More Rants on Suicide
Have I mentioned how much I love Twitter? It brings me on the front lines of any suicide articles. I recently have two rants that I will discuss that I have read today concerning suicide and suicide prevention.
The first is a Washington Post article about a guy that wrote an email detailing his suicide, to multiple journalists. All he wanted was acknowledgement and validation of his work that he published in the 70s. What did these journalists do? NOTHING. Until it was too late. The author of the article asked “what was she supposed to do”? Answer: TALK TO THE PERSON! This guy waited several hours for a response before he jumped to his death. He was obviously waiting, desperately, for some kind of response to acknowledge his statements. And when he didn’t, he died. He died a needless death because these journalists didn’t take him seriously. The author states she got the email late, and he was in Japan, she was in the states, so went to sleep! Then when she woke up hours later, she decided to pursue the matter. In those precious hours, she could have responded with something, anything. All she had to do was hit reply. A one liner was, in my mind, all that was needed. It angers me that this guy was obviously in distress and was blatantly ignored. I hope this journalist learned her lesson. That suicide intentions of any kind are not to be ignored.
The second piece was about how psychiatrists deal with suicide. In the article, the author found it difficult to find someone to talk to about this. It was not talked about. Also in the article, it mentions her friend, who happened to be hospitalized for severe depression because she kept attempting suicide. Her friend had a therapist, that after she attempted, hung her out to dry. She didn’t want to treat her anymore. So now her friend is without outpatient care. She has not been able to find a therapist to deal with her suicidality. Because once you mention the “S” word, no one wants to deal with you. I have found this out myself. When my therapist permanently located to her current office 30 miles away from and my car broke down, permanently, I tried to find a therapist within a 5 mile radius of my house. I talked to 10 different therapists. ALL referred me to another therapist once they inquired about my suicidality. Because I had and was currently suicidal, they didn’t want anything to do with me. Then when I was able to find someone in my hometown, he was sweating bullets whenever I brought up my suicidality. How was I supposed to talk to him when it was obvious he was scared of losing me? I said fuck that and went back to my current therapist. We have phone conversations and I see her whenever I can borrow my sister’s car.
This article cited sources from the AAS and Dr. Paul Quinnett, two of my favorite sources. I commented on the article because it was dear to me. I know first hand the stigma around mental health professionals when a patient dies by suicide. I have read countless articles about it. It is a very difficult topic. And once a patient dies by suicide, it scars the practitioner for life. I have had many discussions with my therapist about what would she do if I died. She couldn’t fathom it, nor talk about it. I once brought her an article about what to do if I should die. She rejected it. And this is from someone who welcomes everything I bring her and hoards what I give her. I wanted her to know there were resources out there to help. She wanted no part of it. And this article highlighted that. Most professionals that lose a patient to suicide are alone, but they don’t need to be. As survivor resources that the AAS provides become more widely known, therapists are being helped by their peers and healing can occur.
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’m the problem
A few days ago, I got a comment on one of my blogs saying that my therapist isn’t the problem, I am. I was bullshit because how could I be the problem when my therapist was the one freaking out over my suicidality. Then I read my blog that was commented on. The commenter missed the point I was trying to get across and was blaming me for my problems because I wasn’t seeing things “her” way. I was “choosing” to stay depressed and suicidal rather than getting my shit together and moving forward. If only it was that easy.
It got me pretty upset. I have been trying to get a hold of my therapist to get her input. I know she is NOT going to blame me for my problems. The whole point of this blog might be kind of stupid but I can’t sleep and it is on my mind. And I know that I won’t be able to sleep until I get the thoughts out.
The fact of the matter is that I have a therapist that freaks out whenever I bring up my suicidal tendencies or thoughts about death. I find it isolating because I can’t talk about these feelings with her. How can I when she becomes so tense and flips out? I feel that therapy should be a place that you can talk about anything in the world that is bothering you. But suicidal thoughts are so taboo that it is difficult to engage in that kind of talk. I have been through this with my therapist for the past 10 years and it is always the same. She starts talking about things that have nothing to do with my suicidality and I am left feeling alone and helpless. So how am I the problem when I can’t talk about how I feel when I know it will be falling on deaf ears?
