Last blog

Had a visit with my primary doc today and it went well. I got what I needed and now just need to settle for the month of what ifs until next month. We discussed the paper I sent him and agreed that though my intention was clear with him, his staff was a moron in handling it. Instead of getting the point of what my pain was meaning to me, they just focused on the small suicide part and disregarded everything else in the paper, which pissed me off. I had given this to my neurologist and my psychiatrist and if there was any suicidal warning in the paper, I think the white coats would have been thrown at me in a heart beat. But this is what it is, CYAM (Cover Your Ass Medicine). My neurological condition ignored and I am again just a mentally ill patient.

After my appt I really didn’t know what to do with myself. I came home and had something to eat as I hadn’t eaten anything all day. My foot was sore from walking around and felt like I was walking on hot pokers. I debated on taking something but decided against it because I didn’t want to be sleepy. Tonight the show Perception is on and I can’t wait to watch it but it is a few hours away. This show has found meaning to me with the parallels of the main character’s struggle with schizophrenia and my own battles with psychosis. I too have the main voices and the ones that come along just to haunt me.

I tried writing on my suicide attempt paper but it really did not hold my attention for long. I seem to have lost my writing ability for this for now. I ended up editing it a little bit trying to make it make sense a little more. My hopes of it being a sequel to my other paper have been dashed, as it is already so long there is no way I can introduce the lyrics now. Plus I have not felt strongly about this song in a long time so trying to get the juices flowing has been slow and uneventful. I wish I could turn and write the paper like I did the other but I had more to go on with the other than with this one. It has turned painfully personal and I just cannot let the human element of this new paper die with just what I have written. My experiences, though I do not know if they are valuable, have been injected into this and I can’t seem to remove them without taking away from the paper. Now I find myself writing about every attempt I have made in my life and the consequences of those actions. I don’t know if that is what people want to read about but I write about the aftermath and how it felt after each failed attempt. Maybe I have just given up on trying again and that is why it has been so long since I have attempted again. True I feel like the biggest failure in the world knowing this but how can I not. This is deeply personal talking about the lowest point in my life and wanting to end it all and then by some grace, still be forced to live on afterwards because of some kind of divine intervention. Of the many attempts I have tried, only 1 was medically serious to warrant a hospitalization. The others were not so serious but did lead me to another hospitalization. Since the age of sixteen I have had close to 30 hospitalizations. Most have been involuntary as I posed a danger to myself and it is law to hospitalize for that reason. I just wonder why I have survived this long. Am I suicidal if I don't attempt and just plan? We can go into the whole what makes a person a suicidal ideator vs an attempter but most would agreed prevention lies in before the attempt not after. We hear stories about suicides and their survivors but what you don't hear at all is about the attempter that survived. These truly are the ones that need the most attention to but because their world is so private no one really knows. Unless someone survives a shotgun wound or emmolation or hanging attempt, you often don't see the scars of attempters. True those that slice their wrist leave scars but most do survive to eventually tell their tale. There are countless overdoses every year that get under reported or if successful get ruled as accidental poisonings rather than suicides mostly to either spare the family the "shame" or because there was no clear indication that the poisoning was intentional. Most people believe that unless there is a suicide note, it is not a suicide because he or she wouldn't do that. I would say that the majority of people who attempt and fail feel too ashamed to admit what they have done and so cover their asses by saying it was an accident or just a foolish impulse but for those that succeed we will never know.

