Tag: writing

Your Word

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

I think I should just give up sleep. I just can’t get sleepy tonight. I have my head racing a mile a minute and the voices won’t shut up so I am playing music because it is the only thing that calms me down. I had to go up on my meds to quiet them out. I love when I have three conversations going on in my head at once. It gets loud and noisy. Drives me crazy. Just picture a crowded lunch room with a bunch of people talking at once. That is what is going on in my head right now. Doesn’t help that I should not have had the sausage for dinner. My stomach is killing me. I just took some antacid. I wish I could fall asleep but it just isn’t happening. I am too wound up. The voices keep asking me questions. What am I doing? what am I writing? How am I feeling? What do you think of this? What do you think of that? UGH I just want to sleep and they just don’t get it. Least they aren’t telling me what to do. But I am scared the new voices, the ones that are having a big conversation might turn against me. Then I will have to go to the hospital. I would hate that.

I don’t know why I have been so angry lately, more annoyed, than I have been. Started with someone calling me a bullshitter. I am not. I can’t even if I tried and then you will know that it is. I did realize that if I don’t go through with my plans to end my life, I will be breaking a promise to myself and I don’t know if I can live with that because I have let myself down so many times. That is why I keep future dates. But this time I really mean it. I am not going to see 2014. I just can’t face another year of being in pain. I know I should learn to live with it but I just can’t. I can’t break a promise to myself that I will end the suffering. What started this all was reading today’s AAS (American Association of Suicidology) blog. I felt like I could go on if only I could live with the pain. But I can’t. It’s too unbearable. It might not be all the time. It might not be every day. But when it hits, I just want to curl up and die. But instead I am just popping pills. I am a pill popper. And I don’t like it. I am ashamed of it. But with out these pills, I am in horrific pain. And isn’t it better that I am not in pain while popping these pills? It’s a catch 22 and you can’t eat your cake too. Though I would have loved some cake tonight. I miss having desserts. I used to have pie all the time when I was at work but then the pies got sucky and I switched to cake. Some cakes were better than others. I wouldn’t eat the frosting, just the cake part because that is what I like, with a little bit of frosting not a glob. Though sometimes in my moods for chocolate, I will eat the frosting, if it isn’t too sweet. But I digress…

Right now my stomach and throat hurt. Not because of the same reasons. I knew I shouldn’t have had the greasy sausage so that is why my stomach is acting up. My throat is acting up because I still have whatever virus or bacteria I caught last week. I have the A/c going because it is quite warm in my room and humid. I cannot stand humidity. So now I am freezing in my winter pjs and have my comforter on. Oh well.

What does your word mean if you don’t keep it? I mean we all make promises to ourselves all the time. We promise to go on a diet, to go to the gym, etc. but what if you make a promise to kill yourself? How can you not keep that promise when it means so much to you? I am struggling with that question. I mean if you give your word to someone, you generally keep it, least I do. That is why I am still here. Because I have kept my word to her that I would not kill myself. But what about my word to myself? Don’t I get the same kind of respect? Am I disrespecting myself by not keeping my word to MYSELF? I don’t know. Maybe promises to yourself are meant to be broken and only those for others are to be kept. It just hurts that I have to live to please others when I am disrespecting myself knowing that I should be dead.

Also what has been ticking me off is that the prez of the AAS thinks he can stop suicide from ever happening. He is fooling himself. I half want to say to him, dude, if you can save me you can save the world but I don’t tell him my true feelings. How can I in 140 characters on twitter? Even the founder of the AAS has stated that he does not want to live in a world where suicide doesn’t exist. Suicide is and always will be an individual choice that no one else can make but you. So why am I still hanging on?

Am I still a midnight demon?

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

I am up again in pain. I am thinking of changing my name from midnight demon to something else as I no longer write in the wee hours of the morning anymore. I guess I wrote in the wee hours because I was up late from my job and couldn’t sleep because of the dark thoughts that I had. Now I write at any time I feel like it, morning, afternoon, evening, or even after the midnight hour. I have the time to write more now that I am no longer working. I don’t know if this is a good thing or bad. But least I have the flexibility to do it.

Like I said I am in pain. My throat is killing me again. I thought it was getting better but I guess not. I plan on calling my primary’s office soon as they are open to see if I can come in sooner than Thursday. This is just getting ridiculous. The pain is much less than it was but still, I have to take my pain meds to quiet it down and I don’t like using my meds for something as benign as throat pain. The cough syrup helps but it only lasts about a half hour to an hour, which is about the time my meds kick in. I know I don’t have strep because I think I would feel worse than what I have been feeling. Who would have thought that a sneeze can cause all this. I think I might have an infection. If I don’t they I really screwed up my throat muscles or connective tissues when I had that horrific sneeze.

The pain is not bad enough that I am thinking of killing of myself but then, pain doesn’t have to happen for me to think about it. I just keep wondering how it will be when I am dead. To not be able to feel anymore, to not hurt psychologically anymore. To not actually be dead when I already feel dead inside. Since work ended, I thought that things would change for the better but I still feel the same. I might not have the same pressures I did when I was working, the whole being at work on time and dealing with the idiots at work, but I still feel this pressure on my chest every day. Sometimes it is so bad, I can’t breath. I know my respiratory system does my breathing anyway but it just feels like I can’t breath because of this weight. I guess even though the job is away, the psychache isn’t. I still have the psychological pain, pressure, and press. What made me want to kill myself to get away from my job, I now want to get away because I can’t stand living. I know that if I had some purpose to my life I would probably feel better. If I had some direction or something to do other than just thinking of writing or playing my internet games, maybe I wouldn’t feel so low. But it’s hard when your depression causes you to feel unmotivated. I could have cleaned my room twice over by now if I had the energy to do so but I don’t. I look at the mess and I just get overwhelmed with it and say the hell with it. I have no where to put my clothes anyway. I can’t hang them up as my closet is full already and so is my one bureau. My room is small enough that it cannot fit another one. I bought a bookcase for my room thinking I could fit some clothes on it but it got full with all the books that I have lying around. I buy a lot of books. I am currently reading like 5 books right now, though really, I am just spending most of my time on one. But even reading I have a hard time doing sometimes. It takes a lot of energy for me to read for an hour. The book that I am reading interests me but I can only pay attention to it for so long before I want to go to sleep or go back on twitter. I am a Twitter addict, I confess.

