Category: suicide attempt

difference is hormones

by Midnight Demon, posted in mood disorders, suicide attempt, transgender

*****WARNING MIGHT BE TRIGGERING*******

I was listening to some old songs tonight and it got me into a depressive funk. I then started to think of why I am depressed as I had no real reason to be. I started mindlessly picking at my chin. Then I realized I shaved off my goatee yesterday. I think a bit of my “manhood” went with it because my mother yelled at me to shave it off. She is never going to be accepting of the transgender identity I have. I guess that is why I feel so depressed and suicidal. I feel no one understands me. My sisters didn’t say anything about the goatee I was wearing in support of my baseball team. My father had nothing to say. Not even my soon to be 90 year old Aunt/Godmother said anything when I saw her in the hospital a few weeks ago.

The reality is that I am a female, not a male like my brain and my feelings think I am. It makes me sick. Really it does. I should be in the grave by now. They always say that transgendered are the most likely to kill themselves. I don’t know why I just don’t go downstairs and get the rope. End it sometime after this week. I can play with the knots and length of rope I will need. I never intended to kill myself at my own house but hotels are too expensive and I don’t have a credit card anymore. I couldn’t get one unless I was paying THEM to get it.

I don’t know why I keep struggling to hold on. Even now I am just saying one more day to get through, just one more day. I don’t want one more day. I want to be dead NOW. Sure there are people I can talk to about this stuff, not. No one understands what I am going through. I don’t even understand what I am going through so how is anyone else? Yet tomorrow I am supposed to put on a happy face and see my family for my Aunt’s 90th birthday celebration and pretend that nothing is wrong with my life. I feel like my whole life is just a poser, an imposter of some sort. I have the façade of someone else all the time. But who that is, I don’t know. But don’t we all at one point have different sides of self? But this isn’t a side of me. This is the whole me that wants to die because I can’t be a male. I was looking at a photo of my Mexican friend with his little Mexican mustache and I was so jealous. Jealous because he can grow facial hair better than I ever could. And the difference is hormones. I have been contemplating getting supplements that boost testosterone. Only problem is that I am afraid it might also kill my liver or some other important organ. I know someone that gets hormones through a gym but I am not the type to do anything illegal. I don’t even know if I could “shoot” up the stuff in the first place. But I am getting far a field with these ideas.

The way I see it I have two choices: die or become a male. And frankly, dying seem a hell of a lot easier.

it doesn’t take too much to be overwhelmed

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, depression, mood disorders, suicide, suicide attempt

****WARNING MIGHT BE TRIGGERING****

I didn’t mean to start off the day like this, I don’t think anyone does. But I am feeling miserable and when I am miserable I write. This darkness has invaded my soul. I am no longer a good person but just an empty shell off what was, if that makes sense. I haven’t had coffee and wouldn’t you know it, I forgot to order cream with my groceries? Figures. Guess no coffee today, unless I go to Walgreens and buy it when I pick up my prescription. I also need a case of water. I need to try and keep myself hydrated which I have not been too successful at, if my lips are any indication. My lips are wicked dry and chapped, like a desert. I never made my chamomile tea last night. I got too sleepy and wanted to stay in my nice cozy bed. I will have to change the sheets after I take a shower. It is going to suck as I hate changing sheets but if I smell, I know my sheets do, too. I don’t know why everything has to be a struggle. I am struggling to stay alive. Struggling to do normal living activities. It is just so overwhelming. I hate being overwhelmed. But then, it doesn’t take much to become overwhelmed.

I had my therapy session tonight with my pain in the ass therapist. It’s funny but today I was reminded that even though we have been working together for years and years she still fricken panics whenever I get into a suicidal state. It’s like the blog I wrote a few months ago, Mentioning of suicide, therapist panics. Instead of asking me what my story was that went behind my suicidal reasoning, she didn’t want to hear it. She just wanted to listen to my reasons for living, my reasons for dying, and what I was going to do to get me through the next four days until we talked again. It is the SAME THING every single time. Nothing changes. I can hear the panic in her voice soon as I divulge my plan. It’s like she cannot tolerate listening to it. I don’t know why it is. It makes me feel better talking about it. But she doesn’t want to hear it so I don’t speak of it. I keep it inside and I think that is where Mr. Hyde is born. Mr. Hyde is my suicidal part that like to come out and write suicidal notes.

Tonight I was reminded that my therapist is not Aeschi in the least because I scare her. I don’t mean to scare her. That is not my intention. But my suicidality freaks her out. I only have a voice here on my blog to talk about my suicidal plans and thoughts and feelings. You would think, that a therapist office would be the place to divulge this information but it is not. It freaks them out too much. Maybe that is why there are so many suicides. The talking about suicide doesn’t get talked about so the client feels more alone than they already feel. I think that if I was a therapist, I would want to know my client’s thinking about suicide and why he wanted to throw himself out the window. Maybe in talking about it, there would be some underlying thought process that could be explored and then, maybe the feelings wouldn’t be so intense. But my therapist doesn’t want to hear about it. She wants to know where it hurts but not really. It is too scary for her. Where it hurts is where I want to put the rope around my neck. Where it hurts is where I am hopefully dangling out my bedroom window. I want to know what it feels like to lose the oxygen to my brain and lose consciousness permanently. But no one wants to hear that part. She just wants to know that if I want to act, I will call her first or someone else or go to the ER. Those places will not help me. They do not want to hear my story. They do not want to hear my plan or know of my pain. They will just hear that I am suicidal and should be in a safe place for a few days and hopefully in those few days I won’t be suicidal anymore, like it’s a magic cure. They do not want to know the depth of my sadness, the depth of my pain, the depth of my intolerable despair that has come upon me with its unrelenting hold around my throat. I am being suffocated. And no one can see it. No one can bare it. So I say what is expected of me and move on to another session where the same things go on. I am not saying my therapist is a failure. She is not. She is just a person who panics with the mention of suicide like the rest of the world.

a hodgepodge of blogs

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression, mood disorders, psychache, suicide, suicide attempt

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

by Midnight Demon, posted in chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, psychache, suicide, suicide attempt

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…