Tag: suicide attempt

stuck in my depressiveness

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression

nspw

I am stuck in my depressiveness. I cannot seem to find joy. I am listening to the ball game which usually cheers me up but not today. My team is losing but I could care less. I just took a shower because I needed to. It has been days since my last one. I just can’t get ahead of it.

One of my friends on FB just posted that I should “hang in there”. I hate when people say that, especially when you think about hanging yourself. I don’t know why I feel so low. My thinking is in reverse gear so I am not thinking as fast as I normally do. I hate when this happens. I find it hard to do anything.

Another friend of mine wanted advice on how to help someone who is feeling suicidal. She is a bubbly person, always positive despite her own difficulties. I told her to listen to him. To hear his story as difficult as it might be. That is all that someone wants is to be heard, to have a sympathetic, empathetic ear.

I posted, again, on my Facebook status that I feel depressed. Again I got the usual bullshit answers. What do you say to someone that is feeling depressed? Certainly not keep your chin up! Or things like it could be worse! I once had my sister tell me at least I don’t have cancer. WTF…really? You have to go there? No at least with cancer there is an end. Depression has no end unless you end it.

Today, Sept 8th starts the beginning of suicide prevention week. I remember I tried to organize something for the psychology department the first week of school but it was difficult as I was the only one and in the end it proved to be too difficult and challenging. So this week, I have changed my profile picture on twitter and Facebook to the Suicide ribbon. I got it from the AAS (American Association of Suicidology) website.

I still feel pretty down and feel like I should write about it. I know this is my second blog of the day. But I wanted people to know that when someone says they are depressed, don’t tell them to cheer up and say that it could be worse. This does not help the person at all. Tell them you are sorry they feel that way and offer to help them through their day. They might need someone to let off steam to about whatever their problem might be, even if you think it is insignificant, it means the world to that person.

I think I am bummed out because I can’t use my new laptop and have to use my old one. I am anxious because I never know when the blue screen of death will occur or when the screen decides to get all funky just by adjusting it. I can’t watch movies on this laptop because I don’t have software on it to play it, though I supposed I could use windows media player if I had to. I just don’t want the laptop to overheat and it gets hot after an hour’s use. Longer than that and I will start having problems. Oh the joy of technology. And the thing that really bothers me about the new laptop, which I had already reformatted, it will not load the updates that are important. I have tried several times and it just won’t load. I think I need a new hard drive. But this is an old model and I don’t think it will solve anything. I don’t think I can get a bigger hard drive anyways.

I hate feeling down all the time. Usually something will help me and I will get out of it. But today, that doesn’t seem to be the case. And you know something? I don’t care. If I am depressed so be it. It’s not the end of the world. I have been depressed most of my life and why should this day be any different. I just expressed myself on my status and someone questioned it. Don’t like it, unfriend me! Nothing is keeping you from being my friend if you don’t like my language. I really don’t care. I am tired of trying to please everyone all the damn time.

a good but tiring day

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

I didn’t sleep very well last night. I was up till around five and finally took a bunch of pills to get to sleep, nothing that would hurt me. I slept for about three hours and then slept for six. I am still tired and feel like I could go back to sleep with no problems.

The stress of not being able to use my laptop and worrying that it might catch fire is not sitting well with me. I shut down the laptop after I was able to retrieve my files that I wanted from them. I then uploaded it to Dropbox for safe keeping. When I woke up this morning, or maybe it was before I finally passed out, I made a copy on my portable hard drive. Now I have three copies of all my files. I just have to keep updating it.

I am glad I didn’t give away my old laptop or I would be screwed. And because this thing weighs like 10 lbs I won’t be lugging it. It’s too heavy to carry. It is still portable but I don’t want to run the risk of hurting myself while transporting it. It is going to get used to typing on this laptop because the keys are not as spread out as my new laptop is. I am just grateful that the laptop was under warranty and I can get it fixed, though I know it is going to take several weeks to do.

When I did wake up this afternoon, I found that the Yankees were losing big time to the Red Sox. Yea baby!! We are on the verge of sweeping them!! I then tuned into the OSU game (college football) and they are still beating San Diego State 42-7. I am very happy my teams are on a roll. This will be the second OSU win of the season.

I am feeling very tired. My brain just doesn’t want to wake up despite drinking some tea. I really want to get back to sleep but I fear that I will wake up at an early hour. I don’t feel like working on my book today. I doubt I can write anything useful in it. I don’t want to get myself revved up with emotion.

On another happy note, I was able to find an article using Google that I have been searching for the past few days. It was the last article in which Edwin Shneidman was alive. I was looking for his exact words that he used in the article. I copied it and placed it in my quotes page. I think it is important to note because he was one of the best. I am lucky to have talked to him before he died.