I had read a few short books for a friend so I could review them. That was something to do. The hard part was actually writing the review. The books left a positive impression but I couldn’t get it out on word. This is the third time that I have written a review for my friend. I am thinking of doing that for all the books I read from now on. It doesn’t take long to do it. But there are some books like the suicide books I read that are a bit technical for some people. They may not be a favorite but it is good to have a review for people to read. I wish I had done that for the suicidology book I bought. That book, you would think would be a textbook on the working of suicidology, actually sucked. It just talked about what I call the outer layer of suicide. If a person is suicidal, this is what you do rather than what you do to help the person. The book is not empirically based, least I don’t think it is from what I remember. But then some time has past since I last looked at the book.

Why do I love reading about suicide? Because I think that if I understand it better, I can help myself so I can be less suicidal. But back in 2012, when I was at the annual conference of the American Association of Suicidology, I realized that I am a hopeless case. That I will never get better because I cannot find someone to stand the pain with me. My therapist tries, but she gets anxious when I talk about suicide and then we spend more time talking about other stuff than what is important. I recently asked her if we can talk about the roots of my suicidality and didn’t learn much about it. I started thinking of suicide when I was eight years old. I had tremendous pain at that age that no one knew about. I learned to live with it all this time by not speaking about it. Why was I in pain? I don’t know. My memory is not as good as it once was. They say that all the answers lie inside you but for answering why I was suicidal I have no clue. I don’t know why I was in pain. I could have been in pain because I did not have a happy childhood. I had an abusive father and an abusive mother that was sexually interested in me. I also did not believe that I was a girl growing up. I wanted to be Mike but I couldn’t show it or even speak of it for fear of getting the shit kicked out of me. Maybe that is the reason for my pain. I don’t know. But whatever that is causing this pain is making my life intolerable.

need to get out

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

I didn’t do too much today. Watched the Sox game. They lost to the O’s. I’m not happy. Lester just doesn’t have his magic anymore. It’s killing me to watch him take the mound and just throw balls. I don’t know but today’s loss was tough.

I came up to my room to be in a quiet space as my head is hurting me for some reason and it’s so noisy outside. Someone is running a lawnmower, the guy down the street just started his motorcycle. And there is a yappy dog on the opposite street to mine that I just want to strangle to make him shut up. There should be a rule that no dogs are allowed in apartment complexes unless they own the house or have a yard for them to run around in. Having a tiny porch is dumb for the dog. That is not letting the dog out side. That is just getting them out of your hair for a few minutes to annoy your neighbors.

I should have taken a shower today but I don’t feel like it. I will tomorrow as I plan on getting my coffee. I haven’t had coffee in almost a week. It’s been tough with my throat being so sore. I am feeling better today and my appetite is back to normal. I still am congested but there is nothing I can do about that.

I don’t know really what I am going to do tomorrow other than get out of the house for a couple of hours. I am dying to go out as I have been stuck in for more than a week now with this awful cold. I hope that I can work on my book for a bit and maybe write another blog or journal. I don’t really care as long as I am out.

suicidality

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

Slept most of the day as I was up a few times during the night, again because of throat pain. It is so unbearable. But luckily with pain medication, I seem to have it under control, unlike my ankle pain, which surprisingly has not acted up. Probably because I am not really doing anything. I am staying in my room because it is quiet and I need to rest.

I was hoping something profound would come to me today but nothing has. I keep wondering why there are no comments on my blog about my plans. I guess no one is really reading it or knows what to say. That is ok. I don’t know what to say if I was reading my blogs either.

I am open to my blog about ending my life. I am not that open to the people around me. I feel that if I were, I would be hospitalized or placed on suicide watch. I can’t stand to be on either. I can’t even tell my psychiatrist that I am going to kill myself because I am afraid of what she will do. I already see her once every two weeks. I don’t know if she would want to see me weekly after she finds out or what. I know I don’t need her help. I am not killing myself because she has failed me. She has tried to keep me alive all these years through being there for me. But I can’t help but think that the less she knows, the better.

I wish I could say the same for my goofy therapist but she wants to know the details of my demise. I don’t know why. She can’t stop me. No one can. I have to do this because I am tired of fighting the pain. I am tired of forcing breath into an empty soul. I am tired of a heart beating in a useless body. I feel dead inside so I feel I must die. It is the only option left to me. I have tried medications and they don’t work. I have tried therapy for the past twelve years and still I want to end my life. I have been under the care of a psychiatrist for twenty years and still I think of and plan my death. I have to see why I think these things. The voices say that I will have relief, that there is a better life waiting for me on the other side. I don’t know if I truly believe that. I think that once you are dead you are dead. No more. There is no heaven. There is no hell. There is just nothingness. And no hospital will stop me from achieving this goal that I have set for myself. I cannot be talked in to it. I might be involuntarily committed, again, but they cannot keep me forever.