Category: mood disorders

So Close

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide

I was hoping to go to sleep before my foot or ankle decided to say hello to me tonight. Nope. Didn’t lie down quick enough. Actually, lying down is actually a kind of trigger. Seems my pain is worse when I lie down versus when I am sitting up. Now my foot is doing a curling thing so I had to take some Ativan to calm the fucker down.

I am tempted to text my therapist or email my psychiatrist to ask if I can have an amputation on my ankle if I can’t kill myself. It’s a long shot but I figure there is no harm asking. While I was lying down before the pain erupted, psychache hit me square in the chest. So now I have both types of pain going on and I am ready to jump off a bridge. It’s a good thing I don’t have a car to get to where I am going. There are no bridges in my area that are high enough to kill me, except the Tobin but it’s a bitch to get to and you do need a car.

I don’t know if I am going to get out of this episode that I am in. I feel like if I don’t go through with it, I am a loser. If I at least attempt it, that will be something. If I fail, at least I can say I tried and then deal with the consequences, horrible though they will be. If I succeed, well then this blog will be all that is left behind. None of this will happen in the next few days so if you are thinking of saving me, you are wasting your time. These are just my thoughts that are running through my head at this particular moment in time.

Pain is causing me so much grief. I feel like I am losing it, not that I actually had things to begin with. The black coat of depression is pressing on me very closely. I have been trying to master the lyrics to the song “Make you miss me” by Sam Hunt. I heard it twice today on the radio and messed up the lyrics. Pissed me off. I wanted to share the lyrics and song with my therapist but I was too afraid she would cry. I did share two songs with her today, Reckless by Martina McBride and Don’t think I don’t think about it by Darius Rucker. It helps me to share music with her. I have a knack for songs finding me when I am hurting or need to express myself.

My Sox lost and I think they are no longer in first place. I am upset. They should have had these games but their offense was dead. There are only 17 games left in the season or that count toward the pennant race. I am so nervous about these games. It’s not helping my mood any.

I seriously want to email my psychiatrist and ask her if she thinks I am going to escape this episode that I am in. I just don’t see a way out. I don’t want to go into the hospital. It won’t help me. I might be fine for a few days to a week but the suicidal stuff always comes back. It’s like a monkey on my back. And the longer I go without an attempt, the stronger it becomes. I haven’t made an attempt in years. I don’t know if I am hopeless. I don’t feel it. I feel nothing but blackness. I just don’t know what is going to keep me connected to this world. I hope the pain meds kick in soon so I can get at least my physical pain will be taken cared of.

Perplexed

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide

Perplexed

Today’s Daily Word Prompt is “perplexed” and I can’t think of a better title than that for the day. My eyes are so damn dry that I literally rubbed the skin off my lower eyelid this morning. I didn’t realize I did this until I washed my face this morning. Now I have to see my eye doctor to find out what can be done about it before I have no eyelids. As if I don’t have enough on my plate at the moment.

I got the car and went to Starbucks. When I went back to the car, I noticed some damage. It wasn’t a big thing, just some paint scrapes, no dents or anything, least none that I could see. I called and reported it when I got home after therapy.

Therapy was again difficult. She tried her best to have me look at her the whole time I was there but I wouldn’t. I couldn’t look at her. I just stared at the rug or played with my thumbs most of the session. We talked about the blog I wrote last night. I told her it was a piece of shit and she said it was anything but. She really wanted me to know that she cared about me and that she didn’t want me to die. She wanted me to take my date off the table. I told her I couldn’t do that. Who’s to say that I won’t have another pain episode that leaves me with the same feelings of being suicidal and I really want to go through with it the next day when I am able to fucking walk. That is the only thing stopping me right now. My inability to walk during intense suicidal feeling caused by intense physical pain. No, I have my own agenda and I plan on carrying things through this time.

I told her I knew she loved me and that I love her. I questioned what the hell kind of relationship we have and she couldn’t answer it. She doesn’t know. Great. She was playing with my baseball for most of the session. I guess it kept her mind off things. I told her she should get a stress ball. Maybe I will give her my apple scented one that I have. It’s smelling up a drawer right now so it’s not like I use it.

She toyed with the idea of texting me so that I can know and remember that she cared for me. I was going to say something about this but held back. Dr. Jobes has been doing this with his patients for years. My therapist is not a texting type of therapist, nor is she a technological person. This would totally take her out of her zone of comfort.

It’s a perplexing problem because she obviously cares deeply about me after all these years and she doesn’t want to lose me. She can’t imagine life without me in it. I guess my constriction is so damn bad that I can only focus on the task at hand and that is ending my life, on my terms, in my own way. I have had enough. The boundaries have been crossed and I tired, so very tired, of fighting them day in and day out. I told her that no one will be there for me in the wee hours of the morning because I can’t sleep and am in horrendous pain. Sure, I can page my psychiatrist if I am in a bad mood but why bother waking her up in the middle of the night. I just done. I told my therapist today, there is no way I can’t promise anyone that I won’t take my life, even if I take my date off the table. There is a chance that even when that day has arrived, I might not go through with it. I have had plenty of dates in the past and I am still here. Some my therapist knew, some she didn’t.

I told my therapist that I should have left her 12 years ago when she first became “possessive” of me. She had gone on maternity leave and she left me a birthday message. Or some kind of message, I forget now. I still have the microtape of the voicemail somewhere. Anyways, she said that I was hers and it should have put up a big red flag. But then, no therapist had every called me that before so I let it go. Now this therapist cries when I threaten my life, and there were still a few tears shed today.

