Tag: suicidality

sleeplessness, suicide, and other things

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

I took my night meds because I was feeling sleepy. Then I experienced some side effects. I think it was most likely withdrawal as I haven’t taken a pain med since last night. So I took one pill and now I am awake. I am listening to music and it’s keeping me awake. I know I should shut it off and try and get some sleep but I am not tired anymore. I hate when I wake up. It’s after midnight.

I started writing a blog/essay about my experience with dealing with the suicidality of the night before. I got to less than 200 words and gave up. I should have hand wrote it. Now the thoughts have escaped me. I hate when that happens. I really wanted to include it in my book.

The American Association of Suicidology will be having their annual conference in a couple days time. People are already meeting up and the conference doesn’t officially start until Thursday. I just care about what Jobes says. I hope he doesn’t have a pre conference workshop. I won’t be by my laptop Wednesday because I have an appointment with my psych. I also emailed her about my “episode”.

What strikes me about this episode is that there was no trigger other than intense psychache. My heart was being torn apart in a million pieces and I just wanted to die. I had the means to die. I just had to act but I didn’t. No one would know why I attempted to kill myself. I am not so sure either. I know I didn’t want to die in my room, not where someone close to me would find me. I never would be trusted again with my pills. And I am 40 years old to be treated like a child would be such an insult.

I honestly don’t know what would happen if I attempted and didn’t succeed in my house. That is something that I really don’t want to find out. I didn’t do anything to harm myself last night, as intense as the feelings were. And it seemed like they only lasted about ten minutes before they dissipated as fast as they appeared. I held out, again. My only question is, what about next time? Will I be so lucky, if that is the word to use?

In twelve hours I will find out if my therapist will honor my cancellation of our appointment. There has been no indication from her whether she will call me or not. So I am left wondering. I gave her plenty of time to cancel, more than 24 hours. But I don’t know if the blog that I sent her will void the cancellation. She will do that sometimes. I guess that is part of the reason why I can’t sleep. I am too worried about the what ifs. If she doesn’t call, I can leave my house earlier and get my Starbucks. I can also get my letter from my new PCP for my loan documentation that I need.

I continued the rant on Twitter about how the NP dismissed my depression as “stress”. I have never felt so offended before in my life. Stress is not something that causes depression or make you lose weight, your appetite, lose sleep, and feel worthless. I had all the physical symptoms of depression and she dismissed them. I can’t trust her anymore, not with my depression anyways. I have to keep the elephant in the room quiet now. I miss my old PCP. He understood. He was one of a kind. And the institution where he worked lost a great physician.

No Relief in Sight

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

No Relief in Sight

I am getting tortured. My soul aches, my ankle is throbbing, and my heart is heavy. I have tried to keep up with the pain but soon as it settles down and I think it’s safe to walk or stand, I am fooled. Then I am hurting twice as much as before. I have been taking my pain meds every few hours. I think I might have to take the stronger pain med tonight to see if I can get relief.

I hate feeling pain all day. I know it’s because I did a lot three days in a row without a break. I am paying for it now. I rather just deal with the depression though. It is the lesser evil. The physical pain will lessen with meds, eventually. I just got to play with doses and that is always difficult. I might take some Neurontin and see if that helps with my pain. It won’t hurt. And it might keep the weird dreams at bay. I usually don’t dream when I take Neurontin.

I keep thinking about death, my own and my father’s. There is no escaping it. Question is, who will die first, me or him. I really think I might go before him if this depression doesn’t resolve itself. It just really sucks that I have to wait another 10 days or so before I know if the meds are going to work. The hopelessness is getting stronger and as it does, my thoughts of death increase. I have been texting my therapist to fill her in on what is going on. I kind of wish I was seeing her Monday. But I know she has a full schedule so I probably won’t.

I have so much hurt inside and I don’t know where it is coming from. It’s like my father’s fluid build up, where don’t know where it is coming from and so it is with my heart ache. I hurt and there is no reason for it. What is worse is that there is nothing I can take for it. Maybe I should have gone on Cymbalta. That is supposed to help with the psychache of depression. I just don’t know why there has to be mental pain when you are depressed. I mean, really? You are already suffering, why add to it? And it’s not a pain that can be measured. Well, technically it can be, but that is just research use not clinically. Mental health professionals rarely use a pain scale with psychache. And that is if they are aware of mental pain. My therapist knows to ask about it because I have done the research. To her, I am a suicidologist. I might not have a degree but I feel that my study into suicide qualifies me as a suicidologist. My library is stocked with suicide books.

I am supposed to do a review of one of my suicide books but I haven’t found the energy to read it. I am so bogged down with negative emotion that it’s hard to read, even my non-suicide books are difficult. I just don’t have the concentration I need to sit through it.

