Tag Archives: hopelessness

What if I live?

What if I live?

Been thinking seriously of ending my life in a few weeks. I plan dates. It helps me cope knowing I have some date to look forward to so I know the misery will end. Usually this happens in a state of despair when my pain levels are high and all I can think about is death.

But the next morning, after a few hours or more of sleep, I feel differently. Some mornings I cannot believe I sunk so low. Yet usually there is some record of it—a blog or email or social media post. It brings me back, temporarily, to that place and I wonder what if I live rather than go through the plan to die?

I have few events coming up in the next few months. Something to look forward to, so to speak, yet on the nights of despair, they are far from reach, unable to be thought about. Someone said that I should write goodbye letters. I wrote one to my psychiatrist. The other 19 people on my list is a little harder. I don’t have all my ducks in a row, so to speak, to end my life like I had planned way back in March. I was supposed to die in June. It is now the middle of July and I am still here. I do’t feel that getting help would be helpful to me. I have been in therapy for 27 years, that is nearly half of my lifetime. Yet I still remain as suicidally trapped as I did when I was 15 years old and wanted to seriously end my life then.

What if I live?

I don’t know the answer to this question. I just keep going, hoping the day won’t come where I’ll say I’ve had enough and go through with my plan. I don’t want to live. I am in too much physical pain. CRPS has taken so much from me. Might as well take my life as well. I’m not worth living.

I feel like I am crying wolf too many times. I don’t think anyone believes just how serious I am this time. But even I am not 100% convinced I will end my life on the day I planned. What if I live? What if I die? What if I am rescued in time? No one knows my plan. Hell, I don’t even know it completely. I’ve been too afraid of putting it forward because that will make it more real. Do I have to end my life? I feel I have to. I feel no one cares how bad I hurt. And not one medical professional wants to see my suffering end. I’ve had enough of fighting for my care. I had to do this since I was 16. I can’t do it anymore. I’ve run out of gas. If I live, I’ll continue to suffer just so my family and friends aren’t in pain. What kind of life is that?

I’ve been pushing through trying to hang on. I know the demons will pass in the morning. Hence I live to see another day. Hence I live, least until despair grabs a hold of me once again.

What if I live?

A Pissy and Muggy Monday

A Pissy and Muggy Monday

I woke up at 0530 from a strange dream, which I do not recall presently. I had to use the bathroom and when I came back, my foot started hurting. I took a breakthrough med but didn’t want to go back to sleep as I knew I would wake up feeling like shit. I just laid down until my alarm went off. I didn’t get up. I just laid there until I had to get up. I took my morning meds then went downstairs to use the bathroom again and brush my teeth.

I checked my text messages when I got back to my room. I was hoping to have time to make coffee but the message said the bus I needed to take was delayed. Just lovely. I got dressed quickly. I decided to let the AC run to keep the room cool. I went downstairs and got a reusable cup and asked my mother if she needed anything while I was out. She didn’t and she didn’t call me back when I reached the stairs. I was barely awake and was putting stuff in my bag then taking them out only to put them back in. I have no idea what the hell I was doing. I finally got my shit together, put my sunglasses on, the Bluetooth on my phone, and left. Bus I was to take went by just as I was approaching the corner. If I “ran”, I would have caught it but then the light turned green and it took off. Oh well. Hope I didn’t have to wait long for the next one.

I got to my PT with a few minutes to spare, but not enough to grab a coffee. I graduated from PT for my groin pain. She was proud of me for sticking with the home exercises and making progress and actually doing more than I was doing. My thigh was not feeling good after she did the myofascial stuff she did but I fared okay. I left and waited for the bus. It was really hot and muggy. I was sweating and getting more pissy as I didn’t have a coffee. I decided I wasn’t going to go from the orange to the red line, but from the orange to green to red to go to my psych appt. I didn’t want to be walking around in circles at the orange line transfer like I did a few weeks ago. It worked as I was about 45 minutes early for my appt. I waited in the lobby and wrote in my journal. I had gotten coffee when the bus dropped me off at the station. Wasn’t the best but it worked.

I met with my psych and discussed the stuff I wrote in the emails, kind of. She wanted to know more about my mother. So I told her about the surgery tomorrow and my anxiety about everything. I also told her I was mad that the pain docs had once again dismissed what I wanted done. I told her I wanted the dose increased and she said they weren’t going to do that. So I am supposed to continue to plan my death and go through with it?? I didn’t tell her that cause that would have landed me in the emergency room. But I just feel like she is siding with them rather than me. I feel so angry. I am so fed up. The next time I see her is the day I planned my next death but I am not seeing her because I moved it up a week. Fuck it. I don’t care anymore. I am so done fighting all the fucking time and getting nowhere.

