“Never kill yourself while you are suicidal. You can, if you must, think about suicide as much as your wishes and let the thoughts of suicide –the possibility that you could do it- carry you through the dark night. Night after night. Day after day, until the thoughts of self-destruction runs its course and a fresh view of your own frustrated needs comes into clearer form in your mind and you can, at last, pursue the realistic aspects, however dire, of your natural life”. –Edwin Shneidman, Suicidal Mind, p166
Tag: mood disorders
Donuts kind of day
Donuts kind of day
This morning I did an errand for my sister and then went to deal with my father. He wanted me to buy him his bread so I got that for him. I also had to pick up his prescription he neglected to pick up during the week. My ankle is just killing me. All I had to eat today was junk food, donuts in particular. My sister had these apple cider ones she got from some apple farm she went to over the weekend. They were scrumptious. I had one and half. I would have finished them off, but I didn’t want to be too greedy. So I bought some more donuts on the way home from my father. I think that is all I am going to eat today and fuck the consequences. I might have French bread pizza for supper, too. I really want a steak and cheese but I think I will have that tomorrow.
I don’t know why I am sort of just concentrating on one type of junk food today. I’m still depressed and still have no idea what I am going to do about therapy. I doubt I will be able to find someone in my area. And the idea of starting new after almost 15 years doesn’t appeal to me. It’s just so damn frustrating to deal with someone that has an anxiety disorder while trying to treat you. She is just so dense sometimes. It pisses me off. And the fact that I want to kill myself just sends her in an uproar every time. She doesn’t hear me after I tell her that. So then I am alone with my thoughts so why should I continue with therapy? Every therapist I have ever known doesn’t know how to deal with a suicidal person. They just think they should be in the hospital if they aren’t safe and that is that. Well the hospital doesn’t care anymore, either. I spent three weeks in the hospital last year and none of my issues were talked about or dealt with. Three damn weeks. Every time I did bring it up, they said we’ll deal with this tomorrow and left me there hanging. It just got frustrating after a while. The only people that really wanted to listen to you were the staff members and nurses. Some of them anyway. If you happened to get a good staff member, it was a good day. Got a staff that was so so or thought they knew everything, it was tough. I am just frustrated by the system.
I am very tired of trying to seek out help and just not getting it. I am at a “why bother” phase. I don’t know why I bother to try and continue with a therapist that talks too much all the time. Or why I see my psychiatrist who doesn’t have any new medicines to try me on because there is nothing more left to try. She listens to me and does offer support. I wish sometimes she could be my therapist but it doesn’t work that way. She is strictly meds and a little more. That is all. I wonder what it would be like just seeing my psych and not seeing a therapist. But I don’t think I can go just every two weeks without talking with someone. That is a long time to go without speaking to someone. I just don’t think I could do that.
I was talking with a long time friend last night about my laptop issues. He sent me to the Dell website with updates for my video drivers. I thought it worked as I was able to move the lid without video problems. But today when I turned on my laptop, it wouldn’t and when I moved the lid, the screen got all fuzzy. CRAP. Now I will have to take it to him or another computer place to deal with the issue. He thinks a wire is loose and is causing the problem. I wish I could just take the damn thing apart and fix it but I haven’t a clue what to do or how to do it. Maybe if this suicidal phase passes and I am still alive, I will deal. Until then, it’s moving the lid until the picture settles.
My father was very affectionate today, which is unusual. He never gave me a hug before in my adult life. Today he did. Weird. He also was very grateful that I do the things for him. Again, strange as I have been doing this for him for at least a year now and he never seemed to be grateful. It was just weird.
just done
I didn’t sleep well last night so I have been tired most of the day. I didn’t want to have coffee because I thought I would go out. But I didn’t. I had therapy and was exhausted so I just took a nap.
My therapist was in a talkative mood today. It annoyed me. Not even half way through session, I spoke up because she was just started talking about how I should be an editor. WTF does that have to do with my depression or that today is my CES anniversary day? I got so pissed off. Then when she finally shut up, I didn’t talk the rest of the session and I didn’t care. I was done. I told her I didn’t want to talk to her the rest of next week and she pulled the brakes on that idea. Maybe meeting twice a week is too much. Maybe I just need once a week. I just know this isn’t working out. Then she says we need to meet in person. Yea, lovely idea. How when I don’t have a stupid car? Like meeting in person is going to solve the problem. I am just done with her and therapy. I almost cried while we were talking. I don’t know why I wanted to cry. But she didn’t have a clue or a sense that I was ready to cry. She never has a clue.
