Tag: depression

motions of living

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, psychache, suicidality

It’s after midnight. With all the meds that I have taken because of my back pain, I should be out like a light. But as usual, the darkness has taken over me and I feel the need to write. I am thinking about my suicide plan, again. I can’t seem to not think about it. I know people need me to be here. And I want to be there for them, but I am suffering to the tenth degree of hell and I don’t know how much more I can take. I am not in serious pain, though my foot is throbbing like my heart beats. I can never get away from the throbbing.

I was reading a self-help book tonight about shame and perfectionism. It got me thinking about how much I am hurting because I was abused but I never talked about the abuse. My therapist calls it “loyalty” to my parents. I won’t say that about my cousin because I have little to no contact with him. It makes me sick and triggers me every time I see him or hear his name. What is worse is that he has a brother that looks just like him. Freaks me out every time I see him. But I have to remind myself that he is not the one that hurt me. I don’t know why this stuff is coming up now. I guess it’s because it hasn’t been dealt with and keeps surfacing at inopportune times. Like do I really need to talk about this stuff? It’s not the reason why I want to kill myself. Though maybe the shame is. Shame is a big thing. But most of it has to do with the fact, I am ashamed of who I am. I am not a male like my brain thinks I am. And it hurts. Being in chronic shame hurts. I feel disgusted with myself about this. I am appalled that I have breasts and get a menstrual cycle. In a few weeks, I will have to have a pap smear. I am not sure how it will go as it is a new person. I don’t know if she will be good or bad. But I am a trusting type. I will tell her to use a small speculum and pray that I don’t feel anything because of my nerve injury. I think the stress of this has spilled over to shame. I hate my privates being looked at, even by a medical professional. It just makes me feel dirty though I know logically, there is nothing wrong with this. It is a medical examination to make sure things are “normal”. It has been ten long years since I last had an exam of this nature so I am long overdue. This person doesn’t know my history of abuse, my history of nerve damage, nothing of the nature. I just hope I don’t shock her when I tell her I can’t feel her touching me. It’s just another thing that I am embarrassed about.

Then I think, why bother with this exam when I am going to kill myself in a few weeks from the time of the exam. It makes no sense, but yet I go through the motions of living because it is expected of me. I hate this responsibility to others that is preventing me from killing myself. And why do I have it!?? My therapist says it’s because I am not an impulsive person. I used to be an impulsive person, but that was more than 20 years ago. I used to cut back then because it was my only way of coping with the pain. Now, I just think of these elaborate ways to kill myself that doesn’t involve drugs or cutting. I have moved past that and that scares me because the methods that I have chosen are more lethal. More lethal and less window of survival. I have thought it out very carefully. But again, my heart is conflicted. As much as it wants to die, it doesn’t want to cause others pain. I know that I will be dead and that it shouldn’t matter, but I am a sensitive person that thinks of these things. I wish I could be selfish, just a little bit of the time so I could try and take my life. But I am not. It was drilled into me at a young age to always put others first. And I am putting others first before taking my life. My therapist says that she will never recover from my death and I know that is true. UGH. I hate her for doing this to me! Why did she have to shed a tear when I told her years ago that I was going to take my life? It was that tear that is killing me today and part of the reason I am still here. Without her passion and love, I wouldn’t be here. I don’t mean love in a sexual sense. We are not “lovers”, just have a huge feelings toward one another. With my psychiatrist, there is a pride and joy I get from her. Her smile and comfort keeps me going. I know she will always be there for me, no matter the hour. And I do love her for that.

I really don’t think that if I didn’t have their belief in me when I feel so worthless and hopeless, I would still be here. Yet I still struggle to take my life. The constriction has its hold on me during these dark hours of the night. Yet they don’t show their face in the morning light. It’s terrible going through this night after night with no relief. If I could, I would end things now. But I don’t want my mother to find me. I feel that will kill her. I have to find a place to do the deed. And I have been lazy trying to find a spot. It’s not like I can google it. Why must suicide be so hard? Yet people do it every day. I envy them, I really do. No one sees this side of me. No one is there. Sure, there might be a hotline or crisis center I can call, but why bother. I am not in distress. I am not in imminent danger. I just feel like killing myself because my heart hurts. The heaviness is back and it’s hard to breathe. My left breast feels like it weighs 6,000 pounds upon my chest. Yet I often think of cutting it off with piano wire. I just am afraid of the ensuing blood coming out of me that I won’t be able to stop. I will bleed to death and that is not a good way to go. I hate myself for feeling this way. I feel evil. I feel like I have to do something to ease my ache in my chest but what? Tylenol won’t work or any other analgesic. Even my opioid pain meds won’t touch this ache. How am I to relieve this suffering? I can’t sleep. My brain won’t shut down. I am dying a slow death. I am tired of hurting this degree night after night. And it’s a lonely struggle. I smile it away so no one can see the hurt beneath the surface. It is for me to bear and me only. It’s called the motions of living and it sucks.

