The single most dangerous word in all of Suicidology is the four-letter word only. Edwin Shneidman The Suicidal Mind
To therapy or not?
I spent most of the time while on the phone with my therapist today, trying to bring up therapy. What does it mean? Are we doing it “right”? Is she really helping me or am I just wasting my time? Then when I got home, I really thought about not having therapy anymore. I don’t see the point. I know that I am not in a too stable position to make a major decision like this. And I am not saying to stop therapy forever. But I think we have lost what “therapy” is. We talk for 50 minutes, usually I do most of the talking, but she has to talk sometimes, too. Sometimes it is helpful. Other times, or most times, I feel like she is regurgitating what I just said to her and putting it in her words. I feel lost. I have been reading about how psychotherapy is supposed to be helpful but I don’t find it helpful anymore. I feel like there is a war going on (inside me) that tries to stay the course, to please her, to have her hear my idiotic stories about my family.
She was on vacation last week and I had a couple of psychotic episodes. I was left to deal with it on my own. But then, I deal with everything on my own. I put myself on medicines that I think would be helpful. In the end, it is I who chooses to stop them because I no longer care. I don’t care if I kill myself. I don’t care who I hurt in the process. I just want to end my life and why is that so damn terrible?? People do it every day, every 15 minutes according to the statistics. I am just in a vulnerable state right now. My mind is playing tricks on me. The voices are either there or not there. I can’t fucking tell anymore. And when they are not there, I feel utterly alone and frightened. I don’t know why the voices have gone away. I haven’t taken that much medicine to make them go away. Something changed last night and I don’t know what it is. Maybe the mixed state fucked with the voices. I don’t know. I am too tired to listen for them. Usually they are loud when I am stressed. I have too much riding on my back. And I don’t think therapy is going to help me sort it all out. I am tired of dealing with me. And I think my therapist is too, she just won’t say it. I know I am a burden to her. I take up too much of her time.
I am supposed to take my abilify tonight, but I am not going to. I got to see if the voices come back. I need my reading voice to finish my books. Otherwise, they are just words on a page that has no meaning to me. Sure, I can “read” but it just won’t make any sense to me.
I am very tired, probably exhausted. I woke up early and did all the things that I needed to do today. The T gods were on my side. I had no troubles today. Only troubles that I have is in my heart and mind. I’d even take a commanding voice back if that meant I would be back in the psycho world. I feel really alone and I don’t like it. It’s lonely without my voices.
So I don’t think I should be in therapy, even though my therapist will argue for it. She is good at that. But what I need, she can’t give me. And I am very sad about that. I still wonder what my diagnosis is from her, not that it really matters. I often wonder if I still have borderline personality disorder or not. Or what personality disorder I do have. It’s been ages since psych 101 so I can’t even think what kinds of disorders are out there. But I don’t want to label myself. That is the worse thing you can do is to label yourself because that puts you in a box. And sometimes you are the round hole trying to put in a square peg that doesn’t fit.
For those wondering, here is what a future blog post of CAMS is about. I will be writing more about this and the SSF in greater detail.
I finally got out of the house today and went to Starbucks. It was a little rough getting there but I persevered. I wanted a latte and by dog gone it, I was going to get one! It wasn’t as sweet as I was hoping it was, but it did it’s job. And I got some writing done while I was cruising through Facebook and Twitter. It doesn’t make any sense right now, but I think I will work on it later tonight to see if I can make it make sense. It was like once I started writing I “threw up” and my brain couldn’t make sense of the thoughts anymore.
Back and bowels are having a fight as to who is going to win the pain shoot out. I almost lost control of my bowels twice since coming home. I fear that if I do, I will commit suicide. I am that vulnerable.
I tried to bring up my suicidal tendencies to my therapist today but she got all panicky so I dropped it. I could tell from her voice she was not going to be listening to me and just freaking out about losing me. I never felt so low as I did in that moment. I felt like I had no one to talk to about my ideas or frustrations to do with suicide. It’s just up to me to deal with, once again, on my own. I can’t talk to my pdoc, she is out of commission for a while. And the most she can offer me is a hospitalization. I don’t need to be hospitalized, least I don’t think I do. I just want to talk about what it would be like with me not in the world anymore to someone non-judgmental and criticizing. And also, not be freaked out by it. My therapist is a good therapist. She has kept me alive the past 10 years, some how, some way. But she still gets fucking juiced up and down right untalkable when I bring up suicide or feeling like ending my life. If I can’t talk about it in therapy, who can I turn to? Sure I have my blog, but last time I posted a post on being suicidal someone hunted me down to make sure I was ok and scared a few people in the process. I was lucky they didn’t call the cops. So now I am hesitant to put that on my blog for fear of being taken the wrong way. And if I don’t have my blog to vent to, what the hell is the point of writing this blog every day?? I have been keeping things neutral since that incident. I keep to myself and I hardly write in my journal anymore. Since being discharged from the hospital in August, I really have been questioning things. I am unhappy in therapy, with the process itself, and I am not sure after 15 years, it is going to change. I know my medication regiment is stable and doesn’t need to be played with. I guess I just miss talking with someone, and having intellectual discussions with people about psychology and suicide. I miss being in academia. I miss having the research tools at my finger tips. (Call me a geek!) But I no longer have that and that makes me depressed. I know that if I were in school and pursuing my passion, I might be feeling better but I can’t afford school. It just costs too much for a bachelor’s education and I don’t have the money. If I didn’t screw up my student loans, I would be going back to school now. It would give me routine and sociability with my fellow classmates. I sometimes feel like holding a cardboard box in the square and say “college tuition” just to see if I would get a response. Be a fun experiment, from the sociological viewpoint.
I have thought of passing this on to my therapist, but I figure why bother. She doesn’t “listen” anymore…