Category: suicidality

Goodbye, Jack

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, suicidality, suicide

Goodbye, Jack

Since very early this morning, I have been playing my game like crazy to get as many missions done as possible. Only to find, that it is impossible to finish all the missions. I am going to miss this game. I don’t know what I am going to do tomorrow evening to wind down. I have a busy morning but when I come home, there isn’t going to be a game waiting for me to tend to crops and animals. It is going to be so weird. I still am thinking about getting off of Facebook for a while. I can already see that there is just going to be more bullshit photos of sayings and prayers. I have been slowly unfriending my gamer friends so they are not in my feed and my real friends are there. There is one gamer that has baby goats and like to post their pics. I could care less.

I had an interesting session with my therapist. I told her I was a nobody and for some reason, that triggered her into crying. She said it had to do with my self-regard. I don’t know why she took it personally. It is how I feel, a nothing, a nobody. Then I felt bad that she cried. But then, I have no idea the effect I have on people. It all started when I was telling her I don’t matter and the winner of the writing contest keeps coming up. It just hurts me that I didn’t win or even get a thank you for entering but sorry you didn’t win. I was one of 100 people that entered the contest. Surely they could have sent out sorry letters/emails. I just hate it when she says I contribute and I am wondering what the hell I am contributing to, exactly? It isn’t toward an academic journal or research lab. It isn’t even on the social media presence on Twitter. Hell, I tweet all the time and only 0.01 percent of the time, I get a response. So how am I contributing??

I entered another AAS contest, though I think I am wasting my money. I never win, but if you don’t play, you can’t win so I paid the money for the raffle and I will know June 2nd if I won. It’s an all inclusive package to Chicago for the 2016 annual conference. If I don’t win, I am never entering anymore contests from the AAS. I can’t be wasting money that can be used elsewhere.

My therapist was a real pita today. In addition to making her cry, she was just all in my business. I swear I was going to hang up on her if she told me one more positive thing about myself. I just couldn’t stand it. It’s one thing to hear it from time to time, but the last three days has been overwhelming me. It really is hard for the good stuff to sink in and I felt like she was hammering me with it. I understand that today I was going to end my life but now, I am not. And I really don’t know how I feel about that. Sure, I feel like a failure. But the last few days, I have been thinking about the people that would miss me and if I wasn’t here anymore. My online friends won’t know that I am gone. Who will be there to tell them? If they aren’t friends with my sisters, I doubt the message would go out. And what about Twitter? My sisters don’t know how to use Twitter so there will be a loss there. Just weird thoughts that I have been thinking about lately. And Julie Cerel’s number of 115 affected by one suicide keeps ringing in my head. That is the average number of people that will be affected by someone’s suicide. She doesn’t know where Shneidman got the number six, but it is way more than that. Hell, my mother’s side is just over 60 people, maybe more. My father’s side is smaller, more like 25 tops. And that is just my family, not including my friends, either at work or school or wherever.

My therapist wants me to make a nest. Of what exactly, I am not sure. The things she was naming to put in it sounded more like a hope box than a nest. When I brought that up to her, she was confused, or at least sounded like it. I might have interrupted her train of thought, which was sort of the point. I had told her what my psychiatrist said to me on my last visit to her. She called me, of all the people in her life, her role model. How the hell am I suppose to kill myself knowing these people take me so seriously and lovingly? I don’t know if it is a guilt trip but it sure feels that way. And I guess if they have their way, I am the one that continues to hurt, not them. But their affection towards me keeps me hanging on, even if it is for one more day.

Solitude of my Room

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, suicidality

Solitude of my Room

I woke up in a terrible mood. It was too early to do anything. I just really wanted to go back to sleep, for good, but couldn’t. Around nine, nature was calling so I went downstairs to answer it. My mother was in the bathroom and made a snarky comment. It was too early for me to respond. So I just took the abuse, did my business, and then went back up to the solitude of my room. I had several hours before therapy, and after my mother left the house, I breakfasted. By the time I finished, it was too late to catch the bus to get coffee. Starbucks just came out with S’Mores frappucino. I am dying to try it. But I have been nauseous for most of the day with post nasal drip. And migraine activity. When I went out, the sun was bright, and I instantly got a migraine. I hate when bright light cause migraines that quickly. I really can’t wait to get my sunglasses Friday.

My therapy session was surrounded by my thoughts and feelings about my death. I really wanted to end my life tomorrow but I have no method, no quick and dry method, anyway. This depresses me more than anything. How can you kill yourself if you don’t have a plan of action? I am a failure.