Another page turned

I have been thinking what to call my next blog and what to write but nothing has been coming so decided to just write whatever comes to mind. I'm still in a mini mental health war with my primary over my pain medications. I am really steamed for if I was to try and take my life with them I would have done so before now. I don't know aside from me having a husband what the discharge summary says about my last admission but it appears to have rattled my pcp, whom I have known for years, who has been prescribing me my meds for years. But now that I'm not working, he is worried and for no good reason. I have told him that if I plan on taking my life it will be via asphixiation (suffocating) myself with either a rope around my neck or a plastic bag over my head. I am done with the uncertainty of trying to overdose on pills as many have stated, it is difficult to kill the human body. I have overdosed quite a few times and though unpleasant, the result is that I am still alive. So I go through his motions of complicity but after one more time of the complicity I will tell him this is stupid...going to him every 2 wks is not helping me nor is it helping him other than getting to know me more often. I don't know...maybe the rules changed while I was inpatient and every mental health patient who has chronic pain has to go through this ordeal to be "safe" but if that were the case why hasn't my therapist or psychiatrist dropped him a note saying THEY are concerned and that I should be closely monitored. I think I will have my therapist talk to him and see if there can be an understanding. Yes I love my doc. Yes I need my meds but being harrassed over them because I have mental illness and suicidal tendencies is just not fair. If I had expressed to my doc that I am not safe that would be a different matter. As it is, I'm more afraid of the tylenol content than I am of the narcotic!!! And besides, if I was going to overdose, i'd just as simply take the biggest bottle of tylenol at walgreens or Target to kill myself and my liver. So my frustration is high because I'm dealing with a professional that is clueless on mental illness. If I didn't need these drugs I would just say fuck you, you just signed my death certificate and walk away from him but he is still giving me what I need but at a very costly price when I have no income for the co pay or the 2 wk supply of meds...

Jupiter is a funny planet

Been struggling with voices most of my life and think now I am going finally whacko. I just can't seem to break out of the psychosis and firmly believe that if I cut my leg open, my problems will be solved. It is curious that I miss one dose of my med, that little pink pill that holds the key to my sanity and all hell breaks lose. I can't fricken sleep because my head is a jumble.
I have been watching the show 'perception' on TNT and can't help but think that is me. I don't see things but I just hear the same voice and when I'm in a psychotic state that voice becomes another person, another tone, another character all its own. No this is no altering of egos, least I don't think so only because I interact with them on a regular basis that truly is what I hear. I can have a conversation all on its own merit based on whatever. Sometimes it is intellectual, like the show portrays, sometimes it is just the criticism of what I am doing. Constant hounding of not making my eggs "right" or walking the wrong way to get somewhere, to why am I taking this bus versus that bus, all the fricken time...

Invisible disease

Depression and chronic pain can be ckassified as an invisible disease because even if we tell people about it, and unless we look it, they are not going to believe we are in pain or are depression. Why? Because we look and act like everyone else, "normal". We don't act like a psychopath so therefore we are "ok" and should cheer up. I hate those 2 words. And it's usually followed by "things could be worse". I want to tell you if someone said that to me right now i'd deck them and tell them yea, I'm planning to kill myself so things are already worse ya moron!!
A friend of mine pissed me off, actually two did within the last 24 hrs. All for the same reason, they don't think I'm a disabled person. I admit that I don't like to be in that category but it's taken me 9 months to come to the realization I will never be happy nor will I ever walk normally ever again.

I'm all ready so depressed I have had two hospitalizations in 3 months for psych. I'm constantly suicidal yet no one sees it or wants to hear about it. I try not to think about ending my life but it has become so automatic for me now soon as something bad happens it is the first thing I think about. I want to be dead because I simply do not find life worth living anymore. I'm so dead inside that I just wish my brain would turn off permanently. But that only happens like never. They say that is you meditate deep enough you can start to regulate your breathing and heart rate but it takes a lot of practice and patience. I don't have time for that. My only objective would be to control it to stop it, which soon as I passed out adrenaline would kick in and I would start breathing and my heart rate would be back to normal again. Now putting a plastic bag over your head, that is something I'm toying with. A neighbor was found dead in the basement that way. It has been stuck in my mind for months now. And he was good too. He tied his hands up after placing the bag over his head. That is what I was planning to do with my hanging plan, place handcuffs on before jumping and strangling myself. I don't know why I am writing about this but I am and I am sorry you are reading my deranged suicidal thoughts but this is who I am. My suicidal career has taught me a lot of things over the years and that is a good lethal plan is much better than a non lethal plan.
Speaking of which, my PCP is now scared that I might overdose on my pain medicine. I told him I am more worried about the tylenol content than the pain medicine ok. I don't want to try and kill myself, fail, and then die a painful death because my liver fails on me. No thank you!! I then told him about the plastic bag. He still said that if I feel really blue and want to overdose to call him. He hears me soooo well. Here I am telling him I will die with a bag over my head and he still thinks I'm going to take pills. Wtf. And they wonder why the health care is so poor. Because doctor don't listen to their patients. Hell least mine asks about my suicidality more than most doctors will. Some doctors are too afraid thinking the myth that if they ask they will be putting it in their patient's head...

