Tag Archives: psychache

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?

One More Light

One More Light

****expressions of suicide in this blog are just that. I am blowing off steam, expressing myself because keeping it in hurts too much****

This song by Linkin Park recently won an award for something I cannot remember. I saw it a couple of days ago. I am not surprised as when I first heard it, I knew it would be the perfect song for suicide prevention. Yet somehow, with my upcoming demise, I cannot help but think of this song.

I was talking to a friend of mine who I told a few months ago that I had made the decision to end my life in a few months. I told her yesterday when I would do it. She asked if everything had been planned like we talked about. I realized I didn’t have all my ducks in a row. Hell, I still haven’t written my letters. I am finding it hard to say goodbye to those I love dearly. People always think that suicide is an impulsive act. That is kind of horseshit to those that suffer from it chronically. There is usually a lot of planning involved. Even Chester had a smile on his face and looked happy in the days before he ended his life. I nor anyone else will know what was going through his mind that lead him to this decision.

Pain o’clock started a little while ago. I am so fricken tired of hurting. I know that no medicine or treatment will bring me pain free. Even if I go through the pain program and their tasks, I will still have pain. I will just manage it better, which I guess it is better than what I am doing now. Even though I am on better pain meds to manage my pain, I am still having flares. I really think that if I was on a higher dose of meds, just 15 milligrams, I wouldn’t have so many flares per week. But according to my psychiatrist, they (pain docs) won’t do that. I have had enough. She saw me yesterday because she was worried about me after I sent her a few emails about how bad the pain was and how my suicidality was increased. I am tired of fighting the supposed experts. It is shit when they don’t fucking listen to the patient. Like what was the point of me seeing her if she wasn’t going to do anything? I am done, so fucking done.

I am sorry to my friend and family about ending my life in the next few weeks. I tried really hard to manage my pain better but they fucked me over. My light needs to be extinguished. I can’t go on like this anymore. I don’t have a fucking life. I can’t even fucking read a book for fun anymore or go to Starbucks to write in my journal about mundane things without pain. It is only going to therapy or medical appointments these days. Often I leave an hour or two early so I do have time to cope with travel and write because as you can see, there are more than a few days between entries. Even my night journal doesn’t have that many entries. I should be on my new journal by now as I am so close to the last few pages but I am not because I don’t fucking care. I plan my death. I rather do that. That gives me hope that I can escape from this hell.

I am so very sorry for hurting any and everyone involved in my life. I know there are many people that will be hurt that that I am gone. If I could put a band-aid on your hearts I would. I don’t blame anyone. This isn’t anyone’s fault. I have postponed this long enough. I was supposed to die in June and here it is July. I wish I had the time to analyze this song. It is such a beautiful song with so many meanings.

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.

lab work and other stuff

Lab work and other stuff

I was having a difficult time sleeping last night due to pain. I fell asleep sometime after 1 when I decided to sleep on my left side, where I hurt, and use the body pillow as my head pillow rather than the standard one I had been using. I slept through the night until my blasted med alarm went off. I couldn’t believe I woke up in the same position I fell asleep in. Only thing was, next time I am putting a pillow between my legs because my right buttock was hurting something awful. Tennis ball massage calmed it down.

It was hot but not blazing when I left around 0930. A guy came over talking to himself and as I rounded the corner to the bus stop, he knocked on the brick apartment building to see if the bricks were real. I sat on the bench and he told me the new condo place had fake bricks. I said I know. I told him cement was expensive. He was like really? OMG why do weirdos talk to me??? He was telling me all about the town I lived in like I cared. I agreed with him. I swore at times as the f bombs are just part of my language and that seemed to offend him. He just stopped talking. Thankfully the bus came and he said nice talking to you. I was scared he would continue talking to me all the way to the Square!

I went to Starbucks and had my breakfast and espresso. I had five shots today because it was going to be a long day. I finished but didn’t have time to write so I grabbed my espresso cup and left. Now it was hotter. I got to the train station and waited for the train. I was feeling okay. I got off my stop and started walking toward the building to have my blood drawn. I got to the second parking garage when my ankle acted up. Fuck this wasn’t good. I stopped for a bit and then carried on carefully. I went to the blood lab where my PCP’s office was but because I had urine tests also, I had to go to the lab 3 floors down. Okay, they were better phlebotomists anyway. I went and had my blood drawn. I thought I could pee. I felt like I could pee, but I couldn’t. it wouldn’t come out despite nearly drinking a liter of water. UGH. I told them I couldn’t go and that I would be in the lobby until I could go. I figured in a half hour or so, my bladder would be full. I kept drinking water. For some reason, I was really thirsty. Finally decided to try again and after a few minutes which felt like hours, I went. Urine retention sucks so bad. I cannot go on command. I have to be almost overflowing to go. Damn nerve injury.

