Tag: psychological pain

an upsetting chat

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, depression, mood disorders, suicide, suicide attempt

An upsetting chat

Nathaan Demers ‏@Doc_Demers 3h3 hours ago
We need protocols in primary care regarding MH & suicidal ideation. We flag pt records for med conditions- lets do the same for MH. #spsm

I came across this statement while going through the SPSM chat that goes on every Sunday on Twitter. What I find upsetting is that these suicide preventionists don’t realize that suicide and suicidal thinking are time limited. People who think of this in time of extreme distress are not going to think about it down the line. Now if they make an attempt, that is a different matter.

The way I see it, you can let the medical providers know that the patient has mental health issues. I am for that. But telling them they have suicidal ideation that won’t go on like pneumonia is just foolish. Sure you can document that the person had ideation but for what? So that some idiot insurance policy can deny claims because they were going through a tough patch and wanted to get out of it? To me, that is just perpetuating the stigma of suicide. If the patient attempted suicide, then that is cause for concern because the best indicator that we have right now is survived attempts leading to a death by suicide.

This isn’t the first chat that has called for the medical providers and mental health professionals to be working together. But once you place it in the patient’s chart, it’s there forever. You can’t erase it. More thought needs to go into this before I feel comfortable about my own thoughts going into my medical record. We’re not talking about a deathly reaction to penicillin. Those kind of things should of course be documented at every medical visit.

But passing suicidal thoughts that were thought of last week or last month or even ten years ago? Everyone has these thoughts. Not all go through with them. It’s the attempts that should be documented not the ideas if we want to save a life. Granted patients might be ashamed or embarrassed to bring up a failed attempt but it should be asked about. And again, this should all be done with dignity and respect and compassion. It shouldn’t be hurried and passed over once talked about. It should also be respected about the time. If the patient is currently have these thoughts they should be addressed. If it happened ten years ago and the patient is stable, then in my opinion, it should be documented but not be hounded and beaten to death. The crisis is over and dealt with. It’s what is going on now in the patient’s life that should matter, not the long ago past.

Daily Word Prompt-Tiny

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

Daily Word Prompt-Tiny

Today’s Daily Word Prompt is Tiny. I have been thinking of what to write for this. This is a side of me that I am embarrassed to share so please bare with me.

For the longest time, I felt like I was a tiny person. I know my outward appearance is nothing but tiny, especially since I have gained significant weight over the last twenty years. But inside, I felt small, like I didn’t matter because I was so tiny. I don’t know when this happened and I certainly don’t know when that has changed.

I remember when I was in therapy in the early years with my current therapist, I wanted to explain to her how small I felt inside, that I didn’t matter because I wasn’t big enough to handle things. We never did talk about it because I was afraid she would laugh at me or give me some other condescending talk. I never felt valued, that I was disposable. I still sort of feel this way at times, especially when my family wants to just dispose of my things that I cherish because they think it is “junk”. My middle sister often calls me a hoarder, though I am not. I just have clothes and papers everywhere because I have no place to put them or I am too lazy to actually put them somewhere other than the floor of my room.

If anything, I am a hoarder of books and research articles/journals. But being called that makes me shrink. It makes me feel alone and not being able to talk to my family about what is troubling me. Hell, my youngest sister thinks all I need is a clean rug to make me feel better. WTF. I do have a collection of boxes from Amazon. I don’t know how it accumulated. I have been lazy to put them in the recycle bin. Even though they are near my door, I never grab them as I am leaving to throw them away. It’s like I have just one thing on my mind and that is to leave to where I am going, which is usually to catch the bus. Therefore, I can’t be bothered to dump things in the recycle bin. When I do, it’s usually when the bin has been cleared by the recycling people that come and empty it.

It gives me a certain comfort to be surrounded by my things. It might make me feel insignificant, but I feel a kind of comfort in that place. It still makes me feel small, though. It’s like I have these huge piles of things surrounding me and I am in the middle of it. Sometimes it is suffocating because I have so much space to get around but it’s not enough to get by. I feel miniscule when that suffocation hits. It doesn’t happen all the time but it does happen.

