So this is the 18th month that my peroneous muscle has been swollen and no doctor can give me a reason why or make the swelling go down. Tonight I was hit with self harming urges to filet open the swollen part but before I acted I decided to page my psychiatrist. It has been 5 hrs and I still have not heard from her but the urges have subsided for now. I think it is part of my delusional self that I think the root of my problems lies in this swollen tissue. If I just remove it, maybe I won’t be in so much pain. I want to write an email to my doc and clinically explain the significance of opening the tissues so they can breath and maybe the bad part will come out and the swelling will finally go down. I also have swollen ankles but these are easy to ice and elevate and when I do the swelling does go down. For my leg inflammation, I have yet to find “the” ice cube to decrease it nor the right elevation level to make it go down. According to my MRI it is interstitial swelling so only if I cut will the swelling become decreased, least in my mind. The voices have been on my side and been trying to cheer me on but fear of cutting and not being able to control the bleeding is the only reason I have yet to perform this operation. I do not know how to sew myself back up once I cut and if I do need stitches, I will have to ask a family member to take me to the hospital which will not be fun. I hate going to the hospital to get stitched up. It always leads to a psych eval that is pointless. Most of the time they just want to know that you did not do this to kill yourself and that you will not do it again. I am the master of this type of talking as I have been there on many occassions.
Another reason I have not done it is because it will be hard to hide. It is summer time and I have absolutely no intention of wearing jeans or long pants as I will melt. Heat and my nerve condition do not go together.
So I have a nice lump on my leg that is like a boil on my neck festering away and I cannot lance it as much as I would LOVE to…
Category: suicide attempt
Stalker gone
So with my perception blog, I added it to my other blog and called it my last. I had a stalker on the other one and it crept me out that she was following what I was saying and needed my imput after every comment she posted. I don’t need that type of harrassment. I want to be able to write what I want and not worry about the content. I know my writing is pretty dark but being suicidal isn’t a life full of being in a rose garden, seeing things through rose colored glasses. It is about being in a dark place and my blog is my place to vent out my inner most thoughts of the darkest corners of my mind. It is the abyss that I fall into that drives my writing and sadly if I’m not in it I cannot write about it. If I don’t feel, I just cannot write. It is very rare that I write about happy stuff because it is too far and in between. I tend not to trust it because I know I will be deeper in the abyss than I was the last time I was in it.
My doctor yesterday told me to lose weight so tonight instead of eating something I had a slim fast shake because I was hungry. I think my days are messed up because I don’t eat regularly through out the day and I might just have one meal a day. Sometimes it is because I am too lazy to cook. Other times it is because I don’t know what I want. But I am going to try the shakes and see if I lose weight and am able to keep it off. I know I have gained weight over the past few months but being inactive will do that. I would love to walk but it causes me too much pain. I have a nice lump on my leg right now telling me I did too much today though I hardly did anything worthy of it swelling. I spend most of my time cooped up in my room because it’s cooler than the rest of the house. I will be the first to admit I am a lazy bastard but when you have chronic pain, there really is no way of being an active bastard. I wish I was working or was able to do volunteer work. I just don’t know. I’m not that much of an out going person.
Tomorrow I have an appt with my therapist that I hope I can keep. I truly cannot wait to talk with her as I have some stuff on my mind I need to get off my chest. Like am I truly a nothing? Lately I just feel like one. I feel that all I do doesn’t matter to anyone and people can care less about me. I don’t know why I feel this way but I do.
Meds are finally kicking in now so I think I will sign off for now. Such a relief for the pain meds to stop the crushing pains I feel every night.
perception
Had a visit with my primary doc today and it went well. I got what I needed and now just need to settle for the month of what ifs until next month. We discussed the paper I sent him and agreed that though my intention was clear with him, his staff was a moron in handling it. Instead of getting the point of what my pain was meaning to me, they just focused on the small suicide part and disregarded everything else in the paper, which pissed me off. I had given this to my neurologist and my psychiatrist and if there was any suicidal warning in the paper, I think the white coats would have been thrown at me in a heart beat. But this is what it is, CYAM (Cover Your Ass Medicine). My neurological condition ignored and I am again just a mentally ill patient.
After my appt I really didn’t know what to do with myself. I came home and had something to eat as I hadn’t eaten anything all day. My foot was sore from walking around and felt like I was walking on hot pokers. I debated on taking something but decided against it because I didn’t want to be sleepy. Tonight the show Perception is on and I can’t wait to watch it but it is a few hours away. This show has found meaning to me with the parallels of the main character’s struggle with schizophrenia and my own battles with psychosis. I too have the main voices and the ones that come along just to haunt me.
