wallowing in my suicidal mind

Today has been a sucky day. I didn’t want to do anything. I just wanted to stay in bed all day. But my sister asked me to pick up my niece and so I went only to find out, I didn’t. She had already picked her up. I would say that was a waste but at least I got some exercise in that I was planning on doing anyway. Now I can take my meds and just chill out.

My mother pissed me off this morning and this afternoon. This morning her alarm clock went off because she forgot to shut it off. Then she called me while I was trying to nap asking me if I was going to make her supper. WTH. I am a cook now? I don’t think so, not unless she wants scrambled eggs, which is what I plan on making for supper. Just because I had energy to make dinner last night doesn’t mean I can do it every night.

Therapy went horrible. We talked but we didn’t. I didn’t bring up the reasons why I felt so suicidal. I did tell her I was and she asked if it was because of the TG stuff. I just couldn’t bear to bring up the stuff again. Then she asked me toward the end of session if she could read my blog. I said no at first, but I sent it to her anyway. I don’t know what I am going to do this weekend to take my mind off feeling suicidal. I might go out tomorrow for Starbucks. I don’t know though. All I want to do is just sleep, and never wake up. I really just don’t see the point of me living anymore. I wish the pain medication that I have didn’t have Tylenol in it. It’s the only thing stopping me from taking the bottle. I would hate to survive the OD and end up with liver failure. But I have other stuff I can take. I just don’t want to do it at my home. I rather go to a hotel or someplace and OD there. I could always hang myself but I am not good with knots. My luck it won’t be tight enough and I will slip through. Sure I have other thoughts but nothing that I can concretely complete. I feel so small. I just want to hide away from everyone. I have another stinking session with my therapist tomorrow and it’s too late to cancel, not that it would work. She has the policy that I can’t cancel, ever, unless there is a good reason for it. And her knowing that I am suicidal is not a good reason for canceling. I feel like I should call my pdoc and let her know what is going on but at the same time, I don’t want to call her because she might hospitalize me. I don’t think I am there yet. I could be in a week or two, but not now.

My blog has crappy stats today. I only have 6 views today. I have been spoiled with recent views of 40 or more per day the past week. Yes, I am a number nerd. But I love the way WordPress compiles the data. One of my blogs has done extremely well and I keep track of it daily. But today it hasn’t had a hit. First time in a few weeks this has happened but the night is still young. The blog is also a chapter in my book.

Funny how I feel suicidal but I don’t feel Hyde’s presence. Hyde is the dark side of me that likes to come out and write suicide notes. I really think I need to be in a special zone to have Hyde come out. Right now I am just suicidal in my own realm. I want to die but I don’t have a plan of action. I just am wallowing in my suicidal mind. I like it there. I can come up with a million scenarios on how I can kill myself and maybe one of them I will go through. But right now I am just planning, or thinking about planning. it is what I do best.

My Suicidal Mind

Today my therapist asked me if I was suicidal, or specifically, if I was having suicidal thoughts. I had to think about it for a few minutes before answering. And the answer is not so much. I haven’t sat down and thought about killing myself in a few weeks now. I am not saying I am no longer suicidal because that would be inaccurate. If given the chance, I would act on a suicidal plan in a heartbeat. It’s just that I am not thinking about it all the time anymore, 24/7. Then she asked me about my perturbation, press, and psychache, the three P’s of the suicidal cubic model. When all three are at a 5, suicide is imminent. Over the last few years I have ranged from a 4-4-5 to a 5-5-4. Always close to killing myself but not quite there. Granted there have been times that I needed to do something to get rid of the pain so I would self-medicate, usually. But lately, I haven’t been perturbed. I haven’t been feeling press. And my psychache has only increased due to my transgender issues. It varies. Some days it is worse than others.

My suicidal thoughts are also partly dependent on my physical pain. I haven’t had a bad pain flare up in the last few weeks. I had pain today that prevented me from going out, again. Seems I have been waking up in pain the last few mornings and I am not liking this. It just ruins my day. I really wanted to go see my therapist today, and I would have if my stupid foot wasn’t hurting. It makes me depressed big time but it doesn’t necessarily make me suicidal all the time.

I have not been in a dark mood in quite some time. I am fearful that it might come back. I am trying not to be too hopeful about things because I know things are always going to suck no matter what. Like my editor not getting back to me is putting added stress on me. I know that she hasn’t gotten to my book because I am a bad writer, but I can’t help but feel that way sometimes. I am hoping she gets to me this week, after her day off. I am really, really disappointed that I am not going to be publishing the first week of April. I had wanted to get a few books out to the AAS conference in Los Angelas. But now that doesn’t seem likely either.

I feel like I have a fractured ego right now, that one wrong thing someone says to me and I will have a meltdown of some kind. I just feel a pressure building up and I don’t know where the release valve is. Right now things are ok, but I am sure any stress thrown in my direction is going to set me off. I guess that is why I have not thought about a suicidal plan. It would be too tempting to have one in place should I have a meltdown.

