Three feet from the bureau

Three feet from the bureau

In October of 2012, I was caught in another flare up. It was night time, well past business hours of doctors and therapists. Normally I am good at reaching out. I text my therapist. I write in my journal or blog to get through the episode. But this night was different. I snapped. I couldn’t bear any weight on my foot that night and it really made me feel like I couldn’t go on. I was so tired of feeling like an invalid. I wanted to die in an awful way. Problem was that I couldn’t get to my bureau three feet away to get the meds I needed to do me in. Any time I tried to move, I was in agony with horrible foot pain. I could barely move my foot out of the covers of my bed let alone stand long enough to shuffle to the bureau. I cried as there was nothing I could do but take what I had at my bedside. It wasn’t much but it was enough to make me unconscious and away to dreamland I went.

When I awoke the next morning, I was in a dreadful mood. I wondered if I had really done what I thought I did. I checked my pill box and it was empty. I checked the contents of my pain meds and it was close to empty. I couldn’t believe what I had done. But I survived it and am living to tell about it. How I woke up I don’t know. I felt ashamed of myself, not in surviving but of making an attempt and not seeking help. I had promised my doctors that if I felt like I did that night, I would call them. But no phone calls were made. I had a confidential suicide hotline to call but I didn’t. I had made suicide prevention part of my treatment plan but yet the crisis response plan went out the window that night. I didn’t implement any of it. I just took pill after pill until I passed out.

This scared me. I was no longer in pain yet who is to say that if this happened again I wouldn’t try to end my life again? Dealing with chronic pain is a beast. And so many times it doesn’t get a flag for suicide risk assessment. My better judgment wasn’t in gear that night. I not only wanted to end the pain, I wanted to end everything. I spend the next few days in a haze, and not from medication. I was scared to let my practitioners know what I had done. I finally broke down and told my therapist. It was very difficult admitting my attempt. I then told my psychiatrist and she shocked me by saying that if I wasn’t in pain, I wouldn’t have done what I did. And it’s true. Chronic pain changes you, not only physically but mentally as well. It took me a while to write about what I had done on my blog. After all three feet was the only thing stopping me from ending my life or attempting to. I’m still fearful about making another attempt while in the throws of another flare up. I keep a small portion of my meds by my bedside so they are not lethal. I was lucky I didn’t need medical intervention the next day. I still am not quite sure how many pills I took that night. And that also scares me because who is to say that the next time I won’t count them out.

Chronic pain is not something to underestimate. Hundreds try to end their life year after year because of physical pain. Most people see their doctors before an attempt is made. The question remains whether an assessment is made for either depression or suicidal thinking. My primary tries to assess my mental health but mostly just asks when my next appointment with my psychiatrist will be. It might be followed up by will I call him if I feel like taking an overdose of my pain medication. Yet he knows he is not the first person I will call. In my order of people to call: my psychiatrist, therapist, primary, then ER if I can’t get a hold of one of them.

That night, I didn’t call anyone. All of my safety plans went out of the window. All because I was overwhelmed by excruciating physical pain. I think if I could go back in time, I would have taken the time to breathe. And think more of self-preservation rather than self-destruction. I am more aware now of what to do but it’s not that easy when you are in the heat of the moment. A month ago I was again in excruciating pain for three days yet suicide was the furthest thing from my mind. I knew what to do to cope with the physical pain. And luckily that didn’t involve a bottle of pills. I felt the attack come on so treated my pain much earlier than I did in October. This helped to keep the suicide demons at bay. I texted my therapist, I emailed my primary that I was in excruciating pain. I also got in touch with my psychiatrist who help me to see there was a tomorrow. Doing these things didn’t make my physical pain hurt less but made my psychological pain bearable. It helped me to cope through this rough patch.

Being mindful about pain is how I get through bad flare ups. I have no control over these pain attacks. But I do have control over what I do with it. I learned my lesson from that October night.