Recently, I joined Netflix and started watching Friends. I love that show. But I can’t binge watch like I used to be able to. Half way through the show I want to stop it and not watch it anymore. I just don’t have the attention span to watch the 25 minutes of the show. So I have been watching just one show a day if I feel up for it.

I hate being in physical pain. I wish there was a magic pill to stop whatever process it is that is causing this pain. But I never know what is causing this pain, just like my psychache. The docs think I have complex regional pain syndrome and I think that is a close diagnosis but I don’t fit into the diagnosis. I don’t have a change in coloration in my foot or ankle. I just have pain every day that goes from my ankle down into my foot.

I never washed my clothes. My mother had put the pans and stuff back on the washer and I just didn’t feel like moving them. So I just put my clothes in the hamper for the next washing. I have other clothes that I can wear. Monday we are supposed to get hit with some kind of storm but the weather man keeps changing the story so I don’t think it’s going to hit Boston. I have to go out regardless as I need to see the NP for my pain meds. I hope by then the new PCP has signed the paperwork that I need. I haven’t heard anything yet and they were supposed to call me when it is ready to be picked up. I think that is another reason why my physical pain is so bad. Something is going to hit and I am feeling it. I am a human barometer. I also never took a shower. I am hurting too much to stand and it’s just not worth it tonight.

The Sox did win today. Luckily, they were rained out after the game was “official”. This preserved the lead.

turn for the worse

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

Turn for the worse

I’m feeling extremely low right now. I just read a blog by my favorite actor, Wil Wheaton. He wrote about his depression and I feel so bad about it. It really sucks that he suffers from it like I do. I worry that some day he might take his life during one of his lows.

I am feeling hopeless. I got thoughts swirling around my brain about death and dying. I wish I never flipped through the book and found that stupid lethal dose table. I can’t get the thoughts of overdosing out of my head and now I have a handbook on exactly how much I should take based on my weight. It will take some calculations, but I can do it. I am so tired, just like Wil.

This has gone on for two months now. I don’t think I am ever going to feel any better. I know it’s too early to say whether the antidepressant is going to help me but I doubt it is going to work. I don’t know if I should bother taking it. I just feel so hopeless, like nothing is ever going to feel right again.

The heaviness is back in my chest again. It’s like this huge weight that presses upon me, making it hard to take air in and out. It lingers and stays put, never moving or altering it’s position. It’s just there. I hate it. I hate my life. I hate everything. Nothing brings me joy or pleasure. Food shopping is probably the only thing that I find fun. I order all this stuff and then go back over it when I am not hungry and take things off it. I ordered ribs at $17 a rack. But it’s been so long since I have had them, it might stay on my order.

I have such a strange relationship with food these days. I will either not eat anything or I will eat just small things all day and be bloated. I will crave a certain food but then when it’s cooked up, I can’t eat all of it. Even if it’s a sandwich, I will eat half and then be full. My therapist thinks my stomach has shrunk because I haven’t been eating regularly. But then, I need to lose weight so I don’t mind the give and take go round. I just wish it could be on a steady keel. Like eating small meals every day and not getting the hungry horrors any day. It really sucks.

The fatigue from the depression is the worse. I feel like I could sleep for days but I hardly sleep. Then I will have a day or two where all I do is sleep. I sometimes don’t sleep at night but I will sleep during the day. If I didn’t have to see my father today, I know I would have been in bed all day. I am just so exhausted and I haven’t done anything to warrant it. But then, being in chronic pain doesn’t help. It also sucks the energy right out of you.

I just don’t want to be anymore. I still wonder what it will be like to take my BP medication, all of it and see if it causes an event. I don’t know if it will kill me. Might make me sick and that is what keeps me from doing it. I have tried not to think about these things but being really depressed makes you think of these things. I just want an escape. I am feeling trapped, emotionally, like I am in a prison and there is no way I can break out. My heart hurts so bad. Yet it continues to beat like nothing is going on. My autonomic nervous system doesn’t know that I am dead inside.

I should kill myself. Maybe I should plan another date.

SPSM and Prezi and being a suicide attempt survivor

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

SPSM and Prezi and being a suicide attempt survivor

For the first time in a long time, I felt I was useful to the #SPSMChat that goes on every Sunday at 10 pm EST on Twitter. I learned about Prezi, which I am not sure what it is yet. I thought it was a video thingy but I couldn’t figure it out and I am much to tired to try. I did make a couple of layouts but it crashed my Chrome and internet so I think I will stick with IE.

What I was talking about with Prezi was being a suicide attempt survivor. Twenty-five years ago today marks the actual day I got help, or tried to. It was a very confusing time and my mother had a hard time accepting me as being suicidal. She was worried about me, as is understandable. But I had my own world to contend to that she didn’t know about. I will write that in another blog, but for now, just know that I was living between two worlds, one that I created internally to cope with the external world.