This commenter also brought out that I am irresponsible, “choosing” to spend my money on coffee and music rather than my bills, which is totally untrue. I can’t make ends meet because I am on limited income and have more bills than I can pay. So some months I buy coffee and my country music because I think I earned that right. I don’t skip a bill payment because I pay for it. It just means that I can’t get to eat out or pay for groceries. I think I am responsible enough to know what to pay for and what is frivolous. I have 5 bills I am responsible for every month and I pay them even though it leaves me with little left over for things like coffee and music. And I shouldn’t have to explain to the internet what I spend my money on. This commenter just has an assumption that is wrong, all because she thinks she is an expert in financial matters.
I use my coffee spending as a reward and my one joy in life. If that is too much for you Ms. Expert, go suck an egg. I am not going to stop spending a miniscule amount of money for coffee just because you think I am being a big spender. I wish I had the money to be a big spender but I don’t. I am on a fixed income every month and have to make do with what I have. I don’t work anymore because I have chronic pain and mental illness that requires at least two hospitalizations a year. But then, if you think that this is all bullshit, try a day in my shoes. I am sure you will topple over the first hour.
My suicidality makes me a “difficult” patient. No therapist wants to see their client die by suicide. No therapist wants to see their client hurting so bad they want to hurt themselves. It is a challenge to the mental health field. I have worked hard on this blog to tell my story and hope that it helps someone. After your bogus comments, I was questioning whether to continue. But fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I am not going to stop blogging because of your ignorance and high almighty attitude. People need to know what it is like living like this, and living through it, though it is difficult, extremely difficult at times. If you can’t understand it, stop reading my blog and go bother someone else.
Coming out as transgender II
The original draft of this document is password protected. As most of you know, I very rarely do so. But this time, it is a work in progress and is for the benefit of something I am working on in therapy. I hope that you will respect my privacy in this matter.
As I was writing this piece of work today, I cried. It brought out such strong emotions recapping all that I have been through with my sexuality and being in the wrong body. I didn’t know it was going to hit me so hard. I thought I had dealt with these feelings but apparently I didn’t. Or maybe it was just tears that needed to be let out again because I had held them in for so long.
I have been battling my menses this week because it is the off week that I must do so. Maybe that has me a little more sensitive than I really should be? Coming out as being transgendered has not been easy. Yet, so far, the people who have read my book doesn’t seem to care that I am so. The people who read my blog doesn’t care. One blogger has stated that he thought I was a male all along. I had no clue that I present myself as such. My therapist sees it. But how I view myself is much different than she could ever see.
I am not a cross dresser transgender. I truly believe that I am a male trapped in a female body. And I hate it. I hate myself for not speaking up sooner about it. Now I feel like it is too late to take the steps forward to be a male. It gets me severely depressed. Even more depressing is when someone uses my real name or the wrong pronoun. That really sets off a suicidal trigger in me I didn’t know I had.
Today has been a day that I wish I could hang my head in shame. But instead, I spent most of the day with my niece, babysitting her. She mostly watched TV while I worked on my blogs. And played my Facebook game. I took her to my cousin who is a hairdresser to have her hair cut. That took so long. But I got to know someone from Australia. It was really cool talking to him. I now forget what part of Australia he is from.
Being transgender is not something that I choose to be anymore than a chair is a chair. I am in the wrong body. Plain and simple. I don’t want to be a buff male, just one that has body and facial hair that goes with my gender. Sure I have often wondered if this was all in my head, that all I needed was reverse psychology and I would like being a female but there has been no indication that is going to happen. I have spent all my life being who I am. I think with my male brain. I have male mannerisms. I grow facial hair (though it is not complete). I also wondered if it was because of the hormone disruption that caused me to be a male and not a female. That if I didn’t have that X chromosome, I would have been ok. I will never know. I just know what I feel inside doesn’t match the outside. And it hurts in ways you cannot possibly know.
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