I had about 15 minutes before I had to see my psychiatrist. I walked over to the building. I checked in and there was a little girl about 2 in the waiting room. She was so cute. She kept walking around like she owned the place. I kept saying hi, but she was shy and would go to her grandmother to hide her face. It was funny how kids are like that. My doc came and we talked about my previous lab results. She had never heard of my medication lowering my sodium after being on it for so long. I had. There was a lady on Twitter whose sodium levels were dropping and no one figured out that it was the Trileptal until she was very sick. She was in the UK. I told her about the book, which I meant to show her but totally forgot to bring it with me. I will next time.

I didn’t want to make an appt with her. She gave me a time on the day I plan on ending it and I told her I couldn’t make it. When she asked why, I lied and said I had PT. I wasn’t in the mood to bring up my suicidal thoughts and just let it be. I was more worried about my lab results.

I had sent a message to my PCP that I had the lab work done today. Around 1730, he messaged me saying that my sodium was normal. I then got a message my test results were available for viewing. I am one point above normal. I will take it. I have been eating salty foods all week. I emailed my psychiatrist about the results and that I was in a flare. I had told her I could only take one breakthrough med a day which I hope to change next week. I had to take another pill a little while ago because as I was putting my dinner dishes in the sink, my ankle exploded in pain. It was too early for my night time dose so I took the breakthrough. I am still hurting and I am not in a good mood.

I went through Twitter like I always do. One of my pain community member had posted a pic saying that the biggest risk for chronic pain patients isn’t addiction. It is suicide. OMG is this so fucking true. I had to use the bathroom so went downstairs and as is the norm, my ankle had a fit. Totally went out on me. How can I not think of ending my life? I had just taken a breakthrough med an hour or so ago. And now my ankle is having stabbing pains, the “glob” is throbbing, and my malleolus is being hammered. I just want to not be in chronic pain and that is my life sentence. I don’t want to live anymore. It just has to end, and it will soon. I can’t continue like this. I thought I could. I thought things were getting better. But like always, it was a joke. A big HAHA, fooled ya. I still haven’t taken my night meds, which means I have to get up once more. I don’t have anything to do tomorrow except find my carryon bag so I can pack for my friend’s BBQ on the 4th. It is going to be hot and I want to dip in their pool. Little things is all I have to look forward to between now and the end.

How a grumpy day turned awesome!

How a grumpy day turned awesome (skip to end if you don’t want the boring parts)

I woke up grumpy. I kept waking up at odd hours, mostly because I was afraid I was going to sleep through my alarm. When the alarm finally went off, I was not wanted to get out of bed but my bladder forced me too. I used the bathroom before I took my meds. There was no waiting. I guess I had been holding it for some time and it wanted to be emptied now. After I went, I brushed my teeth. It was only after I had rinsed my mouth I realized I still had to take my meds. Fuck. That meant water and it was too early for that. It would make me puke. I took them with powerade anyway.

I then got a text message saying the bus I needed to take was 20 minutes behind. I got two of them so fuck leaving in 45 minutes. I had to leave now, going a different way. I got dressed quickly. I went downstairs and gave my mother the check for tomorrow so she could go to the bank. I told her I would be home sometime in the afternoon and she said today in a demanding tone so I said no tomorrow in a sarcastic tone and she yelled at me. Fuck you and I left (I didn’t say that or I wouldn’t be typing right now. I went to the bus stop. I checked the bus app to see when one would be coming and it said a few minutes. I didn’t feel like putting my headphones on. I wanted coffee badly. When I got to the station, where I planned on getting my caffeination, it was closed. Just lovely. I got my pass for the month and went to catch the train. The train came and I had to get one another one to get to my stop. That train was heading back to Boston. Fucking fuck. A switcharoo this early in the morning?? UGH. I got on the train to go one stop. Then this Chinese lady raced for the elevator and I waited for the next one. It was full of people so I waited for them to exit. A guy came on before I did and nearly closed the door on me. WTF. I hoped the bus I had to take to PT would be coming soon and it did.