How am I supposed to live when I want to die so damn bad? It gets worse, it gets better, but no matter how afield I get, I always come back to being suicidal. This is the worse part of the year for me. For the last 11 years I have been suicidal particularly during the months of Sept and Oct. It’s the bipolar season for suicidality. It’s been documented by Kay Redfield Jamison. I don’t see a point in living a life that is filled with pain and disability. I just don’t. Walking used to be my everything and now I can barely walk a few blocks here or there. I used to be able to walk Memorial Drive from Government Center all the way to Central Street in Cambridge. I am lucky to walk from the T station to the Starbucks down the street now. Any more than that, and my ankle says goodbye jack.

It’s more than just living with the pain. I have a huge high pain tolerance. But I am burned out. I am traumatized every fucking night with pain and there is no escaping it some nights. My sleep is affect and lo and behold, now they are looking at sleep disturbances as a cause of suicidality. NO FUCKING SHIT. I can’t tell you the last time I had a decent night’s sleep of more than 4-5 hours. If I do sleep at least 6-7 straight, it’s during the day time hours. That is when I get relief from my pain or am just exhausted I crash. I am called a lazy bastard if I sleep during the day so I try to stay up until night time again, except there is no relief then. It’s not like I am looking for more meds or support or anything. I just want the pain to stop because what the fuck is it hurting for anyways??

The Emotional Therapist

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide

The Emotional Therapist

I had therapy today. It didn’t go as I thought it would. Actually, I have no idea how it would go as our sessions are as varied as the day is long. She got my text about my plan and then proceeded to have a breakdown. She felt like I was leaving her, for good and she couldn’t bear the pain so I got to hear it in her voice. She struggled all session to keep composure. It was the most difficult session I have ever had. She kept saying that she wanted me to see her so I basically deposited money I was saving for the month in my account so I could get a zipcar for tomorrow.

So much went on in those fifty minutes today. I shut down as I didn’t know what to say or how to act to my therapist crying. She wanted to know what was really going on. But I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it. The thought of me not being there anymore was too much for her to think about. At one point, I tried to steer the conversation but it backfired on me. I told her to get the baseball on her desk, which is our code word when she is anxious and she said she wanted me to throw it at her. Not the response I was looking for.

I realized today that we don’t have a therapeutic relationship governed by the “rules” of therapy anymore. It’s more of a relationship of some sort and I really don’t know how to process this. I feel like I again blundered my own death by telling my therapist I was suicidal again. I just didn’t know it was going to be such an emotional session today. I feel really bad that I am affecting her this way and I just want to run away from her very badly now more than ever. Just cut the cord and see you but she is too possessive of me to let go. We have been together approximately 16 years. That is a long time and I had no idea how much I affect her. I had a glimpse of it more than 10 years ago. I was suicidal at the time and I was dead serious, like I am today, about ending my life. She cried then as well and we worked through that episode. That was before I found out about CAMS and psychache and the American Association of Suicidology.

Suicide talk still freaks the fuck out of my therapist. She did most of the talking today and I just let her ramble on, even though it probably should have been the reverse. I am just not emotional anymore. It takes a lot for me to cry and to feel hurt. Other than that I am just a pile of deadwood, not feeling much of a damn thing. I just know that ending my life is what needs to happen to stop the relentless agony I am in day after day after day after day and night after night. All I see in my future is pain and that is not a good feeling to have. It’s dread and it sucks.

I hope tomorrow isn’t a continuation of today. I won’t be able to handle it, not in person anyway. I tweeted to a therapist friend and he gave me at least 5 reasons why therapists are afraid of suicide, which coincided with my theories on the matter.

Grief of my father

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, depression, grief, mood disorders

Grief of my father

I some how came back to the middle of March’s blog of this year. I was reading through my awful depression and didn’t realize how bad things were while my father was dying. I have no idea how I managed through the pain of losing him and the physical pain of my ankle.

I didn’t want to read through the blogs I posted in April because that is when my father died. He had a quick decline. The nursing home gave us 20 days of full insurance and he died about 14 days or so before those days were up. I never finished writing the story I started when I was in the hospital, trying to process that day as it was so vivid in my memory banks for weeks after his death. It still is vivid but not as intrusive as it was.

My depression kind of protected me from my grief. Most days, I didn’t feel anything. I haven’t read the blogs following my father’s funeral, only the few blogs that had to deal with the stupid oxygen company that wouldn’t come to take its tank away. That was the last day I saw my father’s small apartment.

I still haven’t cried for his death. I was deeply sad reading about his death but I still haven’t cried. I don’t know if I ever will. He was a difficult man. I hated him but had to respect him. He annoyed the piss out of me, most of the time. He knew how to push my buttons to get a reaction out of me just to make himself laugh. How can I cry knowing that I don’t have to deal with that bullshit anymore? It’s a relief that he is gone, a sad relief. I never thought that I would miss the bastard. But I do.

I never told him my feelings. It was forbidden to talk about them, good or bad. He wasn’t the type to accept honest feelings. I remember when I was little, a friend of mine moved away and I was so sad that I cried. He saw me crying and laughed at me. Basically he told me to stop or he would give me something to cry about. I stopped crying because I knew what that meant. We never showed emotion in my house growing up. It was always a slippery slope.

He said that he loved me from time to time. I never believed him because the man was a pathological liar. I actually stopped believing in him when he told me to jump off the bridge when he found out I was suicidal at the age of 15. He basically gave me permission to end my life. I have been struggling with that the last 25 years or so.