I guess I am done with my rant for now even though I know I went completely off topic with the title. But if my doctor was able to physically see my suicidality or my pain, I bet he would have no problems treating me and maybe he would have a little more compassion and empathy and possibly trust me when I tell him I'm not going to OD.

Dark thoughts no one talks about

Been thinking the last few days of how this blog has changed my life but yet the demons of my mental illness still play their cards. I have not really thought of ending my life today, until now because the physical pain I am experiencing is driving the voices mad. I forgot to take my medication this morning. I was excited in seeing a close friend and just forgot. The price you pay for sanity is a little pink pill. The voices have created this delusion that if I cut my leg open, I will be free from pain. I cannot help but see their point in this line of thinking. I have done everything to try and sooth my pain but cut. Maybe the release of endorphins is what I need to get over the pain but part of me knows I will not feel the release because my leg is numb. The last time I tried cutting which was a few years ago it was a god awful sound of cardbord being cut that I never want to experience again. Who would have thought that being numb had its vantage points. But that is what nerve damage does to you. It numbs you, making you jaded of the things around you. And then when the psychosis starts you begin to wonder what is truth and what is fantasy. I'm in a difficult spot because although I want to cut, I know the consequences of doing so. The chance of infection is greater because of lack of feeling or that I will feel the pain, just not right away like when I stub my toe on my left foot. Funny I remember when I was a kid I thought my left side was the "evil" side of me and had to be removed because my right side was the "superior" one and would defeat all. Yes I was psychotic back then but I always kept it hidden. See no one wants to know that you are crazy, like really mentally ill and depressed. They say things like cheer up or things could be worse. How can things be worse if you are already thinking of ending your life and you are hearing voices cheering you on, almost daring you to go through with it every day??? Yes, things could be worse. Life as a vegetable or state commitment to a psych hospital would be a terrible consequence of telling someone that they are NOT telling someone they are hurting. Every time I hear people tell a depressed person to cheer up it makes me so angry because they are so ignorant. I want to shout at that for being dumbasses because it only created guilt in the depressed person that is just trying to survive the day without incident. But throw in being psychotic and depressed, you have a different ballgame. Voices are constantly criticizing everything you do. You don't tell anyone because I've learned that only the voices care. The voices are with you 24/7 and they know you better than the person that is saying cheer up. That person then becomes the enemy, the object of paranoia where the voices scream that he or she is going to kill you. To beware of what he or she is saying and doing because now they are after you and are going to kill you. This is what I deal with on a constant basis. So the next time a friend tells you they are down, don't tell them to cheer up. Find out what is making them sad because if it is psychosis, you might end up being the bad guy...

Paranoia

Been in the hosp now for 11days and just had a psychotic episode after being dissociated for eight days. I don't know why I lost so much time or how I ended up in the hospital. I am pretty confused. They say I have been suicidal and I'm not anymore. I just want to Curr my leg. The voices think if I cut out the bad part I would be so much better. I just worry about blood loss as I would not be able to stitch myself up after cutting out the bad part.
I  agree with these voices. I know it is sad but I think they have the right idea. maybe then the pain will go away and I won't have to be on so much pain medication. I just want to live my life pain free. why is this so hard for these professionals to understand. I was recently asked to write a paper about my experiences about suicidal feelings and attempts. I had to turn it down because it is too triggering. when I do get out of the hospital I know that I will end up back in because I will do something. I just won't have anything else to live for. I am glad no one reads this blog to find out what I am thinking of. The voices will win and I will lose. that is all I want is freedom from pain, mental and psychological.

I don't know if I will i will be alive for much longer. i have always known that I will die by my own hand. I'm not sure why I feel this way or why I do. I just know that my time on this earth is limited and no one lives forever. I have been hearing voices since I was 5 yrs old. now is the time to end the suffering of all this pain...

