Category: suicide

Feeling frustrated not being able to speak

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders, suicide

Feeling frustrated not being able to speak

“Running on empty. There was nothing left but doubt. I picked up my pen and wrote my way out.” Lin-Manuel Miranda

Someone on Twitter had this as their tweet and I had to keep it. It really is fitting as right now, I really need to write how I feel as things are becoming so overwhelming. All week I’ve thought about nothing but suicide. I was sending my psych emails and she would call me out of concern. After one of the calls, I sent her an email explaining how things get for me and I think she understood. I never got a response so I can’t say how she took it.

All week my voice has not been above a whisper. There are a few times where my voice seems to be there but only for a few seconds and then it is gone again. I have been in contact all week with my pcp about this. He was reluctant to prescribe a steroid only for fear of side effects. By Thursday I was not doing any better and I was feeling pretty damn frustrated. My pcp was away so I had to wait 24 hours for a response because no one was covering him apparently. I saw his nurse again and I stressed to him that I wanted to be on steroids to see if they would help. Instead I got a message asking me if I wanted to proceed with being prescribed Friday. I was so fucking pissed off I swore and told the nurse off. I told him that if I wasn’t going to be prescribed anything today (meaning yesterday), I was going to go to an emergency for the throat. He said the message would be part of my medical record and he didn’t like my tone. I didn’t give two fucks. I was aggravated and frustrated that all week I’ve had to rely on email messages to figure out what the fuck to do about my voice. I emailed my psych, who was really worried as she kept harping on it, which forced me to do something about it. I went to the emergency department at another hospital.

I couldn’t talk so I wrote things out that they would need on index cards. I was seen my a physician assistant rather than a doctor. I had to explain what had happened, that an allergic reaction from one week ago caused me to lose my voice. She said that I would need to have a camera put down my throat to see what was going on and she would have to get a doctor to do this. I had to wait some more while she was getting someone. I was more annoyed at this. So this doctor comes in and I have to tell my story, again! He said he would put a camera up my nose to see my vocal cords. Great, another invasive procedure. There was some pain despite the lidocaine as they couldn’t really thread the camera down my nose because of my septum. I don’t know if it was swollen or deviated or what. He might have said but I don’t remember. First he said that things were swollen and I would need steroids. Then he left as he said he wanted a laryngologist to see the video and go from there. He comes back and said that I would need speech therapy as the muscles around my larynx aren’t moving like they should. For Fucks Sake!!! He said just to take an NSAID and make an appointment soon. The PA comes back with the discharge paperwork and some names of some doctors that I can try calling for an appointment over the next few days, which means Monday as it is now the weekend. I am glad I don’t have to be on steroids but I am not happy this isn’t a quick fix. I am to avoid speaking for long periods. I emailed my psych to let her know what was going on.

I came home and was basically crushed. I was overwhelmed that I didn’t kill myself like I wanted to. I was depressed that I had yet another invasive procedure and would probably need another one with a better camera for them to know what was going on. I further did not know how I was to have psychotherapy on Tuesday or see the new psychopharm on Thursday as both require me to speak for at least an hour. All I kept thinking about was just killing myself and now that I know that ginger is lethal for me, I was thinking of getting some gummies or something and that would be that. I emailed my psych telling her I was overwhelmed with everything. She asked if I wanted to talk and I replied you mean whisper. I told her to call me whenever as I had no plans for today.

I told her I wanted to cry but it hurt to have an ugly cry. She said crying would be good. I just can’t seem to be able to do it as my throat hurts so I have to stop. She wants me to follow up and if I can’t get a hold of someone, she will do it for me. Now I know she is really, really worried. She has never heard of this happening. I had sent a message to my urologist last night asking her if the new medicine she has me on can affect other muscles. It is the only thing new and I am not sure this is just a medication issue. She responded that she doesn’t think so but I should ask my pharmacist.

