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.

Discouraged

Discouraged

I woke up this morning to police at my door. Apparently someone called the cops on me after they read one of my blogs last night. I don’t know which one and the police wasn’t kind enough to tell me who the caller was. I am wicked pissed off.

This blog used to be a place where I shared my inner most thoughts and feelings and now it has been turned against me. I have no other place to tell my demons to. And thanks to some caring jerk off, I can never talk about my suicidal feelings again. I don’t know what this blog will be about. I wish the coward would step forward and at least tell me their fucking name.

I accused someone falsely from my Facebook page. She was the reason I left my other blog. I don’t know how she found me again. If you are reading this, I apologize. I have deleted my Facebook page because I know they have a “suicide alert” system in place. I have no idea if WordPress has it. I still have no idea how the police found me or under what name. Doesn’t matter now. My family knows that I have been thinking about ending my life now. They will be watching me like a hawk.

I have been crying all day from the betrayal of my own words used against me. It makes me wonder if I should continue to write. This was my past time and now it’s compromised. I am no longer free to say what I want to say. I am restricted in my words, and I don’t mean by word counts. If I do talk freely, I will have to password protect what I write. I hate doing that because it restricts people from reading.

Protected: Can’t die without explanations 2

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Therapist is Back

Therapist is back

My therapist came back from vacation. She went to Ireland as she brought me back a spoon. It’s becoming our thing. We talked about a lot of things. I gave her my sauce and she wanted to eat it right then and there. She is too funny.

We didn’t talk about my suicidality, but we did talk about how my pain and the voices are contributing to it. I still need to page my psychiatrist so I can get some more trilafon. She encouraged me to page her though I am a little hesitant as it’s not an “emergency”. I just emailed her again. If I don’t get a response, I will page her tomorrow. I still have enough to last me the week.

My therapist doesn’t want me to kill myself in September because it’s a special month for her. I suppose I could wait till October. The weather is bound to be cooler then and maybe I can get some kind of suicide note out of the way. It will give me time to think of what I want to do with my stuff. I think it’s unfair that I am made to wait a month when I want to end my life so badly. She just doesn’t get how miserable I am.

I talked about the psychologist that was being a jerk to me yesterday. I explained what his thoughts were and she agreed with me that he was being an idiot. I don’t know why I follow him. Just for a laugh, I suppose.

We also talked about my other friend on Twitter. She asked if I met him yet. I told her no and I am not so sure I want to meet him because he is a therapist. He is a little looney but that is okay. I find him interesting and funny. I guess I don’t want to be disappointed with seeing him in real life versus what I imagine him to be like.

It’s funny that we kind of talked in circles all through out our session. Not really focusing on any issues. She did ask about my pain and I told her the situation with my pain meds. I have technically 9 days of meds and I don’t get a refill for 14. This is because I have had to increase the meds to get relief. I am no longer taking 1 pills at a time. I think I am taking around 6 pills a day when I am allotted only 4. That is when I am having a bad day. Lately, I haven’t had that much pain so I think it will even out. But I can’t control flare ups. I guess if I do have another flare, I will have to take the strong pills and risk my bowels being shut off for a few days, despite taking senna. It’s all the give and take of the pain syndrome. All the more reason why I rather kill myself now while I can possibly walk to my destination than not.

The drive there wasn’t too bad and I made it on time back. I didn’t hit traffic and listened to country tunes the whole way singing along. It was fun driving. I am glad I don’t have a car for daily use as traffic annoys me.

Just got a response from my psych about my meds: “yes”. I don’t know what that means. I hope it means she will call it in. Why do docs have to be so damn cryptic?