Hospital

I have been back to the psych hospital for the past few days. Today has not been a good day as I had some incontinence that has left me feeling so devastated all because I couldn't get to the bathroom on time. My mood is so bleak. I just am constantly hounded by thoughts to end my life. My life is no longer worth living to me. It can't be with all this misery and pain. I just want it to end. I want the psychache to stop. I just cannot live like this anymore. It is heartbreaking to continue to live when your chest is so heavy from burdens (real or imagined it doesn't matter). You just wish you could stop breathing or make your heart stop beating. But it doesn't work that way. I am so full of despair my eyes could pop out. Maybe that is what I could do...pop my eyes out to end my life but if I fail and end up blind that will be worse. It will be another failure. And that is what stops me from ending my life most of the time: FAILURE. I am afraid that is I fail and I live I will be worse off than I was. Nothing hurts more than a failed suicide attempt. Nothing!

You might be wondering what it's like. It's nothing like the cuckoo's nest. You have checks, which is the adult babysitting system of the hospital. Then you have a check in or contact person you talk to during the course of his or her shift. Sometime you get a person that cares and will listen. Other times you get a real ass who doesn't know shit but tried to play it off that they know everything. These kind I avoid.

During the week you have groups that you are supposed to attend but I rarely do. Most center around a therapy that I do not like and think it is bullshit. Or the group is some type of arts and crafts but I'm sorry, I am an adult not a five yr old. So I do adult things like read books or write in my journal, solitary things that no one can bother me with. I'm happy with that. The hospital takes the stress of self harm away that you don't realize is there. It is the demon that keeps me awake at night and haunts my waking moments...

Midnight demons at it again

Been feeling lost the past few days. Tonight I find myself wondering the could haves and would haves. I'm not sure I would be better or worse. I just know that my chest is hurting and there is not anything anyone or anything that can make it stop. It's called psychache and no amount of aspirin will relieve it. It compiled with physical pain will drive me to a sucidal crisis faster than lightening strikes the chrystler building. I just want the pain to end. I have realized I might have to make my death look like an accident that doesn't hurt too many people in the process. I could go to a cheap hotel but most places you need a credit card and I don't have one anymore. No one does anything for cash. It's a commodity no one can afford.
Today was a good day except now I am paying for the hr or two I spent playing with my 7 yrs niece. Yes she will miss me but I don't really care. I've been angry with people who have been using guilt to keep me alive. Yes my death will suck but if I was a dog in pain, i'd have been put out of my misery years ago. Too bad we don't have the same compassion for HUMANS as we do for animals. For animals, we are being "humane" for humans we are told to suck it up or as the Brits say, chin up. There is my suffering and it goes on daily yet no one knows what it entails each day, how every day I want to end the pain in my chest that kills me every single day or the pain that is in my ankle. Maybe my ankle is a type of referred pain where it hurts and only narcotic pain meds are able to relieve it whereas with psychache, nothing helps that ache, the total desperation you feel when you know you are drowning and no one knows it but you. The ache of terror that you have to live like this day in and out with no escape from your self. Just the constant ache that prevents you from breathing at times...and you swear you wish you had the control to stop it, to tell your brain it would be ok to stop and your heart to stop beating because it is breaking inside. But the autonomic nervous system doesn't operate that way and my heart and lungs go on working as they do though it is sooo damn painful....

Wolf call answered

I have not had a good last few days. My mood has been bleak due to physical pain that is so breathing taking all I can think about is either cutting myself or killing myself. The demons are back with a vengence because I cannot cope with physical pain on top mental pain. I wish I could but I no longer have the strength. I grow tired very easily, I am exhausted beyond words can describe and my brain keeps coming up with elaborate ways of ending my life. The lasted plan is by hanging myself on the support beams of a local bridge. I just want the pain to end. Lately I have been thinking about drinking because I have been so angry. I'm not sure who I am angry at, I just am. But I know that if I drink the way I am feeling the likelyhood of me going through with my thoughts will increase 10 fold. I try to avoid alcohol but sometimes I figure what the fuck, who cares. But I have been sober for a good few months. I'm not an alcoholic, I just like to drink but I know the consequences of drinking while depression greatly increase the likelyhood of a suicide attempt and I know that if I put my plan in motion there will be no going back. Hanging is pretty lethal...
My therapist wants me in the hospital because I have been having some dissociative episodes lately. I don't want to go but seeing as I'm not working, it will give me some structure instead of just sitting on my hands.
I hate myself, actually I think despise is more like it. I hate everything about me so why can't I just end my pain by killing myself? I just can't stand living anymore. It just hurts too much...

