Tag Archives: suicide ideation

Swear post warning offensive language here in

Swear post warning offensive language here in

So about two hours ago, I was smelling something. Had no idea what the hell it was. I thought maybe a cord was burning, something was catching fire, checked all my wires and electrical stuff. Nothing. I go downstairs to see if my mother sprayed something, and it is coming from the hallway, or so I thought. I went back upstairs. The smell got worse. I decided to open the damn window, screw the storms. I shut the vent or opened it (no idea) on my AC. Then go downstairs again because I had to pee. I check on my mother as her sugar was low. She was fine and then I see the culprit. One of my sisters bought a Renuzit freshener thing that was pineapple and coconut. It was stinking up the house. I shut it, told my mother, put it in the kitchen, and then went back upstairs fucking swearing.

I was talking with my BFF about stuff. I asked if she was okay. She said she was but I knew she was stressed. I won’t go into it but I was glad she told me. I was getting sleepy so I told her goodnight and I will check in with her tomorrow. She said she hopes to sleep too. I lay down, and my fucking legs become stone and hurt like fucking hell. I sit up, take some magnesium as that is the only thing I can think of to calm it down. I shift my position, causing me to move my ankle. Dumb fucking move. I saw fucking stars. Still hurting so fucking bad. I waited, hoping it would settle down. It didn’t. BT med time! I start having anxiety. I am ready to call my fucking psychiatrist, but what the hell is she gonna do? It is fucking midnight. I hate this fucking shit.

All day I have been having body dysmorphia issues. I really hate my breasts. I want top surgery so damn bad. But because of my damn pain issues, I can’t have testosterone treatment, which is delaying the fucking top surgery consults and what not. If I had the money, they would be long gone! I would find a decent surgeon and be done with it. I hate my body. I hate myself more. I feel like I am a fucking idiot who should be fucking dead. My therapist said that it was reasonable that I am thinking about suicide. Who wouldn’t be if they were in my crummy shoes?

I have tried to get my head around it. Someone reported me, again, to Twitter about my talk about suicide. I have no idea what tweet it was as they didn’t tell me. If I did, I don’t remember it. I know I posted last Friday after my pain doc appt. But I don’t think I have posted anything this week. Unless the word itself, suicide, is what freaks people out and makes them report people. I don’t know. They are assholes. If they would talk to me, that would be okay. I don’t know. Sometimes I want to talk and other times, I get the concerned but I don’t know what to do with you people. And it is all fake sometimes. Pisses me off, like bother someone else with you fake sympathy or whatever bullshit you are giving me right now. I know what to do if my safety is in danger. Been down that road one too many times and don’t think that just because I talk about suicide that I don’t know the crisis number or the crisis text number or someone I can call if I feel like I am going to act on my thoughts/feelings. It’s as simple as that. Do I want to end my life, yes I do. Do I want to do it right this second? No. But the time will come when I have all my ducks in a row to execute my plan. I am working with my therapist to kind of break the cycle of overwhelm/end my life thoughts. But until then, I can still plan. It is an escape. You don’t believe me, do research.

I want the meds to work NOW. I don’t want to fucking wait. I am tired of waiting. I used to be a patient person. Now I am realizing being patient, means just that. You are a patient of some kind to someone. The pain doc, psychiatrist, physical therapist, etc. you have to wait to see them. And it fucking sucks. I am tired of waiting. I want treatment now. And dammit, if I don’t get treatment, I am going to die. Maybe not by the damn disease/condition I have, but by other means, which I don’t know exactly what they are. This dying this isn’t easy. Probably is if you have some lethal illness but not a chronic painful one.

I hate that I can’t move my damn ankle the way that it is suppose to move. It gets fucking upset with me. Going down the stairs or up the stairs aggravate it. My right ankle is sprained so it hurts because the tendons are swollen and stretched a little bit more than they are supposed to be. I also walked a lot today. And went up and down the stairs a lot to find out what that fucking smell was that was irritating my respiratory system. Set off my allergies big time. I am sending them a text tomorrow and put it in all caps. That will tell them how fucking pissed off I am. Assholes. I don’t know which sister it was, most likely the middle one but I can’t be sure. They will definitely hear about it later today.

8 Aug 2018

8 Aug 2018

I had a good session with my therapist. I told him about the saga with my primary care office. I had to nurses, both beginning names with B that I called bubbleheads because that is what they are. After we talked about those idiots, I told him about how my suicidality was up and down and all around. He said that it seemed like I got some powerful emotions going on that overwhelm me and then my thoughts say fuck it, end my life. He was right about that. I am very overwhelmed with things right now, not only in trying to get my pain somewhat managed and taking care of my mother. It would be a hell of a lot easier if the lunatic wasn’t over the house every damn day as she is just stressing me out to the point where I don’t even want to be home to hear her. My mother isn’t that bad. She can manage breakfast, the lunatic usually does lunch, and then my middle sister does dinner if I am not home. Next week is going to be hard because I told him, I have a shit ton of free time as he and my psychiatrist is away. He then said I am free to text him until Saturday night as he leaves Sunday and won’t be available. That kind of helped me as his texts kind of reassure me that someone is validating what I am feeling.

