Tag: suicide attempt

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.

just so frustrating

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

I just came home from eating dinner at my cousin’s house. We had a good time. I told him about my book but didn’t say anymore about the content of it. He is one of those people that thinks that if you don’t talk about suicide, it doesn’t exist. He doesn’t know about my attempts for this reason. He doesn’t want to hear about it. He rather hear about how crippling my depression is than hear about how suicidal I have been. It is a barrier so we just don’t talk about it.

I also didn’t talk about my being transgender. He made a comment tonight about how I am his favorite girl or something to that effect. I wanted to correct him but then I figured why bother.

I had an extremely long day that was mostly dealing with my family members. I think the only two members of the family I didn’t have to deal with today were my youngest niece and my brother in law, oh and my nephew. So three. I am exhausted just thinking about it. My morning was filled with going up and down stairs. My ankle is thanking me kindly right now with pain. No matter as I am about to take my night meds and go to bed. I am hoping that I will stay asleep till eight but I doubt it. My track record hasn’t been good and I didn’t get a good night sleep last night. I went to bed after two in the morning and then woke up an hour later. Took some Ativan and only slept for two more hours before I said the hell with it and stayed up. I lost track on how many hours I have been up. Plus I am sick so that doesn’t help me much. If I continue this way, I know I am not going to get rid of this cold.

I had therapy today and my therapist was on her high horse, which pissed me off. I warned her that if she didn’t settle down, I was going to hang up on her. The one advantage of phone sessions. I finally told her about what my AAS blog is going to be about. I didn’t tell her at first because I wasn’t sure if I told her what I did and I was afraid that she would be mad at me or get all worried on me. I don’t know when this post is going to be published but when it is, I will reblog it here. I think it is an important post about chronic pain and suicide.

Tonight while I was over my cousin’s, I was thinking of suicide and how I don’t think much about it these days. I guess because my chronic pain is well controlled and I am not hurting too much these days. But the depression. Man, that is a whole other can of worms!! That is making me wish I was dead so bad. I just don’t want to be alive and there is really no one I can talk to about this. I haven’t been able to tell my therapist because we have been dealing with my family issues lately more than my suicidal thinking, or death wishes. They are more like death wishes than actual suicide thoughts. I am not planning my death or anything. I just wish I was dead. I dread waking up most mornings. I have been having bad dreams. So I can’t even have a restful sleep even if I wanted it. It’s so distressing. I haven’t told my therapist about the dreams. She knows I have been having weird dreams but not every night. She doesn’t know that and I am afraid to tell her because I know she wants to talk about it. I would talk about it but I don’t remember the dreams. I remember the people in my dreams but not what they were doing or anything like that. It is so frustrating. And makes me wish I was dead all the more. I just want to escape. I need a place I can go to without judgment and criticism. Away from my family for a little while. I don’t want to go into the hospital because they aren’t going to do much for me and will most likely make my sleep worse. Plus I am not suicidal so it is not like I need to be in the hospital. I just want to die. I feel like the future is closing in on me where it was expanding on me before. Maybe I don’t have a future. I still believe that I am meant to kill myself. But I don’t have the lethality to actually follow through with it. It’s just so frustrating. I can’t live and yet I can’t die. WTF am I supposed to do. Yet I continue to exist. And I don’t like it.

a starbucks day

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, depression, suicide attempt

Sitting at Starbucks and pondering what to do today. I got chicken in the fridge that I need to prepare for dinner tonight but don’t feel like doing it. I am just so tired of life that everything is a hassle. You would think that my getting up early in the morning, before seven, I would have energy. But all I have is dread and worry. I really cannot wait until the editor can take me and I hope it is soon because the longer I wait, the longer I am just going bonkers with doubts. I know I have had two good reviews and I am grateful for that. And I know the editor will like what I write. I just have my doubts about things some times that makes me wonder if it is worth it all. I mean, I am putting myself out there in a huge way. Talking about my nerve condition, my depression, my suicide attempts, my psychosis, and most of all, being transgendered. Only a few people close to me know about this. And now I will be telling the world. But maybe I don’t need to get my story out there. I have this blog for that, but this blog is just my daily struggles. It doesn’t deal with my past events, specifically. I mean if I wrote about my past every day, I doubt I would get new readers and possibly the ones that I have now will lose interest and leave.

I was in a bad spot yesterday and the day before that. Today is too soon to know if I will be in that same bad spot. And my bad spot, I mean thinking about death and suicide. Course right now I wish I was dead just so I didn’t have to deal with my sperm donor (my father). So I texted my therapist about feeling poorly and she writes back “you deserve to live, you are worthy”. I am like WTF is that supposed to mean? I mean I get the words, but they just don’t sink in. I kind of am mad because she is going on the whole “loyalty to my father” bullshit. I don’t know what she means by “loyalty” and when I asked her about it, she said maybe that is not the right term. Ya think?? No wonder I call her a Bozo! And a Fink. But mostly Bozo.

