Third Blog of the Day: Suicidal Ramblings

Okay, so this is my third blog of the day. I just feel the need to write as my brain is overloaded with this heatwave.

I love my new haircut but my mother doesn’t. My father didn’t see it today. I didn’t remove my baseball cap so he could comment on it. He was wondering why I didn’t shave my goatie I have going on. I usually trim it when I see him but I am tired of trimming it.

My brother in law put in my AC so my room is more tolerable now than it was earlier this afternoon. I am wicked tired. I should be sleeping but I feel like I should write. I got too much stuff on my mind. Like why am I not a boy. Why do I have to have female breasts. I feel like such a loser.

My therapist doesn’t know the week I plan on killing myself. I won’t be telling her. I have everything planned out, sort of. Only question is timing of it. I still need to give my psychiatrist her goodbye letter that I wrote a month ago. That is important to me. She needs to know what I have written. I think I will mail it the day I will die. Course, I am still ambivalent and might not go ahead with my plans. I still have not found a cyber person to take care of my social media accounts when I die. But then, I don’t think too many people pay attention to what I write so it might not be a big deal, especially on Twitter. I really don’t see too many people responding, but I could be wrong. I won’t know because I will be gone.

I wish I could say what my reasons are for killing myself. Pain is one. Being transgender is another. Living in a female’s body sucks. In June, I have to go for a pap smear because it’s been ten years since my last one. But I am wondering if it will be worth it at all seeing as I will be dead a few weeks after I am gone. It’s almost like, why bother? I go through the motions as if I want to live so no one has a clue I want to die. It’s not like it is written on my forehead.

Another reason I don’t want to live anymore is because I am tired of living a life I just don’t want to live. I am tired of breathing. I am tired of just being. I am tired of my life being such a struggle every day and no one noticing. I am tired of hurting every single day. I am never going to be a stellar writer. Hell, I can’t even sell 100 copies of my book. I can’t even give them away for free. That is how bad my book title is, perhaps. I am not looking for awards but a simple appreciation can go a long way. I am going to give the book away to the two people that have influenced the book the most. Then I am going to kill myself. I am such a loser. I keep thinking that this is wrong, that I can’t kill myself. I don’t have the guts to go through with it. But I can’t help thinking that suicide is the answer for me. It will solve the pain piece. I won’t be in pain anymore. I can go to my death bed as a female like how every one sees me. My psychiatrist still sees me a female, not as a male. But then I have known her since I was a kid. I don’t blame her. How do you make that kind of transition? Even my eye doctor is the same way. It’s all confusing and rather than sort out the confusion, I rather die. I should maybe write a goodbye letter to my eye doctor. I have known him for more than twenty years. But how do I even begin to write something like that? He is a good guy. We have hung out together for a little bit, coffee and movies. I have even made him dinner a few times.

Then I think about my family and how devastated they will be when I am gone. It kills me. Some days I care and others I try not to. Knowing that I will be a source of their pain is not a fun thing to know. I try not to think about it because it always puts a stop gap measure in my planning. I love my sisters and my nieces and nephew. I know that this will hurt them beyond all measure. But I know they will get over my death with time. It is the one thing that I think keeps the suicidal demons going is knowing this. I don’t care how my aunts will react to my death. I worry that my mother will die of a broken heart. But then it will be her “daughter” and not her “son”. She wouldn’t have to deal with me becoming a man. And I think that is better for her.

Rotten Monday

Rotten Monday

I have been having a bad day. I was able to take a shower, which aggravated my ankle/leg. I thought it was okay until I started watching TV for a little bit. My leg does not like to be down while sitting. I decided to make some potatoes for a potato salad and that further aggravated my pain. Now I am listening to the game on the radio as I can’t sit and watch TV. I am annoyed because they have Rob Bradford in for Dave O’brien. I don’t like Rob too much. He just sounds like he is full of himself all the time.

My mood sucks right now because my boys are losing, big time, thank to Joe Kelly. I really dislike Kelly. His last few starts have sucked. I thought he would make it to the 3rd inning but he barely made it to the 2nd when the Twins exploded on him. They got six runs off him. So disappointing. And what is funny, like ha ha funny, is that he, Kelly, thought he would win the Cy Young Award this year. That is a joke. His ERA has to be in the 700s. Well, maybe not. I just checked and his ERA is 5.13, still pretty bad. You don’t get the Cy Young award with an ERA of 5 and a losing record.

I didn’t sleep too well, again. I woke up around 0530 and then went back to sleep around 7ish after I made some pancakes. I have been craving pancakes every time I see tweets from IHOP. I love their pancakes. I have yet to make them fluffy. I don’t know how to make them fluffy. I mostly make them flat. They were still yummy. I have to get more Buttermilk mix and regular syrup. My mother bought a lite cheapo brand and it is kind of gross, leaving a bitter aftertaste.

