughts of doom and gloom were perpetually haunting him night and day for the past month. He hasn’t been able to shake the black dog for weeks. The loss of sleep, appetite, loss of interest in things that used to be pleasurable has been growing. Most days he just stays in bed praying for death to end his suffering. He has tried to shake it off and do the things that give him pleasure but the pain of living has been too great. No matter what he does to try and distract himself, the pain comes on in the early evening, drowning everything that means anything to him. Every night at the same time the midnight demons come out and the suicidal impulses and thoughts become overwhelmingly powerful. He just decided within the next week to put his plan into action. He no longer can take the heartache, pain and restlessness every night. Nothing helps the sorrow or the pain. Duloxetine was supposed to help. It did for a few weeks but now he is so enveloped all he can think about is his way out.
The hotel room has been reserved. What better place than by the place of his former employment. The chemicals have been purchased. A bottle of each in the bathtub should be sufficient. Hotel bathrooms are not that big. The thrill of putting this plan into action fills him with joy. He does think of how much he will suffer. After all, choking on chlorine gas can’t be pleasant. But hopefully it will be faster than pills.
The week has finally come. Soon as his check comes in he will rent the room that will be his death chamber. He can hardly wait to do this. The tension of all the years of suffering has finally ceased to be. He has been cheerful around people, putting on the act of someone who doesn’t have a care in the world. No one knows of his plan, that is the beauty of it. No one suspects. He is tired of seeking help and this time he will become a statistic that will be a suicide. He will join the 30, 000 plus that commits suicide every year. The only obstacle he needs to overcome is his therapist’s safety plan. He has never lied in his life but this time his one lie is a big one. If successful, he will be gone, if not he still will be among the millions of people that suffer from depression.
midnightdemons7 
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