So next week when I get paid, I am scouting out the area where I wish to die and if it is feasible, find a good spot and return to it a few weeks later. I am done. I am not going to be around the rest of the summer. I don’t fucking care anymore. I will go through the motions like I am, live the double life and all. But other than that, I am going to write these damn letters and say goodbye to my friends and family. I guess that was why my psychiatrist’s letter was kind of easy to write. I no longer respect her as I once did. It hurts. But it taught me that you can’t trust anyone.

pained and pissed off

Pained and pissed off

I didn’t go to sleep till 0700. I woke up around 1000. I sorted out my meds and as there was a threat of increased pollen, I took an extra Allegra. I then made breakfast and coffee. I was so sleepy after the coffee that I decided to take a nap. My foot exploded a few minutes after my head hit the pillow. I was so fricken mad.

I tried to calm down so I took some more Ativan and Neurontin. I usually don’t take Neurontin during the day but I wanted to fricken sleep. I had emailed my psychiatrist around 0230. She responded and asked if I can come in on Monday. I told her it would be hard as I have PT in the morning but she had a time that suited when I could get to Boston so I said okay. I really thought today was Sunday all day. I kept having to look at my phone to see that it was Saturday. I am so off from not sleeping.

I was able to fall asleep around 1400. I slept for another 3.5 hours. I was hungry so made a burger. My sister is going to have a dinner for tomorrow so I will try and grill the steak that I have. I asked her to show me how to operate it. She didn’t have time today as she was going out.

The highlight of my day was having my little 5 month old cousin come over. She is such a cutie. She kept crying every time I talked to her so I let her be. She stopped crying when I walked away. HAHA. I came down after I finished my tea because I wanted a pic of her. I snuck it as her mother doesn’t want pics. I am not going to post it but I wanted to show my friend how cute she is (not on social media). I played with her and she was “talking”. Just kind of loud stuff, like she was boss. It was funny. I love her so much.

I came back upstairs and some troll on Twitter responded to a message I had posted at god knows what hour. It was from like 1 am or so. We exchanged a few messages and then I blocked him as he was a troll. He said he was using his friend’s phone to use Twitter. Ya, you are a troll if you do that. Idiot. I am trying to stay awake but my fucking foot feels like it is being sliced open. I didn’t have a number 2 today. I am upset about this because I need to keep track of it. I don’t remember if I went yesterday or not. I think I did but I don’t remember. I am kind of in a fog so my memory isn’t great. I will take some fiber pills with my night meds and just continue to take them until I go. I will take Miralax if I need to.

I had take my blood pressure around 4 am just to see what it was. Damn batteries were dead so I had to find new ones. I found them and put them in. Then took it. It was high on both wrists. Pulse was 91, a little fast. I took it when I woke up this morning and it was a much better number. I am going to keep track of it every day in one of my notebooks. My PCP wants to compare the office visit BP to my home BP readings.

I am kind of scared of meeting with my psych on Monday. If I am cool and collected, I don’t think anything will happen. I honestly don’t know what I said in the email. I know I told her about my mother’s upcoming surgery. What I said after that, I am not sure. I know I was pissed I didn’t end my life yesterday because I was in so much damn pain. I got to get through the to the damn pain clinic that the damn dose is not adequate for flares. I need something that will cover me and the breakthrough meds are not doing that. I am having severe pain, just by moving my foot or sometimes, not even moving my foot. It just explodes while I am on the bed, not doing anything. I can’t stand it. I hate, fucking absolutely hate, not being heard and this pain doc and fellow just does not listen!! They have their own idea of what is wrong and how to treat it and that is that. No intervention or input from the patient. What kind of care is that? Paternalistic! I hate it very much. My former PCP allowed collaboration and things. We might not have agreed on some things but at least we talked about it rather than him saying this is what we are doing end of story. I wish I still had him. I know he would be attacking my weight issues, which would be stressing me out, but at least I could count on him to help control my pain. I don’t think those kind of docs exist anymore.

painsomnia ramble

Painsomnia ramble

It is almost 0500. I have yet to sleep. I thought I would write to see if that would help me fall asleep. I went to have something to eat and as I turned to walk back to the stairs, my ankle gave out on me. I couldn’t bear weight on it. It was the slowest walk through the house. There was no one I could call as it was so early in the morning. Now I am in a lot of pain, more than what I was in.

I was thinking about what I wrote early in yesterday’s blog about there being a kind of “split” where you have this dark side no one knows about and then you have this side where you appear like nothing is wrong. I want to write more about it but my mind isn’t that clear. I took some Neurontin and so I am kind of cloudy. I don’t know what more to say about it because it is how I feel. Like if I unleash the dark side people will freak out and maybe force me in the hospital or something. I emailed my psychiatrist and let her know yesterday was the day I wanted to end things. I also told her about my mother’s upcoming surgery and how I had planned my death before I knew she was going to have surgery. I told her I really wish I went through with it as I was and still am in a lot of pain. I am regretting the decision to put it off. I wrote her the goodbye letter. I didn’t tell her that though. I told her that next time I will go through with it as I will not make that mistake of taking back the decision and postponing the inevitable.