I cannot believe what has transpired in just ten days. I have been trying to write all this since Wed but every time I tried, I would start to cry and my throat would hurt so I would have to stop writing. I couldn’t even talk to some one about it as I have no fucking voice! All I could do was type, which is not the same fucking thing as I found out. Communicating with my mother is the hard part. I need to write down what I need to say to her because otherwise I would have to repeat myself three or four times and that just hurts too much when you have no voice. I had wanted to do some stuff around my room today but my psych said I need to rest as much as possible because of everything. I took a shower and now I am going to try and finish Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I have four chapters left in the book. Unfortunately, the chapter I am on is when Sirius dies. I hope I don’t cry.

and just like that…

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders, suicide

And just like that

I woke up when my med alarm went off. I know I fell asleep between 0230 and 0300 so I had a good amount of sleep. I didn’t take my meds right away and dozed until a little after 11. I had to use the bathroom and sort of wake up to talk to my psych around 12. I wasn’t in any kind of mood but pain was already a 7 and I hadn’t done much moving around yet.

I was still sort of dozing and kind of wondering what to do today when 12 came and I called my psych. She didn’t answer so I left a message. She called me back a few minutes later and we talked. I didn’t say anything about the plans for next week other than my appointments. She wants the therapist to be in touch with her and she is reaching out again to the new psychopharm that I will be seeing end of the month. She said she should know what her plans are by then and that I will be the first to know what they are. Back of my head was saying that was good but I won’t be here.

I had to use the bathroom again an hour later. My mother was in the bathroom so I had to wait. I am on my phone when she barges in so use the mouthwash. WTF. I was so fucking triggered because she closed the door and that always makes me nervous. I yelled at her and she is like it’s not like haven’t seen you before. WTF. I am a fucking adult who should be able to have some privacy when using the goddamn bathroom. Bad enough I have been dealing with the intrusive memories of what she did to me as a kid that now is just why the fuck am I still living with her. I just want to fucking die and that is the end of it.

Came back to my room and soon as I sat back down on my bed, pain shot up to a 10 and I was back to my suicidal mood again. I sent an email to my psych. I am supposed to be in touch with her Tues after my uro appointment. I am so apprehensive about it. I know I most likely will have to have an invasive test to see what is going on. I don’t know if I will go through with it as it is just creeping up the anxiety I have and making the PTSD stuff worse. Tentatively am planning on going to my location that day and rolling the dice.

I am not sure if the email that is in my drafts will be sent to my psych next week before rolling the dice. I can’t send it now and I really did not want to say what I had to say in an email. I wanted to mail it to her but I don’t have a physical address for her so that is out. I am sure I can probably get an address via Google but don’t think sending something to her home address would be a good idea. Fucking hate the institution she worked at for forcing her. I am just so angry.

I decided to make something to eat and that proved to be the death of me. I had just finished eating and was finishing up the rest of my coffee when pain just went berserk. It went up to a 12 and I literally could not do anything but force breaths out of my lungs. When the wave of pain slowly went down again, I put what I used in the sink and limped my way to my room. I couldn’t bear full weight on my damn foot. Going up the stairs was fun. I decided to at least put some clothes in my bureau and then I emptied my waste bucket by my bed. Within minutes of sitting back on my bed again the pain hit so damn hard I was breathless. I couldn’t see straight for the life of me. Pain is now a 12 maybe 13, from my ankle bone down the side of my foot. I can barely move as each movement hurts, even if it isn’t my foot. Trying to keep still is torture. I took my breakthrough meds even though I know a sugar pill would probably work better. But maybe it will bring the pain down to an 8 or 6 (doubtful, but could happen). My plans for a shower and doing something in my room are now gone. I got to take my recycling down to the bin and the trash, too. Guess that won’t happen today. I also wanted to package up some gifts for a few friends of mine that have a young child. Hope they will be happy with it. Also hoping my family mails it out should I go.

I am back to living by the hour and what that means is I don’t have a future. Everything seems to far away right now that even though Monday I see the therapist, it feels like years. I don’t know what will be happening tonight much less tomorrow. Monday is just too far away even though it is just a couple of days. An hour or minute is all I can handle right now. I am too overwhelmed with the pain and the suicidality that I can’t deal with anything else right now. It will topple the scales and I really don’t want to end my life in my room. The therapist said I was a pessimist and when I told her it was my middle name, she said she would update my medical record. Hard to be optimistic when you feel so hopeless.

Used to…

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders, suicide

Used to…

I used to write in my journals all the anxiety and fear and depression that swept through my heart. The pain of living night after night in despair so great I thought I would never see the light of day again. It was cathartic and once the words were on paper (or in a word doc like they are now), I didn’t have to deal with them. The feelings were out, I felt better. I didn’t have to remember anymore.