I had a half hour before my appointment so I went to Dunks and had their coffee. It was decent. I also had a sandwich to try and get me out of the grumpy mood. My hip was hurting me and I forgot my breakthrough meds. This was just great. Around 1030, I walked to the PT office building and waited for my PT after I checked in. She got me and asked how I was and I told her my hip was really bothering it, you aren’t touching it today. And if you tried, I will yell at you. She said okay. I told her I did my exercises yesterday and she was happy. I did about three clamshell before my hip said no more. I told her I think I had the pillow too high. She said try a lower pillow so I will. We did the exercises she gave me to make sure I was doing them right. Then she said she was going to do myofacial release and I got scared. I said I will yell at you if you hurt me. She then showed me what she was going to do on my left arm. I then told her, that huh, that was probably not a good arm and showed her the bruise my doorway gave me. She asked how I got it and I said I was attacked by my doorway! She laughed. She showed me what she was going to do on my good arm and I said okay but be careful. I had stuff to do today and didn’t want to be in more pain by the end of the day than I want to be. As she was doing it, she kept creeping up to the area that hurt and I said watch it. She said ok. She did it for a few minutes and then it was over. I didn’t feel any different. My hip still hurt the same. She then asked about appt and I made two more.

I missed the half past buses and had to wait nearly a half hour to get back to the station. My hip was not happy as I had to stand. I was doing everything, walking around, standing on a wall, shifting my weight, all the while cursing myself for forgetting my pain meds. I was listening to my country music. Finally the bus came but the only seat available was the one facing the buildings where my father used to live. I closed my eyes so memories wouldn’t come flooding back. I had to wait for the train. The time thing was wrong. I waited more than 1 minute for the train, maybe 5-8. I was standing so my hip was thrilled as well. I got on the train and took a grumpy selfie. I was so pissed. I still had to connect to another train line to get to my therapist’s office. I got to the connection and followed the sign to where I thought said Alewife. It turned out to be the other end. I was pissed. I went back upstairs and asked the train employee where to connect to the Alewife side of the red line. She showed me. More stairs. Fun!!! I wanted nothing more than 4 shots espresso at this point. I was very tempted to leave this train and walk to another station but knew that would kill me.

I got to the stop and the Starbucks was closed due to renovations. Just made my day that much greater!!! I went to a coffee shop I used to like and got an iced coffee that tasted like shit. It costed me nearly $5 so I drank it, but only about half of it. I didn’t want to get sick. I wrote in my journal about my day so far and what I hoped to talk to my therapist about. When it got close to appointment time, I used the bathroom and then packed up my stuff to go.

Therapy went okay. We talked about my mother being a bitch the past few days. He asked if I could move out and I said not unless rent suddenly became wicked cheap. He was curious to know where I lived so pulled up my address and Google had my house. Haha so weird. He said I was in the middle of nowhere. I said there were two bus lines I was near and one went to the Square where I connect to see you. He found that explanatory. Then I told him about my sodium levels. He told me about some antipsychotics that could be for mood disorders and I said those aren’t really being used solely for mood stabilizers. I then listed what I knew and the story of Tegretol and Trileptal, how they came to be. I also gave a story about how I told a resident how come they didn’t show in a tox screen, though I don’t remember which was qual and which was quant. I just knew just because you were on Trileptal, you weren’t going to get a level unless you ordered it as a sendout test.

So I decided to go to the place I wanted to order Chinese food rather than have it delivered. I was still grumpy. My mother called and I let it go to voicemail. I didn’t want to talk to her, or to anyone really. Just let me listen to my music and leave me the fuck alone. So the bus finally came. I got to the stop where the food place was and they were closed. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME???????? I had to wait for another bus home. The bus driver was an asshole. He didn’t lower the bus so I could get on. I tripped and had to start again. Then after I waved my pass he didn’t wait till I was seated. I wear a fucking AFO brace. But I guess that doesn’t mean anything to anyone!! I am going to report him.

So past two days I have been getting UPS notification that a delivery is coming my way but I don’t recall ordering anything that had a UPS delivery. I was very perplexed. I come home finally, my belly growling, pissed off, with two packages for me. One was SE Hinton’s book that I ordered. The other was from Wiley. Odd. I don’t remember ordering a book from them. I get to my room. Open the package and it is this:

A little background. Someone 2-3 years ago were searching specifically for a citation that John Sommers-Flannagan had written and I wrote about in one of my papers on my blog. I made mention when I found out Dr. John was on Twitter. We have been in touch off and on. He post maybe 2 years ago he was looking for people to edit his coming book on counseling. I responding saying that I don’t have a professional degree but I have plenty of lived experience. He took a chance and I DM’d him my private email. He sent me a chapter and I read it/edit and gave my thoughts on it, etc. Then maybe a year ago he sent an email about acknowledgements. I wrote back to him with just my name as I didn’t have any credentials. (still no clue where the National Institute of Education came from). Today I got the book and it totally made my day!!! I am so fricken happy. I ordered my Chinese food while sending pics every where and to everyone! So that is how I got in the book.