In the meantime, I am supposed to live my life like it is all hunky dory and shit. Other than my online friends and a few close people, no one knows about my plan. Hell, I don’t even know if I have a plan. I haven’t checked out the location so I have no idea if that will work out. It has to be a desolate area or I am fucked. Someone sees me and the chance of rescue is great. I don’t want that. I really don’t want to be fucking saved by some stranger. That is a fear. I just wish I had a car so I can drive some place and do it there. Easy clean up too. Kind of. I don’t know. It is not like I have done this before. No one knows what my plan is. And I won’t tell anyone. I think my therapist might know but I am not sure. We haven’t talked about suicide in a long time. And we won’t. There is no point. I have made my mind and I am going to stick with it when the time comes.

I have been trying to manage this pain. I tried distraction. Playing with my phone, being on social media, though nothing is really going on at these hours. I was talking to someone about cats. But that was hours ago. I wrote some tweets. I posted some Instagram pics. I was really bored. I really screwed up my ankle. It feels like someone is trying to cut it off. Fucking pain is terrible. It going up my ankle but only half way. So fucking weird. I am just going to stay up until I pass out. I can’t sleep anyway. Every time I lay down, pain increases. I try to wait it out but after three minutes I kind of lose it and have to sit up. I had the AC on but it is cool outside. It is also 30.2 for barometric pressure, which is why my pain is all fucking whacky. Hope it settles down. I will take another Ativan in about an hour. Hope it fucking helps.

When they say you aren’t alone but you really are…

Past few months I’ve planned my ending. Now the time has come and it all comes down to me as to whether I go through with it. Sure, I unexpectedly got my pain meds that I waited 9 months for. But I am still in pain. Meds aren’t touching flares or making them bearable.

My lower body hurts. Legs feel like cement some days and because my legs are usually bent on the bed, they don’t want to stretch when I stand. And it hurts so much trying to walk just to go downstairs to use the bathroom. Sometimes walking helps but I got to walk hunched over because being fully erect is too much pain. It just isn’t comfortable.

Foot is going berserk. So fucking tired of being on pain. Half my foot from third toe down my ankle joint outward is being ripped apart or cut open. It wants to be separated. I hate this feeling and nothing helps me. I am so fucking annoyed!! Flares have a mind of their own. This one started with my pinkie and got worse from there. Midnight has struck. I want to fucking sleep. Chloral hydrate?

I feel like I should email my dark thoughts to my psychiatrist to let her know what is going on. I don’t know if she will respond, if she will tell me to go to the hospital (not an option and I will fight it), or she will want to see me ASAP. My therapist is on vacation. He doesn’t have a clue.

See, here is the thing. I’ve been chronically suicidal for years. I spent the last few months of 1994 in the hospital. I had one attempt in the beginning of November and I didn’t get out until mid January. Basically, I had to cover up my feelings to get out. I was close to being committed to a state hospital at the age of 19. I didn’t care because my depression made me feel so worthless that nothing was going to keep me here. But eventually by stuffing the darkness, I was let out to go to college. I earned my degree, found a stable job that I didn’t go to school for. And then tried to back to earn my bachelor’s degree only to suffer a psychotic episode that I never recovered from until months later on the right meds.

All that time, my suicidality fluctuated. I had a serious depressive episode in 2005. Things sort of got better in 2006. Two years later was the psychotic episode and I had to quit college. 4 years later I had a condition known as complex regional pain syndrome and that threw me on the disability table. Now I feel my life is over and I have a plan on ending it soon. I planned it back in March. I really was going to end it June 30th. But things happen and I push it back. Then pushed it back again. Now I am on the cusp and I don’t know what to do.

People always say you aren’t alone, but the truth is, when you are an attempt survivor, you are. You know what to say to get in and out of hospitals and what to say to avoid them. But the thoughts remain. They still circle your brain. And when you are in severe pain, you want to end it now. But patience is needed. I can’t end it on my bed for a family member to find me. I have a location in mind. I am scared of myself and omg what if I do die. If I succeed. Failure has happened and prevented me from attempting again. Now I am wanting to try again. I have no idea if I will succeed.

No one wants to hear me out. Soon as I say I want to end my life, people panic. They get angry. They tell you stuff that makes you feel guilty. And then you think why bother. Just go on suffering for THEM. So they don’t feel the pain you go through every single day. I’ve been doing this for years. My previous therapist prevented so many dates that could have been attempts. Sometimes I was hospitalized. Sometimes I just had more contact with her and or my psychiatrist.

I wish I could say I gave a fuck. But I am tired of hurting so damn much in the midnight hours of hell. When the midnight demons come out in me. I am a dark person. I pretend to be happy, to get along with everyone. That is what is expected of me. It hurts me to see others hurt. I’ve always been an emotionally sensitive person.

I have no idea if what the hell I am writing makes sense. I had to get the thoughts out of my head. It is going to be a flip of the coin the day of my doom. Imagine that. A coin having the power to live or die. I am pathetic.