It wasn’t easy the first few days after my attempt, if you want to call it that. My wrist hurt from cutting and then I found out that cutting really released emotion better than talking did. So I started having my cutting kit. I had to be very secretive but then, I sort of was as I was living in two worlds. I had two facades, the one that school saw and the one my home life saw. It wasn’t much different except at home I didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t talk to my sisters and my father was not there after his violent outburst the day before. A week after all this suicide talk and me not getting any better, my sisters felt that he had to know. I had a large decorative knife outside my bedroom door. I swore he was going to tell me to kill myself by stabbing myself with it. I couldn’t have been more wrong. Instead, he told me to jump off the Tobin bridge. He was giving me permission to kill myself essentially. Nice guy, huh?

I was a straight A student at school. I also had perfect attendance until that night. I think I had to skip school one day to meet with a counselor so that ended my perfect attendance record for the year. It didn’t matter, I lost interest in school. Nothing mattered to me except for dying. I was 15 years old. The school nurse helped me a lot for the rest of my years in high school. I don’t think I would have graduated if it wasn’t for her. She gave me hope every time I saw her and I knew that I couldn’t let her down by being depressed. She wanted me better so I saw the school counselor instead of going to a private therapist. Unfortunately, when the school year ended, so did therapy. I was deeply depressed, more so than I already was. The nurse got me in touch with a social worker at the community school. I saw her for about ten months before she got married and left. I had a breakdown. I skipped school for a week and then in April of 1992, I tried to kill myself again. I threw up the pills and thus saved my life. I lost all hope that I ever was going to die. I felt like more of a failure than I ever was. That summer, I had my first hospitalization and thus started the cycle. I was hospitalized every three months because my suicidality reached its peak and I couldn’t cope with life anymore. The third time I went into the hospital, I came out as being gay. I had dissociated while cutting because I felt an attraction toward a woman on the T (public transportation). I thought I was going nuts until I met someone in the hospital who was also gay. I came out with my treatment team and felt a huge burden off my shoulders. It wasn’t until two decades later I would come out as being transgender.

My teenage years were filled with hospitalizations and cutting. It was a vicious cycle that continued into my twenties. After graduation from high school, I had my longest hospitalization because I overdosed again on the antidepressant I was taking at the time. I was determined to die and no one was going to stop me. Except, a Jewish doctor that felt I had some hope. She told me the only way out of the hospital was if I were to see her. The outside therapist I saw didn’t want to see me anymore. She couldn’t handle my suicidality. So I started seeing her but my suicidality increased. I was in and out of the hospital from August of 1994 to Jan 1995. I felt like no one could love me. Until I met a boy from Nebraska. He was gay and he loved me unconditionally. He didn’t care about my past. He wanted to help me. And he did. I felt that if I had him, I could heal. It took a while to trust him and I did. We had long conversations about school and life and being gay. We joined BAGLY and met others like ourselves. I still felt like an outsider because I really felt like I was a man. I was too scared to tell anyone this. So I was called a lesbian or gay woman instead. My self hatred rose to new levels. But I always held it in check.

Amazingly, I graduated a two year school for medical assisting. I was still cutting. I changed therapists, again. This time I was seeing a male therapist. It wasn’t too long before I fired him. I had obtained the medication to overdose again and when I told him, he asked if I was suicidal. It was the most stupidest question I was ever asked. Do people obtain large quantities of medication just for the hell of it? Granted I didn’t tell him I was suicidal, but getting asked point blank was kind of silly.

After this therapist, I really didn’t want to see anyone else again. It was really tough because either they left me or I fired them. Most of them couldn’t deal with my suicidality as an outpatient. They just thought the hospital was the way to go. By the time I was 25, I had about as many hospitalizations in ten years time. I just figured that was the way life was going to be. I was going to be in and out of hospitals for the rest of my life and I didn’t like that option.

It took years for suffering till I was an undergraduate at a university where I was taking psychology classes. My cutting had stopped, least for now. I had met my current therapist and she wanted to help me. I was taking a class for psychometrics testing. I researched stuff about suicide and couldn’t find a damn one that dealt with pain. There was an overview of assessments, twenty-five in all, and not a single one dealt with psychological pain. Then I came across the works of Dr. Edwin Shneidman. He lead me to David Jobes and the world of suicidology was open before me. I still felt like a hypocrite when I became a member in 2007 but I learned so much. My hospitalization started to decrease. I was using Jobes’ work in my therapy. I was also using Holden’s work as well. My pain finally had a name, psychache. And with it I could finally stop the bleeding. I couldn’t control the bleeding because I still bleed to this day, but it’s much less now that it’s acknowledge and talked about.

I still don’t have supportive parents. My sisters try to be supportive around my transgender issues but I can tell they would just like me to be my birth name and gender. They don’t know how much my suicidality surrounds me not being in the correct body. I hope in time they will.