Right now my left foot is on fire and there is no calming it down. I think I did too much when I made my chicken wings today. God forbid I should make a meal. It really sucks when you want to make something other than a bologna sandwich for dinner. That is why I eat out so much. It’s so I don’t have to cook.
A friend has told me to write when I am in pain so that is what I am doing…not to say it is helping me with the pain any but it is making me tired that I want to sleep…
I am to see my psychiatrist in twelve hours from now. I am afraid to see her because I have not told her about my pseudo suicide attempt last week. I keep thinking it was months ago but in actually, it was only ten days ago. I am afraid that if I tell her I might get put into the hospital for it. The crisis has passed. I have not felt suicidal since that night, well, not really felt like acting on it since that night. It is a curious thing. I will share things with my therapist more than I will my psychiatrist. I know it is because I talk with my therapist more than my psych. Don’t get me wrong, the relationship I have with my psych is longer than my therapist. I have seen the same psychiatrist since I was seventeen. I am coming up on our twenty year anniversary. I can’t believe how far I have come and that I am still alive. I know it is because of her care that I am still here. I think most psychiatrists would have dumped me a long time ago but for whatever reason she stuck by me and I by her.
I have not processed my feelings about this last suicide attempt. I cannot believe I threw out the window all my safety plans. It is easier said than done to call someone when you want to down a bottle of pills. I think that there is no telling what might have happened that night had I been able to walk the three feet, 3, stinking feet to my bureau to get more pills. Not being able to walk three feet is what saved my life. Three feet. That is how close I was to taking a whole bottle of pills. My therapist is grateful for this. I am sure my friends are. I have been in a weird state since this has happened. I have been neither depressed nor euphoric nor anything since that night. I have become numb. And I am not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. This is the first time I really want to document what I am going through because I know there might be someone in similar circumstances. Pain is awful but that night I was so full of despair and hopelessness, my mood changed on a dime and the demons came out rearing their ugly heads. I remember just this feeling of panic since that night. This overwhelming desire to get away from myself, the overwhelming pain knocking whatever senses I had out of commission and wanting to just die. Both of my feet were useless. Both of my feet were in agony. I couldn’t straighten out my legs. I couldn’t let the sheet touch my feet. It was awful, so truly awful not being able to do a damn thing but lie in agony and knowing that my meds were just a few feet away and my misery could have ended once and for all. But no, I could barely stand long enough to gulp down two of my night pills. So I skipped my dose of some of my other meds. What did that matter when all I could think about was death. After I took my meds I waited an eternity to pass out. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen, then twenty. I felt like nothing was going to work that night. My feet seized in spasms again and all I saw was blackness filling me way deep inside such that I have never felt before. I had to do something. I had to get this demon out. I had to end my life. But I could not get up and walk the three stinking feet to do so. Moving my legs was agony. If I really tried I could have but then I would be in big trouble. I might not be here today writing this.
midnightdemons7 
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