I used to write blogs that had some purpose, whether in my clinical papers I wrote or my daily struggles with suicide and depression and chronic pain. It opened a portal so I could share myself with others who were going through the same things. It was the last remaining joy in my life before pain took over. I have been struggling since. Where I would used to write sometimes twice a day and the odd three, I barely write twice a week, if that many. I’ve lost hope in things.

I used to go to therapy with the hope that things would get better. Despite going through 10 in a short period of time (8 years), I still held on that the “right” one was out there. Therapist number 12 I thought was that “right” person until 16 years later we ended, on our anniversary date. She no longer wanted to work with me anymore. I had been in a lot grief since that day. Took me two months to try and figure out if I needed therapy and why I needed therapy. So therapist number 14 came along (13 was the interim therapist I saw while 12 was on maternity leave). He was different from all my previous therapists. He frustrated me more than any of them put together. I skipped sessions because of the anger. Then there were sessions where I felt we were making progress but like the other therapists before him, didn’t go anywhere the following week. In Jan of this year (2019) I realized I couldn’t stay with him after he told me to Google some relaxation stuff for my PTSD. That was the last straw. I had sprained my ankle during this time and decided going to therapy and working on my ankle were going to tax me like it did before. I got physically better, telling him I would go back to him when I was done. I never did.

By March of this year, I was having serious mood shifts of suicidality. In Jan because pain had been really bad, I planned a date to end it. It was the end of March. I had some of my ducks in a row to end it. But the month came and I didn’t have so many ducks as I thought I did. I fell into despair. Pain was keeping me up. The insomnia that I had infrequently, started to become more chronic. I was spending more and more time awake than I was sleeping. Add in not having a therapeutic relationship and I was barely above water. I kept writing my psych of 26 years how bad I felt nearly every day. We were in frequent contact as she was the only person in my team. The day I was to end it, it was raining. I had wanted to end it outside in a desolate place. The rain spoiled it and I had an appointment with my psych that day. I saw my psych as I have never skipped an appointment with her and wasn’t going to start.

April was torturous. By the middle, my psych wanted me to go in the hospital and I said no. I asked her why she wanted me still alive because at that point, I felt so worthless, I had no idea why she wanted me alive other than she “had to.” She told me some good reasons that I still remember. I tried to hold on to those. I starting thinking about writing another book that would be so outside my realm of mental health but would take a lot of research to do it. It would be a challenge and I hoped I was up for it. That lasted a few days. Then I was back in the despair and this time, it wasn’t letting me go.

I used to think that the hospital was a safe haven, a place to recover and get well, learn new coping skills and then be able to face the challenges outside better. With insurances no longer covering long stays, this is nearly impossible. Some people are lucky to stay past three days. Others stay just 24 hours like that has any benefit. I was hesitant to go back in. I was just about as suicidal you could be without actually attempting and I was getting close. There were a few nights where I didn’t think I would make it through the night. I honestly have no clue what kept me here or how I did it. I stayed for three weeks and then my whole world went to smithereens.

I was supposed to see my psych the following week but she changed it to the following Monday. She said she had some news to tell me and I listened. The institution she had been apart of for 30 years was letting her go. She didn’t go into the reasons and I asked her if writing a letter would help and she said no. I have been seeing her for 26 years. My heart broke in a million pieces but I didn’t know it yet. I still had one week left of seeing her and it would be the last until she was some place else, though she didn’t know where yet. She wanted to stay in academia and Boston is the academia capital. All the while I was to see a new therapist, number 15. The first visit didn’t go well. She hammered me with questions, took my history (I tried to stay away from suicide as that freaks mental health professionals out), and who I was seeing for psych. She asked me about my hospital stay and I thought oh shit here we go. She asked what I was to do with crisis. I said call my psych. But according to her, my psych had “terminated” me. I couldn’t comprehend that. I knew my psych didn’t, she said so and she doesn’t lie. She still wanted to be in my care, to take care of me. I didn’t know if I would see this therapist again. She was nonchalant about setting up another appointment with me. I said I give new therapists at least three sessions before deciding if they would work. She agreed on that point.