My therapist was happy that I published my psychosis story. I am glad I published it too as I got a lot of likes for it within the first hour. Then it kind of tampered off, like it usually does. I thought of sending it to my psychiatrist but still not convinced I should. I know she likes my writing. Everyone seems to like it even though I think it is crap. My therapist asked if I read it before I posted it. I told her I didn’t. Why would I? I know what it is about, I wrote the thing! The thing that bothers me most is that I get no parental support for my writing. My father doesn’t or wouldn’t even know what a “blog” is, nor would he read it because he is illiterate. My mother doesn’t like the topic of suicide so she wouldn’t read my writing. Course, it would bother her. And it’s not like I would like her to read my blog, anyway. But she made it clear she didn’t like my book and that hurt more than anything.

My therapist then proceeded to hound me on what I am working on for my second book. Here I am in a suicidal mood and she thinks I am working on a second book. What for? Why bother? She then hounded me about my writing. I can’t catch a break with her. I am all out of ideas to write for my second book. The psychosis piece was my last addition that I thought of. I have another idea to write about my delusions but I am not sure if that will be triggering to me or not. Last thing I need is another psychotic break. I didn’t tell my therapist this. She went on about drivers and such. Drivers is her new word for suicidal impulses. It is the reason “driving” the suicidal thoughts. She wanted me to increase my pain medication or at least take it more regularly. If I take it anymore than I have, I might be overdosing on it. And that will defeat the purpose of saving my life. She knows my physical pain is what is “driving” me to think of ending my life. I just can’t get away from the pain. Every single night for the last month, I have been suffering terribly. And every night I think about ending my life. But I never think about the “how”. I am an idiot, I know. But my other methods have always failed me so I need something that will work. And I am tired, so very tired of just wishing my death.

I have been very solemn around my game. It ends tomorrow, I think at midnight. There has been no time frame given as to when it will end. I have been trying eagerly to get the pop up to end missions but have not gotten it yet today. I keep playing hoping it will appear. I am going to miss this game so much. I am close to finishing a couple of missions I have been working with for the last few months but I don’t think I have time to finish. Time is just not there to collect the stuff I need. It is really depressing me. I have played this game for years, annoying as it has been at times. But it passed the time adequately and gave me something to do during the day. It was a distraction that I needed from my thoughts. Now it is no longer going to be there and I am not sure what I am going to do with myself.

Bad night of pain

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, cauda equina syndrome, chronic physical pain, depression, suicidality

I’m typing this on my phone so if there are mistakes, that is why.

I am in horrible pain as I was expecting from my long day. I feel horribly depressed and suicidal. If I had something really lethal, I might try it. I don’t. I am very distraught that I have to go through another night of pain and misery. I guess it is good I don’t own any weapons. I always thought of purchasing a machete so I could hack off my ankle. Or fall on it to kill myself. But there are very few places that sell those kind of blades.

I often wonder why I am still living. I can’t stand the thought of going through another flare up because I wanted to have fun today. I love the Maya culture and I have missed out on so many things because of my disability. But this is the price I pay. Being in severe pain as I wait for my pain meds to do their job and knock me out in the process. I know in the morning I won’t feel so suicidal. But I am right now and that is why I am still up. Between the psychache and physical pain, I am under tremendous stress. I feel like I should do something. What, I am not sure.

I am so tired of being in pain all the time. It’s after midnight so my demons are coming out. Its a terrible thing to live like this day in and day out. I am exhausted. Being in chronic pain all the time just makes you exhausted and you don’t have to do anything to cause it. The pain just sucks whatever energy you have. Its awful.

I have been living in chronic pain for the last 3 years. You would think I would be used to it by now but I am not. It still drags me down to the abyss where I want to end my life and be done with this world. I am sick and tired of being sick and tired. This needs to end. But how??

coming out as transgender

by Midnight Demon, posted in suicidality, suicide attempt, suicide attempt survivor, transgender

Coming out as a transgendered male (Female to Male) has not been an easy thing to do. It has been a very confusing road since kindergarten. The hardest part of the journey was puberty. I had a male best friend and I seriously thought that we were of the same genders up until I started developing. When I started developing breasts and he didn’t, I was confused so much that I wanted to die. But when you are eleven, the concept of killing yourself is not completely formulated. You knew you wanted to die, but didn’t know how. You knew that suffocation by a plastic bag would do the trick, but were too scared you would get into trouble with your parents. That fear prevented a lot of suicide attempts, especially during adolescence. The more I developed into something that conflicted with my brain, the more it hurt. But it wasn’t a physical pain like that of a broken limb. The psychological pain was so intense that suicide was all that I thought about. The higher the pain, the deeper the suicidal impulses would emerge. But I had to be a “good girl” and fight what was wrong. I suppressed the feelings of maleness but still acted like a “tomboy” in every fiber of my being. I wore baseball hats whenever I could. My father disliked it so much, he often threatened to cut up my hats when I got “caught” wearing one. To him I was a girl and I should act like one. My sisters did act like their gender roles, but that make up and hairspray were something I was not into nor had an interest in. Boys didn’t wear those things and neither would I.

