The moment that the idea of the possibility of stopping consciousness (popularly called “death”) occurs to the anguished mind as the answer or the way out in the presence of the three essential ingredients of suicide (unusual constriction, elevated perturbation, and high lethality), then the igniting spark has been struck and the active suicidal scenario has begun. Edwin Shneidman, Definition of Suicide
Tag: psychosis
heavy heart full of pain
Heavy heart full of pain
I have been in a funk the past few hours. I thought it was because I didn’t eat for several hours but I had dinner and my heart sunk lower than it did before eating. I feel really miserable. I just feel really depressed and I don’t know why. That is the hardest part of dealing with this illness. It just takes so much just to go from a to b. I did a lot today but I still feel like I am useless. I feel like I have no purpose. I texted my therapist to tell me it is worth one’s while to live, but I haven’t heard back. I honestly don’t expect a response. She probably will give me a response tomorrow.
I just feel like my heart can’t take any more pain that I am feeling. It is getting to be unbearable. You would think that I would be used to it by now but I am not. It just rips my heart to pieces when the pain is so heavy. It clouds your thinking, but you don’t see it. Everyone seems happy around you and you try to be but inside you are dying. You can’t help but think of death. Least that will stop the hurting. You think of drinking your sorrows away. You think of anything that will ease your hurt. But nothing helps this heavy heart. It weighs on you like a boulder.
No one notices your pain. There are no outward signs that you are in misery. You put on a brave face and no one is the wiser. It is exhausting. It is tiring. It drags you down so deep that you don’t ever think you will reach the surface again. You are just stuck in a tunnel that has no light at the end of it. Nothing brings you joy or pleasure. Not even that one cup of coffee you used to enjoy. It’s tasteless now. Everything tastes bland. What used to have flavor no longer does. It’s so hard to find something you enjoy only to have it taken from you. The anhedonia is so awful. It also makes death more welcoming.
Depression keeps taking and the more you fight it, the more you want to give up. It’s like trying to keep the waves at bay when you are facing a tsunami. The waves are crushing you bit by bit. And you keep wondering why this is happening to you, that you must be a bad person to feel this way. I just think I am a worthless person that everyone seems to think that I am worthwhile. They are sadly mistaken. There is nothing worse than false hope. Yet that is what keeps some days, like today, a little brighter: hope. I wish you can bottle it and take it as a pill sometimes when your heart is weighing you down, because then you are so out of it that nothing seems to matter. You are just thinking of ending your life and that is all that matters to you. No one understands the struggle. No one wants to bear your pain. You are alone though people often tell you are not. They are not with you in the depths of your despair, when it’s 3 am and you are clinging on to the rafters because the waves are overwhelming you. No, death is much more pleasurable than living. Sleep offers no solace from the terrors you face. It is short, too short to offer any comfort anymore. It seems to happen in a blink of an eye. A constant state of sleep deprivation doesn’t help the depression or the aching soul.
Death must happen swiftly to ease the broken heart. It’s the only remedy this disease calls for. The pain is too much for the heart to take. The weight is too much to bear. It screams louder than the pain inside. It’s like a tea kettle without the whistle. The pressure building but no release valve in sight. One day the heart will beat no more and the misery will end.
Love of Cousins
Love of cousins
Yesterday, I went over my cousins that I haven’t seen in a long time. Usually we see each other for special birthdays or some other special occasion. We don’t see each other often enough. One of my cousins gave me a special gift yesterday. I am now the owner of a replica World Series ring of the 2013 Boston Red Sox! I am wearing it as I type this. It is heavy. But I love it just the same. I nearly had a coronary in the car when my cousin gave me the ring. She knows I love the Red Sox very much. I have more Red Sox things than I have any other Boston sports team. I own just one Patriots hat. I lost interest in the Celtics when Larry Bird retired (more than twenty years ago) and I don’t care for hockey. All I know about the Bruins is what I read on Twitter or Facebook. But the Sox to me are special. I have been a fan since I was a little kid and that hasn’t changed. Even when they suck, I still love them. My cousin knows this. I will always treasure this gift. I might not wear it publicly, only because it is huge and heavy, but I will wear it in the house.