What My Blog is About

What my blog is about

I feel like I should write this because I am tired of having to censor myself while writing my blog that is an important outlet for me. I started this blog because I was in a deep dark whole. It was a way for me to express my dark, suicidal thoughts. If this bothers you, please find another blog to read. I am not going to stop writing my thoughts because you find it offensive. This is what my blog is about, my midnight demons. I will never post the where, why, what, when I will kill myself on this blog. You will never know. But if there is more than three days of me not posting, I guess you can assume the worst, unless I am in the hospital and I am unable to post. I will usually post before going in the hospital as I very rarely get an involuntary admission. And I don’t do stupid things to hurt myself. There may or may not be a goodbye blog. That is something that will happen when I am close to really acting on my thoughts.

So, again, if my suicidality is too much for you to handle, go find something else to read. I don’t need friendship to help me through my thoughts. My writing is my therapy. And if I have to start censoring it because someone is offended, then it hurts me more than it hurts you. That is your problem, not mine.

On another note, if you don’t like what I write in this blog, DON’T READ IT. No one is forcing you to read my blogs so if it offends you or upsets you in anyway, go the fuck away from it. Find another blog to read and criticize.

Psychopharm for Suicide Prevention

Psychopharmacology for Suicide Prevention

Baldessarini and Tondo, in Suicide in Psychiatric Disorders, Tartarelli, Pompili, and Giardi, Eds 2007

I read this chapter in this book because I thought it would be interesting. Once you read that clozapine and lithium were valuable in the reduction of suicide, the rest of the article fell flat on its face. It talked about SRI’s (serotonin reuptake inhibitors) and how only fluoxetine was approved for adolescent use. The rest were “black boxed”. Maybe I was tired when I read this as I have been up most of the day and despite having two cups of caffeinated drinks, I am still tired. But the article, I felt was ridiculous. It listed more references than sentences. I hate articles like that. And the graphs made absolutely no sense. So unless you suffer from schizophrenia or Bipolar I disorder, you are fucked. I got more depressed reading this article.

I really wanted to kill myself after reading this. I don’t know why. Maybe because it said that I was in the age range that suicides happen and I am “untreated”. It did talk about how studies excludes those with suicidal thinking, which is a shame. But what was unclear was if the RCT (Random clinical trials) did anything if the subject became suicidal during the study. And what really pissed me off was they quoted “suicidality” like it wasn’t a word or something. It was really a bizarre article.

I also read today that 6 transgendered people killed themselves so far this year. I feel like I should be #7. I also read that Bruce Jenner, the athlete, is now a she. That totally blew my mind. It kind of gave me hope but I am feeling so shitty that all I can think about is killing myself because I hate myself so damn much. And that stupid article just gave me enough reasons to go ahead with it. I am going to write a will, so that my family knows what to do with my stuff. I want my books donated to my therapist in the hope it might help her. My journal articles might as well be recycled. They were of no value to anyone except me. My Suicide and Life threatening journal can be donated to the MGH library or a library that doesn’t have these important articles.

I am just so tired of living this way. My foot is throbbing big time and I didn’t even do anything to it the last few hours. It just exploded about an hour or two ago and the pain meds hasn’t even touched it. I think I am becoming psychotic again. I keep hearing my father’s voice and he isn’t here. And my regular voices have been really quiet, which is unusual. I know once I go to sleep, I probably will feel better when I wake up. I just feel so wired yet tired. Damn, it’s 0200. I don’t know how the hell time keeps escaping me. Maybe that is why I feel so disoriented. I know I have been playing on my laptop for the last few hours. I know because I have had to log out of one account and then log onto another back and forth to get the items I need for the one account I am working on. All for this stupid game I am playing. Maybe I should take my antipsychotic tonight. I usually take it every other night because otherwise I get nasty side effects. I hate them because they are so uncomfortable and I can’t do anything but SPAZ out. My arms and legs become very spastic. I hate it. But the drug keeps the bad voices away. I don’t know why I am hearing my father’s voice. He isn’t commanding. It’s just like remnants of a conversation more than talking to him like he is there. I don’t know if that explains it very well. Maybe I will take a trilafon and see if that helps.

more rants on suicide

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.