The quote was “How many suicides do you want, and I say I don’t want any, but I want there to be the freedom to do it. I study suicide but I am not pro-suicide. I’m for suicide prevention.” I study suicide so I can possibly prevent my own. That is why I became a member of the AAS and read a lot of articles on suicide and suicide attempts. I figure the only way to conquer the demons is by knowing the demons. Not everything works and sometimes all that does is time.

drinking and cutting

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, depression

***warning might be triggering***

Just finished my writing of four pages today. I talked about the benefits of hospitalization and such. I have good experience with that as I have been hospitalized over 30 times in my life. I had at least twenty by the time I was 25 years old. My depressions were brutal and all I could think about was killing myself. And back then, if you had any thoughts of suicide and were thinking about acting on it, it landed you in the hospital. Now you need a specific plan, time, and date before they admit you.

I have been having big self-harm urges today. It started last night and has not let up any today. I am able to distract myself with music and playing with my phone, usually by going on twitter. I rarely talk to anyone by my therapist about this, though today she wanted to know more about it and I blew her off. I don’t know why I blew her off. I don’t really know why I have the urges. But I just didn’t want to talk about it. I felt like if I did, the urges would come back stronger and I wouldn’t be able to keep them at bay. I deal with these urges for so long on my own that I still can’t let anyone in on them. They are too private for me to talk about. I know that the paper I wrote last night about my TG issues is a cause of it. I don’t understand the link between me being a male and me wanting to cut. And I don’t think I want to know. I also have been wanting to drink to get seriously drunk. Been staring at a bottle of crown royale the past few weeks. I could empty the bottle. It has about a fourth left if I let myself. I am just afraid of what I might do if I start drinking. I could get into the fuck it modes and take more meds than I should. I could accidently try and kill myself while under the influence. That is why I don’t drink. I am too afraid of what might happen. I have never drank and used my meds inappropriately. In fact, if I do have any alcoholic beverages, I usually don’t end up taking my narcotic medication because I am afraid of the side effects. I won’t even take an Ativan for fear of it slipping me into a coma, though I don’t take that much.

Ever since I had that mini suicide attempt last October I have been fearful of mind altering drugs and cutting. Cutting might seem harmless, but it really isn’t. Not to a former cutter. It is like a drug. Once you start, you can’t stop. You want to feel that “high” again and again with each blood drop. I can’t explain it beyond that. It’s like a thrill you can’t get otherwise. It lets go of the pain with each slash. I am just afraid of going too deep and needing stitches where I most likely will be hospitalized for my actions. They rarely let you go if you need stitches. And it’s terrible to have to sit and wait and wait and wait like you are some kind of leper. Even though you didn’t mean on doing yourself harm, they (psychiatrists and such) think you could be at risk for more harm. All it takes to get started is that one cut. And one cut is usually never enough. Just like with me, one sip of whiskey is never enough. I need more and more to get drunk. I am a binge drinker. I binge drink and then I am fine for months. But sometimes, I find that I can’t stop drinking. I am not an alcoholic. I just like to drink. And sometimes just one will do it. Sometimes five will do it. Other times it is the rest of the bottle.

I have never cut while drunk and I never drink while cutting. The hazards for going too deep and wild is too great, greater than overdosing on medication. I once wanted to cut my jugular while in a drunken rage so I decided to never mix the two. It takes some deep restraint not to give into impulses for either. And despite the impulse, I some how avoid doing serious harm to myself while under the influence of either substance. No, cutting is not an abused substance but it should be.

TG Issues 2

by Midnight Demon, posted in depression, suicide, transgender

Battles with self

I talked with my therapist today about a few things. She didn’t get the packet of letters that I mailed to her last week yet so I didn’t bring up the subject of grief.

What I did bring up, I have been wrestling with all day: my transgender issue. I have been born a biological female yet my head thinks I am a male. I asked my therapist calls me and she said a heterosexual male. My fear is that talking about this is going to stir up some feelings of suicidality. It almost always does because I am not born a male. I just think that I am one. I feel like I am one. Coming to terms of this has not been easy. It has only been so for the last few years that I have been open about this. I wish I could go back and say when I first started feeling this way and it would be around the time that I was in kindergarten, when I felt different than other girls. I always liked taking things apart to see how they worked. I didn’t like dolls growing up. Though I did like trucks and stuff. I would love playing over my friend Tony’s house. He had all the cool boy toys. We would play for hours. I was also into a lot of sports growing up. When Tony started to play baseball, he was on the Oakland A’s. He then decided he was not a Sox fan because he was on the A’s. I got mad at him for that, because I always felt like you had to root for the home team no matter what.

