a hodgepodge of blogs

I am feeling a little lost. I was supposed to kill myself today. That was the plan for the longest time. But then I thought, “I don’t feel like killing myself.” That doesn’t mean I’m not suicidal. I just feel like I let myself down, again. I don’t know why I bother saying I am going to kill myself if I’m not going to go ahead with it. I’ve “cried wolf” so many times that I actually think I’m not capable of killing myself, despite coming up with elaborate plans to do so. I really wish my body would wake up and realize how dead I feel inside.

Ever since I read an article about the reactions of people who survive suicide attempts, I’ve been thinking about this. I am a multi-attempt survivor. Maybe my ratio of reasons to live vs. reasons to die is not high enough, or maybe I suck at trying to kill myself. Maybe I’m not meant to die, my time truly has not come, but I digress. There were nights I hated myself for surviving my attempts, and I still do.

Suicide attempters can be a challenge to clinicians. How to deal with this population that is at risk for attempting again? Research suggests that asking how they feel about their attempt is useful. A 2005 study by Gregg Henriques, and others found that people who were glad to be alive or were ambivalent did not go on to kill themselves, while those who felt they intended to die were 2.5 times more likely to end their life later. This could explain why some people attempt suicide once and never do it again, and why some people continue to try.
I was not glad that I survived. I was not feeling ambivalent. But I think some people do have these feelings, and they go on living. Yes, they have attempted, but it brought the realization that they were glad they survived. It’s something I have never experienced.
Reactions to how an attempter feels afterward can be an important clinical assessment. If we ask how people felt when they first survived, we might find a clue and prevent another attempt.

My therapist and I have tried to work on what to do if “Mr. Hyde” shows up while she is on vacation. But the thing is, I don’t feel the need to ask for help. I go about my business like I normally do, except that I write dark stuff and plan the end of my life. I am beyond hopeless, so what would be the point of reaching out? All I need is a pad and pen or my laptop, and I’m good. I express all the dark stuff on paper, or I send messages to people I care about, telling them I love them and that I will be in a better place. It seems normal to me, but I know it’s not normal when I wake up from this dream/dissociative state. The yellow legal pad, or the messages I get in the morning, remind me it wasn’t a dream. That I wasn’t in my “right” mind at all.

I think the stigma around suicide needs to change. People need to be able to think about suicide like they do vanilla ice cream. They like it or they hate it, but vanilla ice cream is still going to be around. As long as there are conscious people, there is going to be suicide. It might be by like people like me who are in chronic pain and suffering from depression. It might be by people who have voices telling them they should not be around anymore. But I do know that people should listen to the person who is bringing up thoughts of death or thoughts of killing themselves or harming themselves. The stigma needs to stop. The hurting needs to stop. I hope that people will read this and know they are not alone. The feeling of being able to talk about this openly needs to spread. Too many people feel they are crazy, and they don’t need to feel that way. Too many people seek help and are turned away because they have suicidal thoughts and need help. They just need an understanding ear and an open mind.

So the next time someone is thinking about death or thinking about killing themselves, I hope you ask them why, and listen. Because hearing their story is going to be the deciding factor for whether that person lives or dies.
My therapist often asks me how I get through this. There is a quote that I got from one of Kay Redfield Jamison’s books: “Only one option left, to suffer.” She is my inspiration, as she has bipolar disorder, tried to kill herself and is one of the leading researchers of the disorder.

I know it sucks, but the trick is to realize that when we feel this way, it is not our true selves. It’s the disorder talking. One reason why I’ve read so much about depression _ and there are a lot of good books out there, _ is that you have to know the disorder, understand it, before you can know what to do. Sometimes knowing the demons is better than not knowing them. I know that it isn’t always easy when our physical bodies wreck our lives and we have physical pain that drives us insane. But things aren’t always going to be this way. It doesn’t last. Eventually it lifts. The hardest part of this disorder is that we forget that we have survived the worst of it. Every time we are stuck in an episode, we think it’s for the first time, that we are never going to feel better, ever.

I am telling you that you are.

having a crappy crappy day

this is one of the few times I am not using word to type my blog before posting so if there are huge errors for the grammar police, I am sorry.

I have not done a single thing today. I was in bed for almost all of today. I just couldn’t bring myself to do anything. I need a shower. I need to brush my teeth, but I just can’t do any of that. I am just so depressed. I got it in my head that I don’t need therapy anymore and I have been trying to “sell” it to my therapist who is far from buying it. I successfully cancelled my appointment with her for tomorrow only for her to uncancel it because I have suicidal thoughts. I thought up a beautiful plan while I was in bed, in agony. My foo/ankle has been bothering me since the night before and other than cutting it off with a sawzall, I don’t know what I am supposed to do. I have been taking my pain medication around the clock and still have had no relief. So I started taking ativan too around the clock to try and make me chill. It has but I have not passed out like I was hoping to.