The person that most made me feel tiny was my father. He would say things that would make me shrink away. There was no way to stop his abusive ways. For years he would make me feel insignificant and small. Like I was a tiny bug that should be stepped on. That is when he would feel his best and I would feel the worst. When I was older, I realized that whenever I would climb the ladder to get out of the pit I was in, he would take the ladder away and I would fall back into the pit. There was no way out. I guess that is why my suicidality is so strong. I still feel like whenever I am in that pit, I feel hopeless about getting out because someone is going to take away that ladder. It never fails. And you can only fall so many times before you realize why bother getting up one more time. You are after all a tiny thing that doesn’t deserve it.

I didn’t kill my therapist

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

I didn’t kill my therapist

I had told my therapist to text me after she eats my cake but never got a text. I thought I killed her sweet tooth for good. That was until my pain shot up and I had real thoughts of ending things so I texted her our code for her to get back to me ASAP. She was at a professional engagement so couldn’t call me but we texted for a few minutes. She wanted me to go to the ER, which I declined because what were they supposed to do that my doctors couldn’t? And what ER would I go to, the medical side or the psych side? Either would be hours of waiting and I just am not up for waiting. I told my therapist I would take my meds early and hope for the best. I was crying at this point because I am so damn frustrated.

I didn’t really do anything but go up the damn stairs after going to the bathroom. Soon as I felt the pain, I snapped. I started crying and wonder what it would be like to go to my spot right now and take the pills with me. Kind of play with fire and see if I get burned. I didn’t care. Before I did get dressed and try and figure out how to even walk to my destination, I called my therapist. I am laid up but tomorrow is another day. Unfortunately, I have to talk to my therapist so I can’t be running off to my spot to end my life. Not that I could run, but you get my point.

It sucks that I didn’t talk with my therapist. I really could have used hearing her voice one more time today. Now I have to wait till tomorrow to hear it. I hate that I am crying like a baby with being in pain. I don’t know how much of it is because of sadness and how much of it is because of the frustration that I can’t do anything to help myself. I did take a sugar pill to see if it does anything. You know, in case this pain is truly in my head and not in my ankle. So far there has been no change in pain levels. But then I have taken a full dose of pain meds and Neurontin. I haven’t broken out the strong pain pill yet.

I was thinking of writing how traumatizing it is to be in pain all the time, every single day and not have a rhyme or reason. How many people go upstairs every day and not experience what I experience? I say that it is traumatizing because it makes me think of my bigger illness, cauda equina syndrome. When I was first diagnosed, I lost feeling in my lower extremity and my left leg/foot was in pain. So I associate that pain with getting CES. And since that day, because I am vulnerable to PTSD (I already was diagnosed), I keep having mini flashbacks of that terrifying time. No matter how many times I try to talk myself out of the feedback loop that this is happening again, it doesn’t seem to work until I take some Ativan to calm myself down. Then I can think a little clearer and see that it’s not happening. That I am just having a pain flare up and things are going to be okay even though I am in agony. I just need to wait till my pain meds kick in. I sometimes wish I had IV drugs to make it happen quicker because waiting up to 45 minutes is torture.

I really hate talking about trauma stuff because I am in denial that things happened the way they did. I was twenty-five when this happened to me so I really was naïve to the situation. I just thought that I needed some pain meds and some physical therapy and I would be good as new again. I had no idea how serious my condition was and it wasn’t like the doctors were all that helpful. Hell the surgeon told me I would be up in three days. Three days later, I still couldn’t move my feet or toes. It wasn’t until a week later I could move my big toe. Things came back so damn slowly. Then when I thought I was doing better I got hit with a staph infection that really knocked me off my feet again. But that is another story for another day.