Also my therapist wanted to ask me a question about my transgender stuff but we ran out of time. I am kind of glad because we have been talking about that most of the week. I am glad next week we don’t meet three times. She wants to meet with me any time she has an opening. But next week I have appointments for myself and my dad. I am not looking forward to my appointment as it is with my PCP. I also have an appointment with my neurologist this week. That appointment is a joke. She meets with me and just tells me to join yoga. Not happening. We also talk about other stuff. I am going to bring up my neck hurting me and my hand/arm falling asleep. It has been happening a little bit too much for my liking. The weird part is that I will be sleeping on my left side when my right arm falls asleep. I hope I don’t have herniated discs in my neck. That will suck.

TG issues: Suicidal Mind

In my suicidal mind, I think about death because I feel trapped. I feel trapped because I am stuck in a female’s body where my mind thinks I am a male. I feel like a male because it has always been that way. Ever since I was little, I knew I was different. Every night I prayed that I would grow a penis but I never did. This dream continued well into my 30’s. Then I woke up one day and realized it was never going to happen. The heartbreak then began.

I spent almost the entire part of my adult life trying to kill myself because I hated myself that bad. I hated having breasts, female ovaries, and having menses. It wasn’t until I realized that my menses were the real problem causing my suicidal thoughts every month. It was the constant monthly reminder that I wasn’t a male. And it had to be stopped before I took my own life. Not only were the hormones putting me into a pre-menstrual dysphoria, it made me purely suicidal and this in turn made me very dangerous. With each passing month, the suicidal thoughts got worse and my suicidal plans got more lethal. I tried to tell my doctors that I was going to end my life. But then soon as I started bleeding, a switch went off and so did the suicidal feelings. As I realized this, and it wasn’t an overnight “ah ha” moment, I knew the key to saving my life was to stop the menses. Because otherwise, I was going to cease to exist.

When I saw a specialist that dealt with PMDD, she immediately placed me on birth control pills (BCP). Thus began my trial. It took almost six different kinds of pills to find the one that I am on now to stop my menses.. There was a point where I thought it was hopeless, that I was forever to be maimed a female. But since my menses have stopped completely for almost four months now, I feel a freedom. I can now where my boxers every day and not worry my menses are doing to return. They might but I am hoping not. Now if only there was a way to shrink my breast tissue so I can be flat chested.

My breasts are another source of my pain. They really provoke me into a suicidal rage when I see them. How I long for the day when I can be topless like men are during the summer or wear tank tops without fear of boobs coming out. I try very hard not to look at my chest but it is difficult because I always seem to look down. And that depresses me to no end. I hope one day I can afford the surgery so that I can be rid of these things. But then I wonder if I will be sad without them. They are after all, been apart of me for a long time. And once they are gone, I can’t have them back. But they bring me so much misery I think it will be a happy kind of sadness where they won’t provoke suicidal impulses.

I am a male trapped in a female’s body. And it sucks big time. But once my menses were no longer happening and I didn’t have the hormonal shifts anymore, the suicidal stuff started fading. I never made the connection of menses and suicide before and I am glad I didn’t because if I didn’t I doubt I would still be here. Now if only I can get rid of my chest things that will make me even less suicidal.

So if I ever die by my own hand, know that it was due to me being trapped in the wrong body. That it wasn’t because I felt hopeless or abandoned or any other theory on suicide. It was because my psychological pain was too great to bear and unfortunately, there are no pills to decrease this kind of pain. There is no anodyne therapy that exists to decrease psychache.

write the pain

Write the pain.

For those that are frequent blog readers, you know I write about my pain, physical and emotional, most, if not all, the time. It has been the cornerstone of my blog. I can articulate what few can and my readers like what I write because they can relate.

Writing about pain has been a staple of my blog. It seems I cannot write without some measure of pain. It can be the pain associated with depression. It can be the pain associated with the chronic pain condition that I have. It can be a pain that keeps me awake at night. The pain that tears at you and is unrelenting. Whatever type of pain that I have been feeling, it has caused frustration, anguish, despair, suicidal thoughts, and agony. It makes you dread waking up in the morning. It makes you want to sleep forever, to have this escape of no consciousness. It wears you out. And exhausts you. It causes you to be unmotivated. To want to stay in bed and not face the day. But for me, it also has been the stimulus behind so many writings. I write about my darkness that is a short story. I write about the chronic pain and suicide ideation that happens frequently.

Pain has been sadly, the inspiration to write this blog because it causes such dark thoughts, and by dark thoughts I don’t mean just depressive thoughts. I’m talking about suicide ideation. Thoughts that make you think you would be better off dead than to continue living. Dark thoughts of suicide, the ones where you cannot express in normal conversation. Most of my dark thoughts are expressed in this blog because the therapist hours do not occur between 11 PM and 3 AM. It’s hard to find any here to listen between those hours. So I read about the pain. I write and I write till I am succumbed by pain meds or psych meds or exhaustion. I write the pain. Because if I did not have this outlet, the dark thoughts would take over. And I would cease to exist.

Pain is exhausting, be it physical or emotional. And to have both occur at the same time is just torture. When the meds don’t work, when the pain is overwhelming, when all you feel is anguish and misery, that is what causes you to feel like life is not worth living. Writing helps to express what I cannot it sort of makes life more bearable as the father of suicidology has said many times, decreased the psychache (pain), decreased the suicide. I have found writing the pain decreases in my dark thoughts. This doesn’t mean I have found a life worth living. It just means life is more bearable for me.