I have been playing poker the past few days but for every hand I win, I lose 20. It’s terrible. I have tried playing Farmville again and that is a mind numbing game. You just plant and plant, then harvest and harvest. Not much challenge but it keeps me busy, when I need a distraction. I really miss my Pioneer Trail. I was hoping that there would be a Pioneer Trail 2 but I heard that Zynga laid off the programmers. So I am stuck playing Farmville and poker. I have tried playing the game that other players have gone to, Household, but it just doesn’t appeal to me.

My mood has been very irritable because I haven’t been sleeping and in pain. My mother has been cleaning out the front porch so our living room is a disaster area. It has been pissing me off because I can’t watch TV as there are stuff in the way. I really wanted to watch some Bones episodes but because of the stuff, I can’t. I am really annoyed. I am depressed because I just can’t get out of the house because of pain. I was lucky to get a shower in today but now I am paying for it. I just can’t win. My thoughts haven’t gone to the suicide caliber, yet. I still am thinking about the date I have set aside for my death date. I am waxing and waning on going through with it. I hate ambivalence. It really keeps you here. It is just annoying me because if I didn’t have the ambivalence, I probably would just go ahead with my plans.

Another Day in the Life of Midnight Demon

Another Day in the Life of Midnight Demon

I participated in the weekly BPD, Borderline Personality Disorder, chat on Twitter. This week’s topic was about social media. I gave a few thoughts and shared my friend’s blog. She has BPD and writes about the struggles quite frequently. I will also be participating tonight on the SPSM chat later this evening. I just hope that I will be up.

My boys won today, 6-1. I am very happy they did. We needed a win and now fall within 2.5 games of the Rays, who are currently in first place. I am glad it was a day game today. I don’t know if I could handle a night game and then a chat. Or chat while the game was going on. I don’t particularly like SPSM because I feel it doesn’t validate my statements most of the time and I get talked down to a lot. I know it’s probably not the case but it feels that way.

I plan on making pancakes for supper. I just don’t know what kind to make. I am leaning toward oatmeal because I do love them more than buttermilk or original. The last time I made them, they came out kind of sucky so I am going to play with the ingredients a little bit to make them better. I only once made them perfect and that was a while ago.

Sometime in the last few hours, I re-read the article I am writing a review on. I wanted to get back to it but I have been lazy today. My brain just isn’t there. I didn’t sleep too well again last night as I went to bed around 0230. It seems if I am up past 2300, I get hyper and have a hard time falling asleep. I get my second wind, so to speak.

My mother needed a box for the cleaning that she is doing. I was happy to oblige and gave her two that were in my room. Now I just need to figure out what to do with the clothes that are in its place. I am slowly making my way to the closet but I am just not there yet. It is a struggle and maybe before the chat and after I had some food, I will be able to clean a little more or at least go through some of the stuff that is there. It’s so hard for me to make decisions on what to do with the stuff that I just get overwhelmed and don’t do anything. I keep telling myself just one thing but sometimes, that one thing leads to another that leads to another that leads to another. Then you have several things and you start feeling overwhelmed by it all and just say fuck it. At this point it will become my summer project. If I can clean out that part of my room, I can then hang my jeans and clothes that can be hung and not be on the floor or on top of boxes.

I still have my menses, much to my disappointment. I thought it was going away as I had less stuff coming out of me but my last trip to the bathroom proved me wrong. I hate it so much and was so looking forward to wearing boxers. Now I just want to take a shower and do nothing. I am so disgruntled. And what kills me is that I have no one to really talk about it with. I have my therapist, but I don’t talk with her till Tuesday and by then it will most likely be gone. It just kills me that I have to put up with this every few months. I know I should be grateful it isn’t every month but I am a man and shouldn’t have to put up with it period (no pun intended). It just kills my ego and how I view myself. It’s like it takes a little part of me every time it comes around. It definitely makes the suicidal part of me grow. I really rather be dead than to deal with this shit. And the trouble is no one understands. They just think that I have to endure it because I am a “woman” and that is what women do. God, it hurts me so much. No matter how much I try to be a man, I just can never be enough of one.

