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...

End of a decade

Due to multiple reasons, I finally ended with my therapist of eleven years.  The past year has been nothing but arguments and miscommunication. Basically she has not been getting me at all and after all this time you would think that a psychologist would know my behaviors and thinking process. Hell, my psychiatrist picks up on things more than she does, even via email!

I recently has been asked to write a message to therapists. But how can I when my own therapy has failed. What really got me this time is that I asked her to attend a workshop to basically educate her on the task of assessment of suicide. It would be one thing to respectfully decline, but totally another to say that I am changing her “mode of practice” just by taking one workshop. She calls me a suicidologists and I understand that it not her interest. I am not asking her to become one, but I thought by attending this workshop she might gain some insight and with this insight, better help me when I get into a suicidal crisis. Man did this blow up in my face big time.  I’m still wondering how informing my therapist about what is out there changes her training and how she does her therapy. What I can see is, she hasn’t done much analyzing. She has been more of a supportive friend than a therapist. Maybe we have grown too close and that is the problem. I don’t know. All I do know is that I have lost faith in therapy, a treatment that is supposedly supposed to help you and yet all it seems to do is hurt more than it helps. I was supposed to go inpatient, but I cannot face another mental health professional. I only saw my psychiatrist yesterday because for the 1^st time in 19 yrs she called me more than 3 times and had been emailing back and forth more than once. I guess me telling her I don’t want help freaked her out a bit. I told her I stopped my meds. Fuck everything at this point, I am beyond caring. Even as I am writing this I am just crying my eyes out. Why, I don’t know. Maybe it is because I am just so damn pissed at being let down again.  I usually shed these kind of tears for that reason more than sadness.

In therapy, there is always a give and a take. You bare your soul to a stranger and take away something from it. I’d like to think that over the years with this Bozo, we both have done that. Just lately, it seems like maybe she felt I was trying to change her too much and if she can’t change, even a little, how the hell am I, the client, to??

So done

Was supposed to have a phone session with my therapist this morning. Last night, after I came came from work and got all comfy in my bed, I leaked some urine, after going. This week has been tough as suicidal thoughts have been rampant and a neighbor's suicide gave me the idea that all I need to do it put a plastic bag over my head rather than hang myself.  I sent off an angry text to my so-called therapist basically saying don't call me, I'm done. When she called me anyway after only 5 hrs of sleep, I was pissed. Then I tell her my neuro won't refill my script for fioricet and she goes on and on about that being the reason why I'm suicidal. I then ask her to ASK ME why I am suicidal and she bring up my gf who I have been trying to get rid of as I am sick of her whining and things being all about her. I told my therapist to stop...she continues and I hang up. To my surprise, she doesn't call me back. I text her 10 mins later to see if she even knew I hung up. No response. So I call her another 10 mins later and get her voicemail.
I somewhat go back to sleep but need to get up because a friend is having surgery and wanted to take her daughter and son-in-law for coffee. By the time I get my java, it's time for my shift to begin and I can't see my pdoc. I email her to see if it's nuts and sure enough it is. She finally gives me an office appt for next week. I swear if she doesn't keep it, I really need to find not only another therapist, but also a psychopharm. I'm done with her cancelling on me and I'm definitely done with a therapist who is deaf!
Why is it so damn hard to ask basic assessment questions. It's not that complicated and I'm so damn tired of directing my therapy when obviously she just doesn't have a damn clue any more. I know it's been tough as we don't have regular sessions. I can't see her in person as she is too far. And my 4 attempts at seeing someone closer or in the same area code have yielded squat.
I can't take being incontinent. It drives the suicidal impulse through the roof. The shame kills me every single time. And why do I have to live with chronic pain, mental and physical and losing function of my bladder? No don't fucking think so! But the exhaustion of depression has paralyzed me into action. I frankly do not have the energy to put a plan in motion. Yes I can get aggravated, agitated, perturbed but without energy to fuel the impulse, I'm just an empty tank trying to go 100 mph on the freeway...

The power of Music

Yesterday I found out about the death of Whitney Houston. She was a woman who had a powerful voice and I loved her, until drugs ruined and probably ended up taking her life. She died in a hotel room and I can only guess that it was either an overdose or suicide, though aren’t both the same thing?