I asked if it was stupid to get a planner and just “schedule” some things. He said no and encouraged me to do it. So after the appointment, I went to Walgreens as they have school planners available. I would have gone to Slate, but it was raining. I should have gone to Slate as I bought the wrong fucking planner. It is a 2019 planner, not a 2018-2019 one. Fucking idiot I am. I got my old planner out and ordered undated calendar refills. They didn’t have weekly ones so I am not sure what I am getting. At least that will hold me for a while. It was 5 bucks so not a huge deal. I can use the other planner when the year starts, if I am still around.

I don’t think I had the air cast on right. I swear every time I use it, I have it a different way than the way I had it before. By the time I left my therapist’s office and was waiting for the bus home, my right Achilles was hurting me. I wanted to take it off but I knew it would be a good idea as I am so fricken tired. I didn’t write a blog yesterday because I just crashed around 8 pm. I don’t think I am going to watch the game tonight. I missed the home run derby last night in the 10th inning. All I know is one minute the game is tied, the next it is 10-5 Sox. Game over. LOL. We got our 80th win. Sweet. I am so happy for our team. I love my boys. I have included some of my favorite players in this blog. Hope I don’t get in trouble for using it lol

L to R, Andrew (Benny) Benintendi, Mookie Betts, Brock Holt

What if I live?

What if I live?

Been thinking seriously of ending my life in a few weeks. I plan dates. It helps me cope knowing I have some date to look forward to so I know the misery will end. Usually this happens in a state of despair when my pain levels are high and all I can think about is death.

But the next morning, after a few hours or more of sleep, I feel differently. Some mornings I cannot believe I sunk so low. Yet usually there is some record of it—a blog or email or social media post. It brings me back, temporarily, to that place and I wonder what if I live rather than go through the plan to die?

I have few events coming up in the next few months. Something to look forward to, so to speak, yet on the nights of despair, they are far from reach, unable to be thought about. Someone said that I should write goodbye letters. I wrote one to my psychiatrist. The other 19 people on my list is a little harder. I don’t have all my ducks in a row, so to speak, to end my life like I had planned way back in March. I was supposed to die in June. It is now the middle of July and I am still here. I do’t feel that getting help would be helpful to me. I have been in therapy for 27 years, that is nearly half of my lifetime. Yet I still remain as suicidally trapped as I did when I was 15 years old and wanted to seriously end my life then.

What if I live?

I don’t know the answer to this question. I just keep going, hoping the day won’t come where I’ll say I’ve had enough and go through with my plan. I don’t want to live. I am in too much physical pain. CRPS has taken so much from me. Might as well take my life as well. I’m not worth living.

I feel like I am crying wolf too many times. I don’t think anyone believes just how serious I am this time. But even I am not 100% convinced I will end my life on the day I planned. What if I live? What if I die? What if I am rescued in time? No one knows my plan. Hell, I don’t even know it completely. I’ve been too afraid of putting it forward because that will make it more real. Do I have to end my life? I feel I have to. I feel no one cares how bad I hurt. And not one medical professional wants to see my suffering end. I’ve had enough of fighting for my care. I had to do this since I was 16. I can’t do it anymore. I’ve run out of gas. If I live, I’ll continue to suffer just so my family and friends aren’t in pain. What kind of life is that?

I’ve been pushing through trying to hang on. I know the demons will pass in the morning. Hence I live to see another day. Hence I live, least until despair grabs a hold of me once again.

What if I live?

One More Light

One More Light

****expressions of suicide in this blog are just that. I am blowing off steam, expressing myself because keeping it in hurts too much****

This song by Linkin Park recently won an award for something I cannot remember. I saw it a couple of days ago. I am not surprised as when I first heard it, I knew it would be the perfect song for suicide prevention. Yet somehow, with my upcoming demise, I cannot help but think of this song.

I was talking to a friend of mine who I told a few months ago that I had made the decision to end my life in a few months. I told her yesterday when I would do it. She asked if everything had been planned like we talked about. I realized I didn’t have all my ducks in a row. Hell, I still haven’t written my letters. I am finding it hard to say goodbye to those I love dearly. People always think that suicide is an impulsive act. That is kind of horseshit to those that suffer from it chronically. There is usually a lot of planning involved. Even Chester had a smile on his face and looked happy in the days before he ended his life. I nor anyone else will know what was going through his mind that lead him to this decision.