I am sad to report that one of my friends just told me she tried to attempt suicide twice in as many weeks. That makes three attempts, maybe four, since I have known her. I really don’t know what to do. She is having a hard time getting services where she lives. And I just feel helpless. We used to talk every day and now it’s spotty. She feels like she is a burden to me and no matter how many times I have told her otherwise, it hasn’t clicked in her brain. It is just upsetting to me that she uses my illness as a way of not reaching out for help. I know I am just one person, and she obviously has the right not to seek my help, but to tell me she attempted after the fact just strikes me as painful. I want to help her, I really do, but I can’t if she doesn’t talk to me. I haven’t responded to her message and I don’t think I am going to, least not right away. I need to regroup and think about this and how to approach her.

Hospitalizations: Fifteen Minutes of Fame

Hospitalizations: Fifteen Minutes of Fame

I had therapy. My therapist read my “Brick Wall” blog. She asked if we could talk about the bricks and we spent most of the session going over them. I also told her about my book problems, that I think it is disorganized. She said that it is her most prized possession, so I think she is biased in my writing abilities. She said my short story was heartbreaking to read. I haven’t gotten too many likes on it. I may have to play with the tags a bit. Anyway, talking about the bricks was difficult because it lead to where I was in my last hospitalization, where I wrote the story. I told her how no one was looking at the bricks, that they were just looking for the cement to dry before sending me home, so to speak. That is all they cared about. Stabilization and discharge were the key focus of what they wanted to do. What brought you in the hospital, they didn’t care about. Or if they did, it was always, “we’ll talk about it tomorrow” but never did. I hated that my needs were ignored and patronized. I flatly told them I was going to kill myself when I left the hospital during my initial few days when they wanted to discharge me. And it was true. I needed help and was going to stay inpatient to get that help. Except the help came back to me looking for help from outside services. The social worker that was working with me didn’t care about my needs. I ended up having to call places to look for outside support. I tried to get it but never had a call back or even an email back, though one place the email came back as undelieverable. It was a trying time. I wanted to kill myself so badly and yet I was supposed to make all these phone calls to show that I wanted to live? To do the work my team was supposed to be doing? I just don’t understand their mentality. Yet it has been nine months since I left the hospital. I am still here because the anti depressant they put me on really help stabilize my depression. Too bad it no longer works. I stopped taking it in December.

My therapist thinks I should write a blog about past hospitalizations and current ones. Thing is, I don’t remember much. I know things are different today than they were back then. For example, there are no longer any outside passes given. If you want outside passes, you are basically discharged. When I was in the hospital in August, they wanted to give me grounds privileges. This meant that I could go out for staff walks. I told them adamantly no because I was scared I was going to run. They gave it to me anyway. Granted that at the time, I was in an AFO so I know I wouldn’t get far, but they still took that chance of letting me go. Stupid, I tell ya. I should have gone away from the group and tried to escape. I don’t know what that would look like but I know it wouldn’t be good on either side. I would most likely get reprimanded like a child, even though I am an adult. But that would be on them. I told them I would run and if I did, it was on them, not me.

I remember a time when I was in the hospital 21 years ago. I was severely depressed and suicidal. I had attempted suicide and was hospitalized against my will, in fact the admitting staff forged my signature on the consent form. I went through my records after discharged. Anyway, back then they had ground privileges, which meant you could leave the unit unaccompanied by a staff person. Just as long as you stayed on hospital grounds. Well, I decided to walk around the block after working hours and got “caught” by off duty staff. My privileges were revoked the next day as I broke the “rules”. I never kept my privileges too long. I always did something to revoke them. One weekend I had to beg for an outside pass just to pay a bill (I was there for more than a month and if I didn’t pay the bill, my phone was going to be turned off). I told them I would be back within an hour and I did. It was the first time they trusted me to do this. It was tough because I was so suicidal and they weren’t going to let me try again, hence why my stay was 2 ½ months. That was my longest time in the hospital. It did help me but the demons were still there. I had major issues that I still don’t talk to anyone about, not even my current therapist. It’s just too scary.

Last night I was looking for former therapists. I came across one, Dr. B. She helped me probably more than all the rest. She was the longest therapist that I have seen till that point, three years. All the rest of the therapists that I have seen were year or less. I am going to send her my book and email address. I wrote about her in my book. It was hard not to include her because the opening introduction has her in it as that was my first serious suicide attempt. I had made other attempts before that one, but this one landed me in the hospital and then I was there for a long time. That is when you had good care and one on one contact with someone. Now they have these “teams” where there are all the staff from the unit meet with you for fifteen minutes or so and then decide what to do with you. Fifteen minutes to decide if you need further stay or discharge. It is nothing like the care I had 21 years ago. You met with your inpatient therapist, then a social worker, and then your contact person who was a staff member for that shift. This no longer happens and it’s sad. No longer do you feel safe in the hospital or cared for. It is the end of the era for hospitals. I will never go back, no matter how suicidal I get. They can just kiss my ass goodbye.