I slept late today, a rarity. I woke up around 0530 and miraculously, I was able to get back to sleep around 0600. Yesterday was a difficult for me, mostly last night. I feel like I am a failure in my mother’s eyes because I don’t do much around the house. I would try but I know that it hurts so I don’t. My mother telling my cousin that I was basically a lazy ass did not sit well with me. My cousin wasn’t judging me at all. She knows that I suffer from chronic pain and she knows a little something about it because she has fibro.
Last night I was in bad shape. My mother got me very upset. I think between the sleep deprivation and being up all day, I was more vulnerable to her attacks. Normally she doesn’t get under my skin. I really wanted to die last night. I even thought of going in the hospital just to get away from her. But I feel now that will be giving in to her suspicions that I am not well. And that will infuriate her. She doesn’t get my mental illness at all. She thinks I should just let things roll off my back or not think about things. Even more damaging, she thinks I should “talk” to her. I tried talking to her when I was 10 and suicidal. I got no response. So why should I try talking to her now? She doesn’t understand my pain, my depressions, my insomnia. None of it. Hell, she didn’t even want to read my book that I wrote. I don’t even know if she read the New York Times article I wrote. If that isn’t a shun, I don’t know what is.
I need to go to Walgreens to pick up my prescription today. I really don’t feel like leaving the house. It’s cold, damp, and raw outside. Of course, what do you expect in November? The days of it being warm are over. I am not in pain at the moment. But I am afraid that if I walk to and back might cause my ankle to hate me. I really need to get PJs that I can also wear outside. I have sweat pants but it’s the idea of getting dressed that stresses me out. I hate the indecision of picking something to wear, of which socks to wear. I am glad I only have one good pair of sneakers otherwise I doubt I would never leave the house. I would never decide which pair to choose from. Some days it’s easier to just throw something on and leave the house. But days like today, I am dreading it. I just want to listen to Adele and Eric Church and just stay under the covers.
My menses are slowing down. I am going to ask the pharmacist, if I do go to Walgreens, if I can restart the pack today. Course, that will mean I have four pills that I just am not using. I never should have stopped mid-week but I had no choice. I really didn’t want two weeks of bleeding. Just talking about this makes me feel so low. I feel so degraded. I know no woman looks forward to that time of the month but it’s different when you are transgender. I have put up with so much. I just wish I was dead so I don’t have to deal with this at all anymore. I feel so alone. Other than my blog, there is no one I can really “bitch” to about this. I know that this particular mense breakthrough has caused increased suicidality more so than at any other time. It’s just so difficult. Other than my sisters, I haven’t really told a “real” person about my TG. My therapist and my psychiatrist know but they are not people I see every day. But then, there are no people that I see everyday other than my family. I feel so isolated. I know part of it is my own doing. I don’t reach out to people. I could blame my paranoia, especially now as things have kicked up a notch since the Paris attacks. I just don’t feel safe anymore. And I don’t even think being on a locked ward of a hospital will help.
Demons are out tonight
Demons are out tonight
I am feeling frustrated for many reason, one of which is that I can’t seem to get to sleep despite being really tired. I just am not sleepy enough for sleep. The other part is that I am slightly suicidal because my menses have returned and there is nothing I can do about it until next week. I should have stopped the pill on Sunday when I had some discharge on Saturday but didn’t think it was anything. HA I was wrong. I am so mad at myself. I feel like ending it because I hate being a woman. No amount of talking about it is going to change that fact. I feel disgusted with myself.
For the past half hour, I have been thinking more about talking to the Twitter buddy of mine to see if he can recommend someone for me. Thing is, I don’t know what kind of therapist I want. I really don’t want a DBT therapist. I really don’t want any therapist other than the one I am seeing. My therapist wants me to see someone face to face. I just can’t bear the thought of seeing someone and then have them reject me because of my past suicidal history. And the fact that I still have suicidal thoughts still puts me at high risk. No therapist wants that. I am so frustrated. I know that I just need to get a zipcar and see my therapist at least once a month. I think that will satisfy her need to see me. Other than that, I don’t know what else to do. I feel so hopeless about it.