During the registration period, I asked my father if I could play baseball. It would have made me the happiest in the world. But my father said no because that was a boy sport. I was so hurt. But I didn’t let anyone know how hurt I was. We were poor so I never got the equipment needed except when a neighbor across the street cleanout his place and threw away his gloves. It was the first time I actually had baseball equipment. Tony and I played baseball together after school for I don’t know how long. When he was off with his team, I would throw the ball against the steps making diving plays and making believe I was throwing out the runner on second base. I played like that for hours. It was really fun. I could hit better than Tony did. I guess because I had a lot more anger than he did, I could also throw the ball farther too. We would have contests as to who could throw the farthest. I always won. I also threw the highest. Red Sox baseball became my passion. I would love to watch them play. I didn’t go to many games as a kid. Again it was because sports were a boy thing not a girl thing.

The only sport that I did get involved in was basketball. I might have been able to cream Tony but I never was good enough to make varsity. My career high is 4 points in one game, and that was because only five players showed up. Me being one of the five. It was a good game as we crushed Brighton. It must have been the first game that I ever played in the whole game, minus the time I spent nursing a calf cramp.

My father and mother never went to any of my games, even though we lived only a block from the high school. They just were interested in me. My couch told me I was the shortest player to jump high. That was because there was a high beam between my parent’s bedroom and the parlor. I used to always run and jump to see if I could hit it. It took me a long time but I finally was able to do it, though the downstairs tenants didn’t like it much.

Growing up I look at all the things that I hated about myself. I hated getting my periods and that caused me so much pain. I hate developing breasts. I was always bumping into things with them. And it hurt! I never liked the way I looked because of these things. I still don’t. I still think I am the ugliest person on the planet. And who could blame me. My father helped by calling me Faccia Brutto (ugly face in Italian) everyday for as long as I can remember.

I still am not happy with my breasts over all these years. Though I am getting creative and calling them gynecomastia (male breasts) and hoping that if I lose weight, they will shrink. But losing weight is hard when all you want to do is kill yourself.

For a long time, I never put the two together, the being a male and my suicidality. I really had no clue why I was suicidal until one night I had the revelation that it could be because I think I am a male and I really am not. It is very hurtful to be called a she when you want to be called a he. There was a time that I would always get complemented as a he and when the person recognize my gender they would get all frazzled and apologize. I always said it was ok and that I liked being called a him. It just feels more natural to me than being called a her. I can’t stand it. And I guess, subconsciously, it was hurting me. It took me to a dark place where suicide became my life’s goal. All I thought about was suicide. Killing myself was the ONLY way out of my situation. If I couldn’t be a male and be called him, then what was the purpose of me living.

Last year I decided that I was going to change my name to Mike and be Mike. I didn’t realize how hard it was going to be. It still is hard. I told my middle sister this and she was supportive but scared for me. Flashbacks of when I came out gay as a teenager came flooding back. I couldn’t tell my other sister I wanted to be a male or my mother. There would be no way for them to accept me for being me. My eight year old still asks if I am a guy or a girl and I always answer with, what do you think. And she goes with girl. It hurts. I will never forget the day when she came in to the bathroom when I was going and found out the truth. I was crushed. Really crushed. If there was a noose waiting for me that day, it would have had my neck in it. I so wanted to die and still want to die because I know I can’t live my life as a male. I don’t really know what that means because technically I do live as a male. I wear the boxers and clothes that are mens. The only thing female that I own are underwear and that is when I get my stupid period that has not been able to be stopped. I can’t go on if I am bleeding monthly. I know this deep down inside because it kills me to have a monthly so bad. It hurts. And there is no other way to describe it. I can’t tell you why it hurts, it just does. I have been living this way for most of my life and it kills me when people get the wrong pronoun and such. I know that by coming open will get people confused. I feel like I am causing them a burden and believe me, I would rather die than cause this grief.

I had a talk with my mother years ago about why I need to buy male things but it went by the way side. Even my youngest sister tried to get me to buy women’s clothes. I hate them. I never have like them from day one. They just don’t fit right. They don’t feel right. I wear mens clothes because they are comfortable to me. My middle sister wanted a football jersey for Christmas last year. She got a men’s large but she didn’t like it because it didn’t feel right. She wanted me to get her a female version but the only jerseys that I could get were men’s. Oh well. I ended up returning it for a medium. Now the guy is in jail for murder so she won’t be wearing the jersey at all!

I wish I could say that I am a female but it goes against the grain. Even typing the words has my gut in agony. I am a male trapped in a female’s body. I do not like it. I hate myself because of it. And I want to take my life because of the shame it has caused me.