Tag: psychological pain

wallowing in my suicidal mind

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression, suicidality, suicide

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.

TG issues: Suicidal Mind

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression, suicide attempt

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.

Pink Rectangular Pill

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, depression

It begins with the shakes. The creepy crawly feeling that you hate. You are not shaking but it feels like you are. All the side effects of the one pill that keeps you sane. Small price to pay for if I miss a dose or don’t take it, I end up in the hospital because the psychosis strikes with a vengeance. The voices have gotten worse as I get older. Luckily, there is something I can take to stop the quivering and restlessness that I feel. But I have to wait till it takes effect thirty or so minutes after I take it. Thirty minutes is a long time when you are feeling like you are crawling in your skin. It drives you crazy. Sad part is that I am not even tired despite today being a long day for me. I watched a movie for the first time in months and actually had the attention span to watch it beginning to end.

The small pink rectangular pill. That is all that makes me sane and crazy at the same time. And it sucks being like this, this crawling in your skin type of feeling. I rather deal with the elastic ball type of feeling where I am being stretched out. That is more tolerable. But I can’t pick which side effect I want. I rather have none but, like I said, it’s a small price to pay. And as long as this isn’t permanent, I am good. I think tonight it started when I noticed the increased in saliva production. I have been drooling a little bit for a while but it stopped too, for a bit. This is the stuff I go through that no one really knows about except for my therapist and psychiatrist. No one else really understands when I say I feel like a rubber ball being stretched out. That I feel like I can’t stand being in my own skin. I have not felt this way in sometime. But then I also have been lax in taking my other white pill to counter act these side effects. I only take them when I need them so if I am not having side effects or feeling symptoms of PTSD, I don’t take it. My doctor trusts me with this judgment. She is not a pill pusher like some docs are. We have a good relationship.

When I feel this way, I can’t help but think bad thoughts. Thoughts that are self destructive. Thoughts of how I wish to be dead. Thoughts that if I only had killed myself before now I wouldn’t be going through this. I still don’t know what my purpose is in my life. It’s not like I am an aspiring country singer. I just am struggling with mental illness. And that is a battle I don’t wish upon no one. It is difficult dealing with these thoughts and feelings when you feel so crummy. It makes the world seem dark and gray. But then my world is dark and gray even on a bright sunny day. It’s hard to see anything else when you have a black cloud trailing you all the time. But that is what depression is. Only dark gray skies can be seen. And within this darkness there is no hope. That is the toughest part of this illness is feeling hopeless all the time. You try not to let it get to you but it sinks into your veins and you have no choice but to accept that things are never going to change. Sure you might be happy that one day but it never lasts. Too bad that pink pill can’t help with that.

write the pain

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, chronic physical pain, depression

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.