I tried writing on my suicide attempt paper but it really did not hold my attention for long. I seem to have lost my writing ability for this for now. I ended up editing it a little bit trying to make it make sense a little more. My hopes of it being a sequel to my other paper have been dashed, as it is already so long there is no way I can introduce the lyrics now. Plus I have not felt strongly about this song in a long time so trying to get the juices flowing has been slow and uneventful. I wish I could turn and write the paper like I did the other but I had more to go on with the other than with this one. It has turned painfully personal and I just cannot let the human element of this new paper die with just what I have written. My experiences, though I do not know if they are valuable, have been injected into this and I can’t seem to remove them without taking away from the paper. Now I find myself writing about every attempt I have made in my life and the consequences of those actions. I don’t know if that is what people want to read about but I write about the aftermath and how it felt after each failed attempt. Maybe I have just given up on trying again and that is why it has been so long since I have attempted again. True I feel like the biggest failure in the world knowing this but how can I not. This is deeply personal talking about the lowest point in my life and wanting to end it all and then by some grace, still be forced to live on afterwards because of some kind of divine intervention. Of the many attempts I have tried, only 1 was medically serious to warrant a hospitalization. The others were not so serious but did lead me to another hospitalization. Since the age of sixteen I have had close to 30 hospitalizations. Most have been involuntary as I posed a danger to myself and it is law to hospitalize for that reason. I just wonder why I have survived this long. Am I suicidal if I don’t attempt and just plan? We can go into the whole what makes a person a suicidal ideator vs an attempter but most would agreed prevention lies in before the attempt not after. We hear stories about suicides and their survivors but what you don’t hear at all is about the attempter that survived. These truly are the ones that need the most attention to but because their world is so private no one really knows. Unless someone survives a shotgun wound or emmolation or hanging attempt, you often don’t see the scars of attempters. True those that slice their wrist leave scars but most do survive to eventually tell their tale. There are countless overdoses every year that get under reported or if successful get ruled as accidental poisonings rather than suicides mostly to either spare the family the “shame” or because there was no clear indication that the poisoning was intentional. Most people believe that unless there is a suicide note, it is not a suicide because he or she wouldn’t do that. I would say that the majority of people who attempt and fail feel too ashamed to admit what they have done and so cover their asses by saying it was an accident or just a foolish impulse but for those that succeed we will never know.
ramblings of being nothing
28-jan-11
Today was a somewhat useful day. I wish it was more productive but things just didn’t end up going the way I planned. I don’t know why I bother with making a plan or have some idea of how I want the day to go because it never really ends up going the way I want it to. Like today, I got all the way down to my work just to realized I left my keys at home. I had taken the T because I left my car in the garage at work because my brother in law has become a snow driveway nazi. Car needs to be out so he can snowblowing/shovel and then has to know if I am going out or not so as to not move vehicles after all the snowblowing. No keys means I can’t have access to my office, nor could I move my car to the front garages at work, nor get into my house after work so I go home. I so wanted to STAY home but I had samples to do.
I get to doing my research job and then work in the clinical lab because I agreed to cover someone. That’s all well and good except today most of Boston and surrounding areas were covered in fricken snow so no one went to the doctors, which means no samples. Today felt like a holiday as there was no work but I couldn’t leave cause I had already called out on Monday and needed to make up those hours.
I’ve come to realize that the worse time for me is right when I wake up, because I am still alive and the time it is right before going to my room for the night. I hate my room. I know it’s a huge mess but I don’t have time to clean it. Course, half of the mess is clothing which I have no place for so it just sits any place I can find it. One area of my room has paper stuff, old research articles and the like. I wish I could get another bureau and bookcase for it or some shelves, but I don’t have the time to shop. Even if I did, there is no way I can take it in my little car and carry it anywhere. My alcoves will be blocked and I wouldn’t have access to them. I keep saying one day I will do something but I never do. Even in my midnight madness, I hardly touch. I think in my head where they will go or what to do with them but then I fall asleep or think of something else and poof, idea gone. I dread coming home because mostly I know the psychache will return like it always does and I will once again be thinking of how to end my life. The past few years I have become really creative in the lethal methods of ending my life. I have not thought of a way to get a gun only because I would have to cross state lines and I am not sure I can do that. But knowing about chemicals have helped me. My only regret is that I have not been able to find a place that sells hemlock juice. I found a place that makes the tablets but the amount is so small I doubt it would be lethal enough.
So I was supposed to have session with my idiotic therapist tonight but because of the snow storm she had to cancel. Still pisses me off that SHE can cancel but I can’t. I felt like calling her at home but not sure if she would answer or her daughter. I could have fun if her daughter answered or maybe not. I always toy with these ideas but never fall through on any of them. Guess I am not aggressive enough. She reads these blogs because I no longer write in my journals anymore, which is a shame because I spent quite a bit of money getting these fancy journals that now are just collecting dust in my room. My latest journal that I bought was one of Edgar Allan Poe. It’s purple and leather bound. I had an idea to start a new one with the new year but it hasn’t happened yet. Just this blog. Guess writing is writing whether it is electronic or with pen and paper,huh?
I really want to die. I just hate my life so much and there really isn’t much reason for it. I have a job, a family that somewhat cares, nieces and nephew that I mean the world to, friends that supposedly care about me, co-workers that like me at. My health is ok despite the chronic pain that I deal with, whether it’s physical like tonight or mental. My foot is throbbing like there is no tomorrow and my toes are completely straight, which is weird cause they usually are curled up. CES entered my life almost ten years ago. My anniversary date is Feb 8th. Yet despite all this, I just have no desire, whatsoever to live. I just go about the act of living because I don’t want to cause anyone any pain. So I suffer so everyone else doesn’t have to. Yet I wonder how they would feel if I were suffering from cancer or some other terminal illness. Would they still want me to go on, knowing full well that with each breath causes me pain? Nothing I do causes me to think differently. All my life I never had some drive to live. I’m just not worth it. I am nothing and will always be nothing.
midnightdemons7 
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