I am just sick of being in pain. No one knows because other than the four walls I trap myself in, no one else is around me that cares or listens to what I say. They still want me to go to the “top” doctor at this “top hospital” but I refuse because I am tired of seeing doctors. I am tired of them telling me (in an unspeaking code of course) you are fucked and I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you. But I don’t care go back to your primary so he can load you up on pain meds and don’t come back to my office because I have nothing to offer you. Physically, there is nothing wrong with my ankle, foot, or leg. They just hurt for some reason unknown to any of the 20 or so doctors I have seen. I might be exaggerating a little but I have seen close to twenty, in all specialties, from neurologists, neurosurgeons, podiatrists, physiatrists, orthopedists, you name it. All tell me nothing is wrong and that three have said that I have complex regional pain syndrome. Which to me is a vague for saying I don’t fucking know but we’ll call it this. There is no real treatment for this condition. Physical therapy won’t help. acupuncture won’t help. so I am just stuck living with this fucking painful diagnosis.

So that is why today around 5 pm, I started thinking about taking my life and shared those thoughts with my therapist hoping she would give me the ok to go ahead with it. NOPE. I got a session out of it and I am not happy about it. I don’t want to talk about it. I am done talking. all the words in the dictionary have been used up over our 13 year relationship. and a few more words that we make up and swear about. Today in the text message she actually swore and told me “fuck that shit.” it was in relation to me telling her we had no session but she didn’t want to hear about it.

I am tired of living. I have a friend in South Africa that is terrified of losing me because he reads these awful blogs I write. but they are my escape. I feel better writing them than I do actually acting on my feelings for killing myself. I know what I write is horrible. Now one wants to read it, well go to another “happy blog”. this is what it is like living with suicidal thoughts and if you don’t like it too bad. I don’t write things that are hopeful because I am not a hopeful person. Things sucks in my life and I have no control over it but what I do have control over is writing about how I feel. So if you don’t like it, there is the door. Don’t let it hit you on your way out. I am tired of trying to keep these feeling inside all the time. It wears me out physically and mentally. I know a fellow blogger friend is in the throws of this horrendous condition we call like and would gladly take it away in a heartbeat. I feel bad for her because I can’t really help her. I can listen to her and I guess that helps. I hope it helps. I just wish there was something more I could do to really help her have better days. But we have each other to get us out of the darkness and it is helping. It is nice to help someone going through the same shit that you are going through.

I recently declared on Facebook that I am not going to be on it much anymore. I am tired of the stupid photos that say share this if you lost someone in heaven, or the ones that show puppy mills or beat up dogs half starved to death. I hate seeing that shit. Yes I lost someone in heaven but I don’t need a candle every day to remind me of that loss. I want to unfriend all those idiots about dogs and cats being tortured. but then I will get the “why did you delete me” and I want to tell them, because you are a fucking idiot that is why!! I have a friend that posts stupid jokes all the time and lately she just has been royally pissing me off so she is going to be the first to go. I can’t take stupidity in an agitated state. I just can’t.

Think I will be going back under my warm blankets to try an escape the world…

actors and depression

I previously blogged earlier today but wanted to post this before going to bed. I have learned many things about depression and although I know some of you are suffering from this horrendous disease, knowing that what FEELS like forever is not, in fact, FOREVER.

I have been a fan of Wil Wheaton since I was a teen. He was, you can say, my crush. My school had gigantic photos of him in our school cafeteria in middle school and I was able to take them home and literally poster my wall with these posters. I became a member of his fan club, WilPower. He spoke his true heart about his life in letters he sent out to the group that were his thoughts, not those of his publicist or agent. I have been following him on twitter the since I became a member of twitter and he sends some of the funniest things, nerd things, that make my day. But what he doesn’t talk about often, is the black clouds that sometimes follow him around. He talked about them today because he got over his bad day yesterday and the day before that in his blog that he writes. I have included it here to inspire you to know that what I say is true. Depression is a black dog that can haunt your life, but it ebbs and flows like the tide. Some days are really, really, bad. Other days it might not be so noticeable. He talks about that and I am so proud of him and his accomplishments. He is way nerdier than I am as some of his stuff is over my head but he does have talent. I love him and always will, though not in any other way than in a respectful and admiration kind of way. He is not the gender I prefer. But that is not what is important. If I could, I would send him tweet every day saying that I love and care for him and hope that he is having a good day but there is only so much you can do with 140 character limit. And if I get too overzealous and send him tweets he might block me and I am too afraid of that. His biggest thing is that he just wants to be treated as a guy. His motto is “don’t be a dick”. I can respect that.

psychosis and songs

I was chatting with a fellow blogger tonight about various things and one of the topics that came up was measures to fix the mental health system. 1) there needs to be more funding to keep existing programs open. 2) needs to be a better crisis response across all state hospitals or city hospitals so that people do not resort to suicide because they got left behind. People have the notion that inpatient hospitalizations are a cure all for all types of psychiatric ailments but what they don’t realize is that treatment hardly exists behind closed doors. Sure medication is dispensed but what is needed is therapy on the floors more than what the nursing staff can provide.

I have been struggling the past few days with psychosis and am wondering if I should be in the hospital. I was able to get a hold of my psychiatrist and she allowed me to take my old go to antipsychotic med that I like when nothing else seems to work. I just took it and I hope that it stops this song that is playing like a broken record in my head. The song is sirens by Pearl Jam. It is striking a chord with me a little too well and is “talking” to me, telling me that I should die. I don’t understand why this is happening, though it seems to be the course after every dissociative episode I face. I become purely psychotic after losing time.

I still am under black clouds. Listening to music is helping. I just wish the feeling like nothing would stop. And I still have the heaviness in my chest. The psychache is in full gear. I guess that is why the song is telling me to kill myself.