Tag: psychache

So Close

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide

I was hoping to go to sleep before my foot or ankle decided to say hello to me tonight. Nope. Didn’t lie down quick enough. Actually, lying down is actually a kind of trigger. Seems my pain is worse when I lie down versus when I am sitting up. Now my foot is doing a curling thing so I had to take some Ativan to calm the fucker down.

I am tempted to text my therapist or email my psychiatrist to ask if I can have an amputation on my ankle if I can’t kill myself. It’s a long shot but I figure there is no harm asking. While I was lying down before the pain erupted, psychache hit me square in the chest. So now I have both types of pain going on and I am ready to jump off a bridge. It’s a good thing I don’t have a car to get to where I am going. There are no bridges in my area that are high enough to kill me, except the Tobin but it’s a bitch to get to and you do need a car.

I don’t know if I am going to get out of this episode that I am in. I feel like if I don’t go through with it, I am a loser. If I at least attempt it, that will be something. If I fail, at least I can say I tried and then deal with the consequences, horrible though they will be. If I succeed, well then this blog will be all that is left behind. None of this will happen in the next few days so if you are thinking of saving me, you are wasting your time. These are just my thoughts that are running through my head at this particular moment in time.

Pain is causing me so much grief. I feel like I am losing it, not that I actually had things to begin with. The black coat of depression is pressing on me very closely. I have been trying to master the lyrics to the song “Make you miss me” by Sam Hunt. I heard it twice today on the radio and messed up the lyrics. Pissed me off. I wanted to share the lyrics and song with my therapist but I was too afraid she would cry. I did share two songs with her today, Reckless by Martina McBride and Don’t think I don’t think about it by Darius Rucker. It helps me to share music with her. I have a knack for songs finding me when I am hurting or need to express myself.

My Sox lost and I think they are no longer in first place. I am upset. They should have had these games but their offense was dead. There are only 17 games left in the season or that count toward the pennant race. I am so nervous about these games. It’s not helping my mood any.

I seriously want to email my psychiatrist and ask her if she thinks I am going to escape this episode that I am in. I just don’t see a way out. I don’t want to go into the hospital. It won’t help me. I might be fine for a few days to a week but the suicidal stuff always comes back. It’s like a monkey on my back. And the longer I go without an attempt, the stronger it becomes. I haven’t made an attempt in years. I don’t know if I am hopeless. I don’t feel it. I feel nothing but blackness. I just don’t know what is going to keep me connected to this world. I hope the pain meds kick in soon so I can get at least my physical pain will be taken cared of.

How Darkness Seeps In

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide

I didn’t go to sleep till around 3 am. I had the itch to write but all that I wrote was “it’s late”. The rest of what I wrote was boring and I am going to toss it. I really wanted to write about the psychosis getting out of hand and switching antipsychotics but all I did was outline my thoughts. I guess it’s a start.

Around this time last year, I was signing and faxing papers for the New York Times as I wrote an article they would be publishing. It was exciting as I never dreamed of writing for the Times. It was an extremely high ego boost. But it didn’t last long as I crashed into a deep depression afterwards that stuck around and is still lurking around. I guess I have been depressed for almost a year now, my longest episode. The psychosis didn’t really affect me until November of last year. That was when the abilify stopped working for me and I just thought things were still going okay.

It wasn’t until my back went out and I got scared I would have to have surgery again that my depression really worsened, causing the psychosis to also worsen. Add in the stress of my father’s ill health and it was a perfect recipe for disaster. I started having the physical symptoms of depression and lost some weight because I wasn’t eating. It’s easy to reflect on this as time has passed but it wasn’t easy while I was going through it. The psychosis really got worse after the Orlando shooting. That is when I stopped taking the abilify because the voices told me to. I was under their command. I just thank my lucky stars that I didn’t call the FBI like I wanted to because I was so delusional. I wanted to let the FBI know that they should look for a parasite in the brain of the deceased gunman because that what was causing him to act the way he did. I truly believed there was aliens planted parasites in ISIS followers that was making them evil and do bad things. I still believe this.