I just sent her off a package of letters that I wrote while she was on vacation. It’s the thing I do when I am stressed and need to vent when she is not around. She is looking forward to these letters. What a weirdo. I don’t even remember half of what I wrote, which is usually the case when I write. It goes on paper or the computer screen and is promptly forgotten about. I usually have a good memory but when it comes to my writing, forget about it. It’s like I have a writing alter or something and once it gets written, that part of me is closed off to it. And when I read what I wrote, I am like WTF, I wrote this?? It’s in my handwriting as bad as it is, so I know it is me. That is why my journals are so important to me. Granted lately I haven’t been so good in writing in them. But what fascinates me is that whatever I write, doesn’t change over the years. I keep writing about my pain and all that changes is the date. SOSDD—Same old shit different day.

I think because my mood has shifted from not being suicidal every day, is why I don’t write as often as I used to. Plus with me blogging, writing is just another chore to me. It’s been ages since I last had the writing bug, in which I would have to write something all the time. It is called Hypergraphia. I learned this term from the book Midnight Disease. It was written by a neurologist at Mass General Hosp. I forget her name, I want to say Anne Flaherty, but don’t quote me on that, I am too lazy to switch screens to Google it. It was a good book and I related a lot to what she was talking about. It gave me the hope that I could still become an MD or PhD with my illness, though right now my biggest goal that I want to do is get my Bachelors degree. Then I will decide whether to pursue graduate level courses. I do want to be a therapist one day and focus in the field of suicidology. Unfortunately, there is only one program in the country that focuses on suicide and that is in either Mississippi or South Carolina. I just know it’s down south and I hate the heat and humidity so not sure I can move down there. Course, that is if I get accepted to their program.

still wicked depressed

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

Not too sure I want to go out today for my latte. It’s really cold out, but we didn’t get any snow last night, least none that I have heard about.

I finally typed up my darkness pages that I wrote out the other night. It wasn’t as bad as I was imagining but it left me in a sad mood, almost suicidal but not really. I just feel like a lowlife.

I ordered my favorite food today but it didn’t taste good. Nothing tastes good anymore. I don’t know why that is. My taste buds seem to work only when they want to. It is frustrating because when I want something and it doesn’t taste good, it just spoils my appetite. Lately, all that I do want to eat is cereal or an egg. But I had an egg for the first time in a week and it didn’t taste good. I mean it wasn’t bad or anything like that, it just didn’t satisfy me. Tomorrow I am going to be making Hawaiian chicken in the crock pot for the first time. I hope that it is good. But the depression is making it so that I don’t want to make it. I have to cut up the chicken and then mix the ingredients. It should be good for a small crock pot. It sounds like work and it is overwhelming me. I hope the feeling is gone by tomorrow.

I have to pick up my niece today so I am not sure if I want to go out. Right now, I just want to take a nap. I haven’t done anything today except for typing up my story. I really don’t need a latte. I can make a cup of coffee and call it a day. Thing is, I don’t know if my sister still has my cream. I keep it at her house so I don’t have to keep taking it up and down the stairs with me. But her family uses it so sometimes I don’t have it. And it is not like I can put a sign on it saying don’t use in my sister’s house. She will just say to bring it upstairs.

I still am having trouble with concentrating. That has to be the most frustrating symptom of depression. It is because you can’t do anything about it and you can’t do anything without it. It’s taken me forever to write this blog because I keep getting distracted. Between the TV going downstairs and my phone’s text messages, I just can’t concentrate on what I want to write.

I haven’t heard anything from my friend’s people who are reading my book, or should be. I just had two people read it and they both liked it. But these people know what Cauda Equina Syndrome is. They live with it every day so they know what I am talking about. I don’t know how that is going to be with someone “normal”. I have about three weeks before my editor takes the book from me. I like to have at least two more feedbacks before she grabs it. I am wicked nervous about it. On days like today, my book sucks and no one can tell me different. Then I think about Jobes and his endorsement of my book and realize it is not so crappy.

What is surprising me throughout this whole depression is that I am not planning my own death. Usually I will and that will give me a sort of release. But this time it is taking too long for me to even think of death. It’s like it is too far from my reach so why bother. Sure I have plenty of pills I can overdose on. But why get sick on that. Then I will lose the trust of my doctors and I can’t go through with it. Their trust means so much to me. I feel like I should call my psychiatrist but what is there to say? I am depressed, again for the umpteenth time? Sometimes I just don’t think she understands just how painful these depressions can be and what cost it takes on my heart. I don’t think any one cares about that cost.