When my menses started, that really started the hardest part of the conflict to deal with. I was bleeding and I didn’t understand why. I was welcomed into “womanhood” and I wanted nothing to do with it. I didn’t understand why I wasn’t growing a penis. It was a very confusing time and month after month, I hated myself more and more. Even the use of feminine products was abhorrent to me. The more I grew into a freaking woman, the more I hated myself. I prayed for death every night. But no one knew of this struggle. Not even my best friend. With him, we were buddies. I was “Mike” and we played pretend male gendered games such as me being a mechanic or cable repairman. When T-ball season came around, I asked my father if I could play. But he stuffed my dreams of playing saying that is only for “boys” not for girls. I was beyond hurt.

During middle school, my sisters would have boyfriends. I never had an interest in boys. I was a boy so why would I be interested in my own gender. I didn’t have feelings for girls either. For the longest time, I thought I was asexual. It wasn’t until I was in therapy after my family fell apart that my therapist asked if I was gay. I felt really uncomfortable with the question. I just was saying I hadn’t found the right “boy” for me. She didn’t have to know that I was a boy inside just waiting to come out. I had suppressed it so much that I really didn’t think about it at this time.

When I first became suicidal, it was when I was fifteen. My family had fallen apart and I fell apart with it. My father called me a liar and my world ended. I was no longer a good “girl” in his eyes so there was nothing to live for. I started self-harm by cutting, thinking it would bring me to the verge of death, but all it did was bring my internal pain to the outside. After that therapist asked the “gay” question, I started thinking about it, but it was on a subconscious level. I remember being on the train and these really good looking women were on it. And I don’t know what possessed me, but I wanted to kiss them and it didn’t phase me that it was wrong. When I got hold of my senses (I made no such act toward them for fear of being called a freak), I was shocked. I grew up as an Italian Catholic and I knew homosexuality was forbidden. I knew I couldn’t bring it up in therapy. I was too proud to do so. Yet I continued to feel like I was crazy. Then things started to make sense to me. The voices that I was hearing, all were female except for one or two of them. I have been hearing voices since I was five, but that is another issue.

When I was sixteen, a therapist that I was seeing was leaving. I was very hurt. I felt I had nothing to live for with her leaving me. So in April 1993, I overdosed. The pain of living my life as what I was, was too great to bear. Subconsciously, I always wanted to die because I was in the wrong body. And I finally made an attempt to kill myself because of it. Though when I was asked the reasons, I just said I was depressed. No one figured out why I was so depressed. People never talked about being transgendered or being gay. Yet here I was, in the mix of being a confused teenager and had no one to turn to for help. Because I had suppressed so much of myself, I couldn’t even bring it to the surface. I had other issues to contend with, such as the break up of my parents.

Then suddenly women were attractive to me, something that has not happened before and I liked it. I thought I was crazy and that no one would understand. I felt isolated and despondent. There wasn’t a gay person that I knew and this was before the age of the internet so it wasn’t like I could ask Google what to do. Instead I internalized and compartmentalized. Then one day in January when I was 17, I started cutting myself and I didn’t stop until I was satisfied. But I didn’t know I did it. I knew I did it as I was holding a razor but I didn’t cut myself. I dissociated. That landed me in the hospital. I met a homosexual male and asked him about being gay. He told me that it was natural and that I wasn’t crazy. I took a chance and told the staff I was gay. I didn’t get a lifetime commitment in the psych ward. I felt a huge burden was lifted off my chest. But my Best friend that I had known since I was in diapers, didn’t like me being gay. He felt if we had sex, that would change me. But we already tried that and every time we were intimate, things turned off. I just wasn’t attracted sexually to males.

Fast forward to now. Around the time I was thirty-three, I started realizing that I wasn’t going to magically become a male. I came out in my therapist office and started crying like a baby because it was the source of my suicidality. I had been really suicidal and for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why. Then when my menses came, I immediately became suicidal. Since I put two and two together, I realized that I was a male and it was time that I stop repressing myself. I wear male clothing all the time, except for that time of the month that I am forced to endure. Trying to stop the female reproductive system has been the hardest task for me to endure.

I was recently hospitalized and am just a little over a week since I have been discharged. The reason I was in the hospital was because I had overdosed on some pills. I couldn’t take the self-hate anymore about being a transgender. There were other reasons too, but being in the wrong body took precedence over the others. I hate feeling like this. I know there are treatments out there but there is a lot of stigma that prevents it from coming to people like me. I am not sure I want the sex organs either but I do know I want a double mastectomy. There are days when I am okay with having breasts and then there are other days, I can’t stand them. I hope one day I can take the next step forward. But I got to first like myself because if I don’t have that, I won’t have anything to like or live for.