Pain o’clock started a little while ago. I am so fricken tired of hurting. I know that no medicine or treatment will bring me pain free. Even if I go through the pain program and their tasks, I will still have pain. I will just manage it better, which I guess it is better than what I am doing now. Even though I am on better pain meds to manage my pain, I am still having flares. I really think that if I was on a higher dose of meds, just 15 milligrams, I wouldn’t have so many flares per week. But according to my psychiatrist, they (pain docs) won’t do that. I have had enough. She saw me yesterday because she was worried about me after I sent her a few emails about how bad the pain was and how my suicidality was increased. I am tired of fighting the supposed experts. It is shit when they don’t fucking listen to the patient. Like what was the point of me seeing her if she wasn’t going to do anything? I am done, so fucking done.

I am sorry to my friend and family about ending my life in the next few weeks. I tried really hard to manage my pain better but they fucked me over. My light needs to be extinguished. I can’t go on like this anymore. I don’t have a fucking life. I can’t even fucking read a book for fun anymore or go to Starbucks to write in my journal about mundane things without pain. It is only going to therapy or medical appointments these days. Often I leave an hour or two early so I do have time to cope with travel and write because as you can see, there are more than a few days between entries. Even my night journal doesn’t have that many entries. I should be on my new journal by now as I am so close to the last few pages but I am not because I don’t fucking care. I plan my death. I rather do that. That gives me hope that I can escape from this hell.

I am so very sorry for hurting any and everyone involved in my life. I know there are many people that will be hurt that that I am gone. If I could put a band-aid on your hearts I would. I don’t blame anyone. This isn’t anyone’s fault. I have postponed this long enough. I was supposed to die in June and here it is July. I wish I had the time to analyze this song. It is such a beautiful song with so many meanings.

pained and pissed off

Pained and pissed off

I didn’t go to sleep till 0700. I woke up around 1000. I sorted out my meds and as there was a threat of increased pollen, I took an extra Allegra. I then made breakfast and coffee. I was so sleepy after the coffee that I decided to take a nap. My foot exploded a few minutes after my head hit the pillow. I was so fricken mad.

I tried to calm down so I took some more Ativan and Neurontin. I usually don’t take Neurontin during the day but I wanted to fricken sleep. I had emailed my psychiatrist around 0230. She responded and asked if I can come in on Monday. I told her it would be hard as I have PT in the morning but she had a time that suited when I could get to Boston so I said okay. I really thought today was Sunday all day. I kept having to look at my phone to see that it was Saturday. I am so off from not sleeping.

I was able to fall asleep around 1400. I slept for another 3.5 hours. I was hungry so made a burger. My sister is going to have a dinner for tomorrow so I will try and grill the steak that I have. I asked her to show me how to operate it. She didn’t have time today as she was going out.

The highlight of my day was having my little 5 month old cousin come over. She is such a cutie. She kept crying every time I talked to her so I let her be. She stopped crying when I walked away. HAHA. I came down after I finished my tea because I wanted a pic of her. I snuck it as her mother doesn’t want pics. I am not going to post it but I wanted to show my friend how cute she is (not on social media). I played with her and she was “talking”. Just kind of loud stuff, like she was boss. It was funny. I love her so much.

I came back upstairs and some troll on Twitter responded to a message I had posted at god knows what hour. It was from like 1 am or so. We exchanged a few messages and then I blocked him as he was a troll. He said he was using his friend’s phone to use Twitter. Ya, you are a troll if you do that. Idiot. I am trying to stay awake but my fucking foot feels like it is being sliced open. I didn’t have a number 2 today. I am upset about this because I need to keep track of it. I don’t remember if I went yesterday or not. I think I did but I don’t remember. I am kind of in a fog so my memory isn’t great. I will take some fiber pills with my night meds and just continue to take them until I go. I will take Miralax if I need to.

I had take my blood pressure around 4 am just to see what it was. Damn batteries were dead so I had to find new ones. I found them and put them in. Then took it. It was high on both wrists. Pulse was 91, a little fast. I took it when I woke up this morning and it was a much better number. I am going to keep track of it every day in one of my notebooks. My PCP wants to compare the office visit BP to my home BP readings.

I am kind of scared of meeting with my psych on Monday. If I am cool and collected, I don’t think anything will happen. I honestly don’t know what I said in the email. I know I told her about my mother’s upcoming surgery. What I said after that, I am not sure. I know I was pissed I didn’t end my life yesterday because I was in so much damn pain. I got to get through the to the damn pain clinic that the damn dose is not adequate for flares. I need something that will cover me and the breakthrough meds are not doing that. I am having severe pain, just by moving my foot or sometimes, not even moving my foot. It just explodes while I am on the bed, not doing anything. I can’t stand it. I hate, fucking absolutely hate, not being heard and this pain doc and fellow just does not listen!! They have their own idea of what is wrong and how to treat it and that is that. No intervention or input from the patient. What kind of care is that? Paternalistic! I hate it very much. My former PCP allowed collaboration and things. We might not have agreed on some things but at least we talked about it rather than him saying this is what we are doing end of story. I wish I still had him. I know he would be attacking my weight issues, which would be stressing me out, but at least I could count on him to help control my pain. I don’t think those kind of docs exist anymore.