The voices wanted me to take more medication than was necessary for a few weeks. It wasn’t until the paranoia got out of control that I decided to go to trilafon to help with all the craziness that was going on in my head. My therapist was fearful I was going to lose it or take my life. I also started emailing crazy stuff to my psychiatrist which she had to stop because it was not the run of the mill stuff I normally sent her. If I had to “talk” to her, I had to page her. I couldn’t understand but now I sort of do. What I was writing was a little concerning. But it was my new “normal”. It wasn’t until I was at an adequate dose of trilafon that I realized just how crazy I had been.

All throughout this psychotic phase I was going through, I didn’t think it was bad. I still don’t. I had become more distant from my feelings and empty. It was like I felt nothing. I was hollow. These feelings didn’t last long. They were then covered up with depressive feelings and sometimes suicidal stuff.

My chronic pain reached its breaking point. I had my last flare up and I was going to make sure that it was going to be my last. It hasn’t happened yet, but it will. I am tired of living from flare up to flare up and having little to no relief for days. The only way I can get relief is by taking pain medication around the clock, and sometimes I have to take the strong pain meds to break the cycle. I am hindered in my activities and it sucks. Even walking around my own house is troublesome during these flare ups. I can’t make myself something to eat, showering is next to impossible, even brushing my teeth is a chore.

Dealing with mental illness and chronic pain is very difficult. It requires a balance. I am grateful I am not working because I think I would be dead by now. The emotional toll it takes to work, I just don’t have anymore. It was difficult in the beginning to get used to all the free time in the world that I had. Going to Starbucks provided some routine for me but on days when the depression was bad or my pain levels were out of control, even that routine was soon broken. Now I go whenever I can just to get out of the house for an hour or so. It’s rare that I will be out for more than two hours. My anxiety and paranoia get too much and I have to return home.

I spend the majority of my time in my room. I write, read, and follow Twitter and Facebook all from the comfort of my bed. I have to keep my left ankle elevated to keep it happy. It’s not like it won’t flare up because it can and will. I still haven’t figured out what makes it happy and what makes it really angry. I thought walking and standing aggravate it but I can have hours where I am on the bed and the slightest movement can hurt me. It’s so aggravating and frustrating because what causes it to hurt today, won’t cause it to hurt tomorrow. It is very depressing, which only intensifies my suicidal tendencies.

To The Concerned Anonymous Asshole

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, mood disorders, suicide, suicide attempt

To The Concerned Anonymous Asshole,

I am assuming you are still reading my blog to fulfill your hero needs. Let me tell you something, YOU have destroyed my world, more so than it already was. A piece of myself has been betrayed the moment you felt dignified to call the cops to my door. I now feel that I have no place to share my suicidal feelings. I was talking to my therapist about this. She said that can be very dangerous. I hope you realize this. I don’t mean to tell the world that I am suicidal all the time because like depression, it ebbs and flows. This blog is about all that if you happen to read it. Hell, the top right corner says that this is “one person’s struggle with suicidal thoughts and chronic pain” you dumbass.

If you happen to notice the pages of my blog, I HIGHLY recommend you read “What my blog is about”. But obviously, my blog isn’t about me. It has become about you as you feel you are holier than thou. Do you know how hard it is to struggle every day with suicidal thoughts? Maybe you had a loved one die by suicide and you are damned to let that happen again. The fact that I am still here, angry, should tell you something, you jerk. I write to blow off steam, and I know if has the flavor of becoming concerning to people, but you as a reader, had the opportunity to comment before calling the cops. Now my suicidal thoughts are going to go underground and become more self-destructive. I hope that you are happy with yourself. You might have saved me this week or this month, but the suffering will continue. You cannot stop me indefinitely. NO ONE CAN. And if you think that you can, you are deluding yourself.

What gives you the right to think you can stop another’s pain? Who gave you that right? I certainly didn’t give it to you. In fact, right after I posted the blog that sent you on your holy high mission to save me, I had shared my blog with a suicide prevention therapist. He didn’t feel that my life was threatened in that very moment. What gave you that special power over him to wreck my life and my family? But go on reading. You need help more than I ever will. And if I ever find out who the hell you are, I will not be so cordial in my response.

Protected: Can’t die without explanations 2

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders, suicide

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