I wanted to kill myself in the worst way today but I just decided to sleep. My day will be coming soon enough. I am just so damn done. I am done being in pain and dealing with an airhead therapist. Sadly, I don’t think I can find another therapist in my area. Most that I have tried to see end the conversation soon as they find out I have a suicidal past. So screw that. No one new wants to help me so be it. I think after 11 times is enough searching anyway. Course, having to go through 13 therapists are enough. I should have stopped at ten and ended my life. Thing is, I am not really that depressed, yet I want to kill myself. I really don’t think you need to be depressed in order to try and kill yourself. People think this but it’s not clear. I mean there are a lot of people who suffer from depression. Not all want to end their life. Some do. Some don’t. And what separates those that do from those that don’t? No one really knows.
I’m just done. I don’t have anymore fighting left in me. I don’t have any hope that things are going to get better. Both my ankles are starting to hurt and I am scared something is wrong with my Achilles in my right foot. I can’t deal with anymore pain.
Angry Rant and Rave
Today was not a good fucking day. I have been getting spoilers about Bones, an episode I haven’t watched and so I decided to watch today. Except I couldn’t because my damn mother didn’t allow it to be recorded! She wasn’t home where I could yell at her. I seriously contemplated cancelling cable because I was so angry. What the hell am I paying for if I don’t watch my damn shows? They are in the evening most of the time and don’t interfere with my mother’s shows. But lately she has been watching TV later. Instead of changing TVs she just decided to change my channel and be done with it. I am so pissed and there is nothing I can do about it because the episode won’t air again till like December! By then I will know what had happened. Maybe I can watch the episode on Hulu or something. But I am damned pissed that my mother would do this.
Then I had therapy and I didn’t want to talk, at all. She didn’t understand why I was so upset. She didn’t understand the technology behind the recordings and such and I was too mad to explain it to her. During the session, I got two fucking phone calls. I was wicked annoyed because my phone NEVER rings unless I am on the phone with someone or I am literally away from my phone. Then we got on the subject of my father and that made me even more upset because the ding dong doesn’t understand that he has to take fucking three pills tonight and he only has two in his box. I tried explaining that he has to take another pill and got fucking no where. I was damned if I was going to make a trip over there to settle his pills. My therapist asked when do I get a vacation from my family. I don’t. Since being disabled, I am home the majority of the time so it’s easy to pawn things off on me. I don’t mind watching my niece every now and then because I know she isn’t going to be small that much longer. Pretty soon she will be going to school and to home on her own. These days of watching her will be over and I will be sad. But the other stuff, getting groceries when I don’t feel good and dealing with an immature father, I can do without.
One of my favorite DJs is now in the middle of my state. I tried getting him on an app today that he recommended but the stupid thing kept crashing. I gave up after the third try. I might uninstall and re-install but I am too annoyed right now to try it. It took nearly 10 minutes for it to install, over wifi. I don’t know why my internet is slow. Sometimes it’s fast and other times it’s slow as molasses. Probably would have been faster on my phone data.
I went to Starbucks today and had a new drink, a caramel mocha. It’s usually salted but I can do without the salt. It was pretty sweet so next time I might cut the pumps. I was still in a cranky mood when I got there so I just wrote in my journal. I wanted to catch the 1542 bus but I was writing so much I lost track of time. The 1607 bus never showed up so I had to wait for the 1630. I thought of complaining but I really wasn’t up for it. I had tweeted to the MBTA so much over the last few months they probably have me blocked by now. There is always a problem in the Square with the bus going home. It’s usually late most of the time. I don’t know if it is because it gets stuck on the turn around or what. Or the bus driver just screws off, not doing the route entirely. Either way, it’s annoying as hell because I never know when I am going to get home.
As I was aggravated in therapy, my therapist asked what my psychache was. I told her I didn’t know. She then asked if I filled out the questionnaire. Apparently she never got the memo that I stopped doing the questionnaires when I became disabled. Might have stopped before then but I don’t remember. I know my journals for the past three years have not included the scale. It’s hard to differentiate psychological pain when you are in physical pain every day. You just hurt.
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