When I finally saw my therapist three months later in person, she had said that I was traumatized by the surgery and what my body did to me. I didn’t want to believe her. That was 15 years ago. Now I get it. And it’s this trauma I keep experiencing every single night that is driving me whacky. I am sure my hormone levels are off kilter in some way shape or form from going through this every night. No wonder I can’t fucking sleep. I am too stressed from being stressed. I might not understand it physiologically but I know that eventually this shit is going to kill me if it’s not dealt with.

a depressing blog

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

A depressing blog

***Warning may contain suicidal ideation so if you feel like you are a fucking hero, do not read. I am writing to vent my feelings not ACT on them.***

This morning when I woke up, my hip was in awful pain. I figured it was because of the way I slept and took a pain pill. Then I went back to sleep only to wake up a few hours later to my med alarm beeping. I had to take my blood pressure medication, which I didn’t take yesterday because I woke up too late. I couldn’t miss two days in a row so I got up gingerly. My hip and ankle fought me in protest. Happy Monday to me.

I have been in a dark mood. My mood is low, only made lower because a couple of friends of mine hit the guilt button today. I made a cake and they wanted some. Problem is they are on the Cape and I am not. How I was to get them my cake was the problem. So it got eaten and they got mad. I greedily had the cake for breakfast as I made my coffee. There is one slice left, which I will have for dessert or lunch. I haven’t decided. I don’t even care if I eat real food today. I am in a rotten mood.

One of my bloggers, who I love, commented on a password protected blog. I know she means well and all but it got me angry. I wasn’t angry at her, but myself. I have failed myself, some how some way and the only way to rectify this is to end my life. Then I was going through Twitter as I am sorting through this anger I am feeling, and lo and behold a psych article is published saying placebo pills help pain when the person knowingly knows this. WTF. You mean to tell me I need to take a sugar pill for my pain? Hold the phone. I will take the last week of my birth control pills (those are sugar pills) and see if they help the intractable pain that I feel every fucking night. Fucking idiots. I wish it was that fucking simple.

This study enraged me to no end. It’s just the fuel that the idiotic DEA and senators need to stop manufacturing life saving opioid medication to those in need. Here just take a sugar pill and you will be fine. I really don’t want to be around when that shit hits the fan. This further exasperates the idea that the pain is all in your head mentality. Even as we speak my ankle is throbbing pretty darn good. It must be in my head that is making it that way after all this time. After all, there is nothing structurally wrong with my ankle. It’s picture perfect, minus a little swelling here or there. And I need to live for this bullshit? For what? Why must I endure more pain and agony every day/night? I will try the sugar pill experiment and let you know how it goes, though.

My mother called a little while ago. She wanted to know if I was going out. No, I am not going out. Why she asked. I didn’t have the time or patience to tell her that I am in a rotten mood and that my colon might explode after all the stuff I had to take to go to the bathroom. That I felt like killing myself and that I just want to be left alone. That my ankle and hip were competing in pain and they haven’t decided which one was going to win today. So I just said because I am not going out in my irritated voice. She got off the phone.

And now the tears have started for whatever reason. I just feel so damn rotten. I know the grief of my father is in there somewhere. I woke up with him on my mind this morning. I still find it strange that I haven’t heard from him and then I realize why and it hurts. Doesn’t help that I painfully went through my April blogs documenting his death as well as my horrible depression that I am still in. I might not have the physical symptoms of depression anymore but I still have the mental. I don’t think I am ever going to recover from this episode. It has gone on for far too long. Just another nail in my coffin.

I had texted my therapist at noon asking for a session if it was possible. I got no response so I just texted her saying forget it, I will just deal with her tomorrow. I get to see her in person and give her my cake that I made over the weekend. I will be getting a Zipcar to see her. This will make the third week in a row that I have seen her on a Tuesday. I just hope my hip is better by tomorrow and I can walk without pain. It will suck if I have to cancel the reservation. I have decided to have her fill out the paperwork for my LTD as one of my diagnoses for disability is depression. It says physician to be filled out but she is one of my attending clinicians so if they don’t like it too damn bad. My physician doesn’t know me from Adam and I can’t let her fuck this up. It’s too important.

I really wish you could just end your life by wishing for death. It would be so much easier than having to plan your death out, make suicide notes to try and comfort those left behind. To answer the “why” you leave behind. I wish I didn’t cause people pain when I leave but I must leave. I can’t go on suffering mentally and physically anymore. It’s too exhausting. It’s not today or tomorrow. It will be within a month or so, unless the sugar pills help me.