The Grammys tonight was talking about how powerful music can be.  Made me think about my essay that I wrote for a possible journal submission.  I think it’s going to end up on a website, though I am not really sure where just yet or if I want to publish electronically first. I know the net isn’t too secure and it most likely will get plagiarized at some point. But as long as the word gets out and get people thinking about how to save a life than what do I can what media helps to do that?

Today I was asked to write a message to a therapist. What would I say?  Over the last 10 years I have advised people on what to do with therapy. Some have taken the advise and really got the help they needed. Others found that it was a revolving door and after several attempts, decided it was not for them. A couple found that it opened more cans of worms than they wanted so closed the door on it and never went back.  Granted therapy of any sort is a long process.  You need the right fit, the therapist needs to be right for you and you need to be right for them. Just like any relationship, it’s a process of trial and error. Personality has a lot to do with it and also both parties need to be able to share and open up to some things to let things be on equal ground.  That has always been my preference and if I don’t have it, then so long, good bye.  I have had twelve therapists over the course of twenty years or so. All from different degrees, backgrounds, male, female, from private practice to clinics. Number thirteen has not been found yet, unless you count him as a consultant that I see from time to time. If you do, then number fourteen has yet to be found.  I have particular needs, we all do. I also need someone who is willing to be open and not so hard-ass on certain topics all the time.

Well I guess that is the start of my paper…now to see where the words take me.

It’s 4 am and I’m hardly breathing

Just got finished with a couple of episodes of watching season 2 of criminal minds. I have fallen in love with this show though it is kind of creepy. I’m not sure which is freakier…that this fiction is whacked and someone thinks of this stuff or that it might actually be true and there are more serial killers/rapists/or more than I would like to think about.

The last few hours, my gastritis has been acting up. I wish I could say that it is keeping me awake but as tired as I feel, I am just not sleepy.  I have been in a psychotic state the past few days, having weird thoughts, paranoia and delusions.  I try not to give in to the voices but sometimes it is very difficult. It’s 4:30 and all I can think about is death. It is a constant struggle. With my nerve condition, CES (Cauda Equina Syndrome), I have had a bladder accident today that always sends me off the deep end. I know that sometimes sitting causes me to push on the bladder causing urine to come out. Because I have been on narcs and anti-psychotics, I have had some retention and don’t really know when I am full. I find it humiliating to find wet pants and not know it all the damn time. This week is also my 11^th anniversary of getting this blasphemous condition and with every bladder or bowel accident, all I can think of is that another disc is going.  The tension in my neck and shoulders from worry is causing my arms to feel weak at times. I can no longer hold the phone for more than 10 mins with out my arm going numb. And I feel that if I have cervical herniations, I will just kill myself. My only saving grace has been my nieces and nephew. I know they will not be okay even as much I try to think they will be, that they will be resilient enough to deal with my loss.

I have been trying to get a hold of my pdoc but no response. I guess she is too busy for me and it hurts. I have known her for 19 yrs now, since I was 17 and now I feel like I need to see another doc but then she knows me better than anyone. I know that the stressors of last week with the screw up of my benefits set the stage for this psychotic break. I just hope that I can get it controlled before I have to seriously consider going inpatient again.  My fear there is that they will mess up my meds and then get it straight the day I get discharged. And besides, the docs there will most likely want to try a new expensive drug I have never been on to deal with my psychosis. No one understands the pressure of this and knows what kind of hell my head goes through. Yes, my physical pain sucks, but this madness is worse than that. Least I know that a vicoden or dilaudid can calm it down.  Any type of stress and boom, I am crazy. Typical “normal” people become anxious or nervous, maybe even have anxiety attacks. Me I just become psychotic. The voices get louder, I talk to myself more to give in to their endless questions, criticisms, and observance of who is going to kill me or saying negative things about me. Weird thing is that every time I get psychotic, it’s different. This time in addition of them reading my thoughts, the conversations continue and no one knows what I am talking about. The conversation in my head gets externalized and the people around me whom I am carrying on the conversation have no clue what I am talking about. Sometimes it is of an intellectual nature, such as the Maya or some history that I have read and think that they know about but truly they have not read it but I know they have because the voices have. I know it is weird to think this but I know my thoughts are amplified and people can hear it and maybe the voices too. I don’t know maybe it is just part of the madness.

It’s now 5 am so I am going to try and get some sleep for at least 6 hours as I need to get up for good old therapy…