I asked a good friend of mine to get his input on the situation. I don’t know what he will say. I feel like giving up at this point. The “why bothers” have kicked in, which is part of the reason I can’t fucking sleep. I feel so sad. I have my fucking menses, I am in pain because my ankle is a jerk, and I just feel suicidal because I can be. I also have been feeling really paranoid. I took my perphenazine earlier tonight. That took away some of the voices and stuff until I got a damn migraine that blinded me. Half my face went throbbing and I couldn’t see because it affected my eyesight. All I could do was be in the dark until the meds worked. This was around 2030. It’s now past 0100. I am so damn tired of living in pain. I am tired of being psychotic because I am stressed out. Between world events and my PCP leaving, it just caused me to be stressed out. Whenever I get stressed, I have a psychotic break. I still believe aliens are controlling those bad people. I can’t call them by the group because I am being monitored by the FBI. Today while at the bus stop, a bag was left by itself. I grew more paranoid that a bomb was in it. Then when the bus came, my bus, the owner of the bag took it. I was ready to call the police because it was just sitting there by its lonesome self. Why do people do that?? It really scared me. Then the voices started and the hallucinations that I was being watched began. I can’t shake that I am being watched and the voices aren’t helping me. I don’t feel safe anymore and I want to die. I don’t want to be in a world where there are aliens that want to control you and make you do bad things to people. I have known this for months now. No one believes me and I find this so sad. It really hurts. I don’t think my therapist believes me, and she is the closest thing I have to a best friend at the moment.
This is why I can’t see anyone else. Another therapist is just going to think that I suffer from delusions and that I am paranoid. I haven’t heard back from my psychiatrist. I wish should would respond to my damn emails. Maybe I should page her but it’s past 0100. She will be worried if I page her at this hour. But I can’t sleep. Maybe I should take another Ativan. It might calm me down enough to get some sleep. I don’t want to take another trilafon or it will mess with my bowels. I won’t go and that will be a problem. I am not doing anything today. Only thing on the agenda is to call my friend and see if he would like to have dinner one day next week or the end of this week. I really want to go to my favorite Thai restaurant and have my favorite food. I already know what I want so there is no reason to look at the menu. Spring rolls, Pad Thai, Curry Puffs, and drunken chicken to go. I will have the drunken chicken for lunch the following day. I think I have rice, if not I will buy some.
What is really troubling me is that I will have to deal with the menses situation for two weeks instead of one. Sure I can stop the pill now but that will mean having to start the pill again on a Tuesday and I really would hate that. I like having it on Sunday so I don’t screw up. I am such an idiot. Next time, first time of any bleeding I am stopping the pill on Sunday. This is all my fault. I should really be punished somehow. I’d kick my ass but I can’t reach that far behind myself. I am such a fucking idiot.
I have decided to not go on Facebook anymore. All I am doing is hiding stupid shit. People are getting really racist and I don’t like it. They keep comparing the Jewish people of WWII to the Syrian refugees. It’s killing me because the US is not accepting them in some states. Then they are saying that our vets need homes because they are homeless. I agree on that front. Our military should be taken cared of first and foremost. Why provide housing to these refugees when our former military are living in the streets. It’s a dire situation. It angers me that no one cares, especially our presidential nominees. They all should go to hell for allowing the military to lose their homes. Pisses me off.
Then today I read that people aren’t taking Borderline personality disorder seriously. Hell some even confused it with Bipolar disorder. OMG are you fucking serious? They are not the same. One is an Axis I diagnosis (bipolar disorder), the second is an Axis II diagnosis (BPD). What really pisses me off is when they use BPD for bipolar! It’s BP!!! I wish they kept the manic depressive diagnosis rather than call it fucking bipolar. It doesn’t denote the illness at all. Another pisser today that has my underwear in a twist, so to speak.
So the reason the demons are out tonight is because I have my menses, I am suicidal, and psychotic. In the mean time, I can’t fucking sleep. No sleep, more aggravation. Think I will listen to some piano sonatas to try and calm down along with taking an Ativan.
midnightdemons7 
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