Writing

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression

Saw my psychiatrist today. We talked about the depression and the sleep problems I have been having. She didn’t have any advice on how to deal. I am sleeping, just not on a normal schedule, whatever that is. She refilled my meds and when I went to pick them up at my pharmacy, I was shocked that the price was $0 for both of them! I like this!

I had my morning snicker’s latte. I wanted to write more than what I did but I had an errand to do before my appointment. I ended up writing while I was on the train ride home. I realized then that I need to buy a new journal. It’s almost half way through. The one that I really want is through Barnes and Noble. They have like a 500 page journal that I like. Maybe I will go to Kenmore my next pay period and see if they still have this journal. If not, I can always check online.

Since being let off of work because of my disability, I have written a lot more in my journals. They have become my saving grace, just like this blog has done. If you are struggling with mental illness, I encourage you to try and journal. It doesn’t have to be long. Just a short description about how your day went is sufficient or anything else that is troubling you. It really helps to express yourself this way, if you are able to do it. I know some people like art more than writing, and that is ok too.

I sent my psychiatrist my blog I wrote the other night when I was having the writing bug. She said she wants to see more of my “cathartic” writing so I am sending it to her. She really likes my writing and think it has improved. I don’t see it, but then I write something every day, even on days I don’t feel like writing.

I had another rough sleep session. I should have told my psychiatrist that my therapist thinks I am hypomanic again. But I know I am not so that is why I didn’t say anything. I am so tired all the time from not having a regular sleep schedule. If I was working, I would be in big trouble. Last night, as I was trying to get to sleep, my mother came into my room because there was a problem with her TV. The aggravation from that cost me a few minutes to calm down and get back to a comfy spot to sleep. My psych doesn’t know why I wake up before seven most days. I was just glad I was able to get a quad mocha before seeing her. I had a hard time getting up. If I didn’t have to get up, I probably would have slept longer. But I had woken up around 0230 and didn’t go back to sleep until an hour or so later. I have been trying not to play with my electronics when I get up. But it’s hard not checking my phone to see if messages have come through. I didn’t wake up in pain or anything, I just woke up, ready to face the day. Or in this case, the night. I had went to bed earlier than usual because the baseball game was in the afternoon. That is another one of my triggers. Going to bed before 2100. I almost always wake up between 2 and 4 if I sleep before 2100. I don’t nap during the day any more. I usually try and stay up as long as I can, even though right now it’s after 1700 and I want a nap very badly. Game is on at 1900 so I will probably listen to it till around 2100 or the end, which ever comes first. One of the games lasted two hours and fifteen minutes. It was the fastest game I ever heard. Course there was nothing going on, which made it fast. But the way that I am feeling right now, I don’t think I am going to make it to 2200. I can try, but I doubt it, unless I catch my second wind.

My mood has been up and down today. It was up during the morning when I was having “me” time but then turned sour when I had to do my errand. I had to get on buses and people are so rude. Then on the way home, a woman was half asleep on her seat. She was so hunched over, I thought she was going to fall over. It was sad. I felt bad for her. My foot also did not want to cooperate with me while walking home. At least two times, my foot dragged. I was turning my foot again, probably because it got fatigued. I no longer wear my AFO to prevent this from happening. My foot/ankle is really sore right now. It didn’t like all the walking I had to do. But I have to increase my walking so that I can be somewhat normal again. I hate being disabled. It’s one thing to be mentally disabled, but to be physically as well…just doesn’t bode well for the mind. I don’t know if the pain is going to get worse or not. Time can only tell. I already took one of my pain pills when I came home, which is probably why I am so sleepy.

An Impatient Toddler and other things

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, chronic physical pain, depression

I really should take a nap. I had a difficult morning. The bus to the Square was late and I didn’t get my coffee like I wanted to. Then I had to deal with a toddler (father), who is impatient. All he did was complain and make assumptions that weren’t true. I just had excuses why I was “late”. I was in fact on time as the appointment wasn’t till 10:15 and I got there around 10. It wasn’t my fault the bus didn’t come when it was supposed to and it certainly wasn’t my fault the damn train was going slow as molasses the whole fucking way through the tunnels. I actually think molasses would have been traveling faster than this train. I was waiting for it to stop completely and really be delayed. I was already annoyed. I haven’t had my coffee, I was running a little late (which I hate), and the damn check in took forever. They had three people and two kept being on the phone. Then one guy cut me off, which really pissed me off. Once everything was said and done, my father was given his contrast drink and he drank it like it was going out of style. Way too fast. Then he started the second and started to feel sick. He wanted me to throw it away. I said no so he got up and threw it away! That was the last straw. If he didn’t care about his damn scans then so fucking be it. Neither am I. I don’t give a fuck. I am so aggravated. I need an Ativan to calm down. My foot is killing me because the bus ride home was fucking late and they had traffic so I stopped at a stop farther away from my house. One of the side streets had a fire hydrant going and guess who stepped in a puddle deeper than I thought it was?? This guy! My foot was soaked. I really had this day. Oh and did I mention I only had about four fucking hours of sleep??