I don’t know what will happen the next few weeks. I am back to being highly suicidal without a voice. My one or two places where I catharized my feelings are blank, and have been since the day my psych said she was temporarily leaving me. Wed I got a call to see a new psych and I nearly had a meltdown in the lobby of the building where I first started seeing my psych. But I had to see my pcp so had to keep things together. I have had some medical problems this past week that are still unresolved. I never thought my body would be broken down so much at 43, but then, I never thought I would live to see this age.

I used to believe I would always write in some way, shape, or form. I never thought my words would be hard to reach for. Between the physical and emotional pain, the medications I take, and the pressure of trying to stay some what alive for whatever reason when I just want to fucking die, I am at a loss of words. Some times they breakthrough the constriction I am in, the blinders that say that I should die and nothing else matters. My psych asked me if I would be alright for next week, and she said Monday. I told her I didn’t know. I still don’t know. I want to find that desolate place and end it so fucking much. The thought of dealing with CRPS (complex regional pain syndrome) without pain meds is freaking me out, especially as they don’t work as they once did. It is no fault of the medication, just the disease process. Eventually, there will be nothing that will work for it and I cannot cope with that. I cannot imagine spending my life in so much pain when I already spent 28+ years of it managing the mental illness part of me. I used to believe there was hope out there. Now I am not so sure anymore.

Back in the Abyss

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders, suicide

Back in the Abyss

I finished PT and had to get a coffee. It was decent. I then had to wait for the bus a good twenty minutes because I had just missed the one that would take me home. So I had to walk to a bus stop where buses were going by more frequently than where I was to the train station. I didn’t have to wait long for the bus home, thankfully. I was about ¾ of the way home when my ankle exploded in pain and I swore out loud. I then started to panic as I wasn’t sure if I would be able to walk home when my stop came up. The stabbing started and is still going on 5 hours later. It has been in the same fucking spot the past 3-4 weeks. I came home and then went up to my room where I basically have been the whole time, with the exception of going to the bathroom.

I took my meds. A thunderstorm has just started, which probably is why my pain has kicked off. I am so fucking depressed I don’t even care about baseball tonight. I have been on Twitter, though. There have been 3 homeruns, back to back to back. Last I looked at the score it was 8-0 Sox. Hopefully the bullpen doesn’t fuck it up. I have been listening to Luke Combs’s album, This one’s for you. It has tied Garth Brooks’s No Fences album in some record. I am so happy for this guy. I hope he sticks with the country genre and doesn’t move to the country pop shit.

While I was waiting for the bus, there was a guy talking to himself. Sadly, his conversation was similar to the kind I have with my voices all the time. I have been having this recurring fantasy where I am with my psych while I am in a room. She comes in while I am very agitate and just going off with the voices and it is quite clear I am having a conversation with someone. She is watching me while this conversation is going on as I did not notice her coming into the room. She calmly asks who I am talking to and I turn around to answer, thinking it is another voice joining the crowd, when I see her and immediately think “oh shit”. I was busted. I had this happen to me when my voices were out of control back in 2008. I was having a conversation with the voices when my research manager walked by me, mid conversation. God, these voices haven’t happened outside my place but they are with me all the time telling me how to do things or asking why I am going this particular way to a place I frequently go to. It gets annoying depending on my level of anxiety and agitation or if someone pissed me off and I am blowing off steam to them. To this day I am convinced that when my father called me a liar and I was very upset, if I had started engaging them in conversation, I probably would have schizophrenia instead of a mood disorder.

I wanted to order food. I still might as I am getting hungry. I haven’t eaten anything except a protein bar. I think I will be alright as the other day all I did was eat. I didn’t overeat but I just ate more than I have the past few months. I had wanted a beer so I went to my sister’s apartment. While drinking it, she had chips on the counter so I had some. Then I made a sandwich. Unfortunately, I had a reaction to the beer, which sucks because it was good tasting. I ended up having to take some Benadryl. With in an hour or so my tongue and roof of my mouth were feeling normal. I have no idea what kind of hops were used and if it had ginger in it. I doubt it was the citrusy stuff.

I emailed my psych about falling into the abyss as I am so far down a black hole right now. I haven’t showered since sometime last week. I hate that I haven’t washed my hair since getting it cut on Friday. My head is so itchy. I would tonight but my damn foot is hurting to much to risk it. Pain is usually better in the morning but the rain is suppose to continue till the afternoon, so we’ll see. Really hope I can because I feel like crud.