crying wolf

I feel like my suicidality at this point is a crying wolf phrase. No one seems to believe me when I tell them how much I am hurting but I do not utter the words Suicidal to them for fear of the cops showing up at my door. Instead I bitch on facebook on how much I am hurting and my melancholy is great and no one, not one of my 700 friends responds to it. So I found out tonight that my love wants to grow old with someone else and I am hurting really bad. I wrote my therapist a detailed letter saying that I want to overdose and gave her details of the plans. I kind of feel now that these words I wrote are like the diary of Dostoevsky. He writes in tangents and so do I…

I have written a detailed plan of my demise and yet cannot fathom my therapist doing anything about it when she does read it. I have sent her texts stating that I am at a very vulnerable state but it is after hours and she is off tomorrow so I might not get a response till Monday. Will it be too late by then? Should I call someone to talk to and say what….Wolf is at my door trying to kill me again? I have said this many times yet no one takes me seriously. Why should they now? I am so full of pain that I am not sure what to do. There are numbers I can call but who wants to speak with a stranger. There are friends I can call but who wants to bother them and cause them worry. So I sit in my room with my music reminding me of my pain and listen and try and think of something useful to write because otherwise I might act on my thoughts…

I'm crying wolf and wondering who is listening this time...

Delusions

What defines a delusion? Is it a belief that no one else believes is true or just a paranoid thought that begins to write it's own story in your head and where the voices take hold and tell you to believe them over the "real" people because they believe you when no one else does.
Past few weeks I have been psychotic, delusional, and paranoid. I like to think that I am just a functional schizophrenic as I am able to work and take care of myself though work pains me. It makes the paranoia worse as I know my coworkers are always watching me even if I am trying to look away from them. I work my butt off. I never slack except when I am in a chatty mood. I might log in and accession slower but I am doing my work. They cannot fault me for that. I answer questions and deal with problems no one else wants to deal with.
Last week I was in the psych hosp at mclean. Then I went to Baltimore for a suicidology conference. To say that it was loaded was an understatement. By Saturday I was mentally exhausted and hopeless about my treatment. I go there because I rather learn about the demons and try to basically fix myself. I have saved a few people's lives by my experience and what I have learned. I try to pass on my knowledge but most of the time it falls on deaf ears. I sometimes wish I could get the directors of the psychiatry depts at local hosp ERs and see if the SSF will be utilized more.

My own therapy well my previous post says all about that. So I am left with feelings of being crazy. And I am ok with it because being sane would be scary!

when jupiter aligns with the crescent moon

this has been a phrase the voices have been saying for the past 3 weeks. I feel like i am going mental and probably should be hospitalized but I am too afriad to. I am afriad that the idiot staff won't allow me to have my pain meds and worse, won't let me take my meds the way that I take them at home, which is usually the case.  These idiosyncracies are what keeps me up. Every one thinks that I am normal. I put up a great facade that no one sees through. Most people I know would never guess I hear voices all the times, 24/7, a constant stream of sometimes nothingness and at other times confusion as when they start talking all together or at each other, it is hard to follow thier conversations and where it is going. I'm have been under surveillence the past three weeks, constantly watching over my back and my surrounding all the while listening to a cacophony of critical voices that tell me who is watching and who to look out for, who is staring at me or at other times, questioning the way I do things, what I am wearing, why I am going a certain route and why I am not going another. Yea, people would love to know this about me but its better left unsaid as it is too confusing to make sense. sometimes I feel that even when I talk, the outside world just doesn't understand, that what I am saying is too complex. The voices understand, they know my language, thoughts, movements but the past three and a half weeks now, things are different. they have become more commanding in nature and normally I would be scared but I am not. Usually I would be in the hospital by now but I am not. Almost to defy the world. Funny how my psychiatrist noted that she wanted me in the hospital yet has not done so...but she doesn't know my plan or the plan that the voices have crafted. Jupter has aligned with the crescent moon and I shall act soon...