I had the writing bug last night and didn’t go to sleep until 0300. I then woke up around 7. I was glad I wrote what I did. It really helped me. I didn’t get feedback on it like I was hoping but then that is the nature of the beast. Sometimes I do, and other times, I don’t. I sent it to my therapist. I thought about sending it to my psychiatrist but I am seeing her on Friday and can fill her in. I already told her that we cannot talk about baseball, at all. It is too upsetting for me. We won the first two games of the series with MN and then lost the 3rd game. The guy was throwing strikes so he should have been burned severely, but no one was swinging the bat. It was so frustrating. I also need to remember that I need refills on my meds! That is the most important thing.

I am really hungry, even though I just had lunch an hour ago. I don’t know what I am going to make now. Maybe some rice with peas and carrots. I took out hamburger for tomorrow. I will enjoy that for dinner. I am such a carnivore.

Writing Bug and Suicidal Risk

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

Writing bug and Suicide Risk

I have the insatiable need to write. I thought about journaling but I don’t feel like entering my thoughts in a private journal. What I have to say is too important. It is about my suicidal feelings. I am torn, really torn, about what to do with them. I am in no danger tonight. But I picked a date and that date is slowly approaching. I have been trying not to think about it but it’s in the back of my head. I keep thinking/telling myself I don’t have to go through with this. That I can make it through. A friend of mine would be crushed without my help. And would be devastated with my loss. I can’t help but feel trapped. Like I can’t take my life because people need me to be here and I don’t want to be here any more. It’s a struggle I have been dealing with for years. I am tired of fighting this. I just want to give in to my thoughts, to not exist anymore. It’s painful to breathe. I am tired of the heaviness on my chest and the accompanying chest pains that magically appear and disappear on their own. Sometimes an Ativan is needed to get rid of these pains. I know it’s my anxiety when the pain goes away and the heaviness lessens.

Right now I feel like I am a burden to myself. I almost told my therapist today that I don’t want to meet twice a week anymore. I know she wouldn’t approve. She knows I have a date but I have not given it to her. I just can’t because I know she will try and stop me. It’s not like she is going to be okay with me dying by suicide. No therapist will. Then I have the agony of sending a copy of my book to a former therapist. If I send it now and she tries to get in touch with me after I die, I know the book was written in vain. Some writer I am. I write how much this process has helped me, how CAMS has helped me and then I kill myself? Good going. It just doesn’t make sense. I am afraid. I am afraid of getting older and I don’t want to live because I never wanted to be an adult. But my support system kept on telling me I was worth it and I believed them. So I am still here today.

I know one day I will end my life by my own hand. It is written in the statistics of suicide research. I fit every model. I am high risk because I have attempted multiple times, I have an abuse history, I am transgender, and I am hopelessly depressed. All these factors are not good in assessing suicide risk. The only thing I have not done is give away my most prized possessions. Though I really don’t have any. I have my suicide library that I value dearly but it hasn’t helped me deal with my suicide thoughts. I have not been cured of them and as one person in my life has said, I never will. I will always have these thoughts of ending my life. But do I have to act on them? Should I just let them fester until they boil over? I don’t know. Right now I am calm. I am just going through the motions of life as if I were living without thinking of taking my life. No one knows except my therapist and psychiatrist. (And now the blogosphere.) I really want to end my life yet I still want something from it. What I want, I don’t know what that is. I would love to complete my degree but I don’t have the money for it. I don’t even know if the stress of school will activate my paranoia and psychosis again. I do want to write another book. But I have no ideas. They are few and far between. Then I think I should go back to the hospital where I will be safe and possibly be able to think of something to write. But why bother with that if I just want to end my life in a month and a half or so. I am so torn. Ambivalence is such a bitch. And it’s not like you can do a pro/con thing when contemplating ending your life. Every time I do it, I seem to have more pros than cons. There are reasons why I want to end my life. I don’t want to be in chronic physical pain anymore. I don’t want to have psychache. I don’t want to live because I just can’t tolerate my self hate. I can’t tolerate being a woman when my brain keeps telling me I am a man. And the only reason I have not gone through with transition is because my mother won’t accept me as a man. So I rather die as her daughter than her son. I have nothing else to live for. I am only alive to keep my therapist and family happy. They know my suffering. I guess they rather see me suffer than to be dead. I have been fighting this depression for a really long time. I have been suicidal since I was eight. I first attempted when I was ten. That was thirty years ago. I think that is a long time to suffer from a depression that defies treatment. No pill alleviates my suffering and I have been on many. I am just a hopeless case.

I thought about sending this to my therapist but I am not going to. It is written by me and not my alter, Hyde. I am very tired but I am not in pain, least not physically. My brain just wouldn’t shut off until I wrote this stuff out. Now I am feeling sleepy and I think I can call it a night. These suicidal thoughts that come out are my midnight demons. They come out after midnight and I am truly in their grip. My heart is heavy and there is nothing I can take to make it light. My world is dark and gray. It has been like this for a very long time.