Tag Archives: suicide

Empty Platitudes

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You may have seen by now that I hate platitudes, and find them more frustrating and patronizing than helpful.

This was posted on someone’s Facebook wall just now.

This is one of those sayings that sounds so nice and encouraging when you’re the one saying it it. However, as someone who’s been on the receiving end, I have never figured out what “the miracle” is.

I have struggled with depression most of my life and suicidal tendencies for about 2 decades. I have given up, or been close to giving up dozens of times. I have quit, and I have been ready to quit. I have attempted suicide, and I have longed for death. I have had long, hard nights where I KNEW I couldn’t keep going and I didn’t know how to hang on anymore.

I can tell you that not ONCE after any of these points have I experienced “the miracle” that is supposed to happen after. There is no wake up the next morning and things are miraculously better. There is no sudden epiphany that makes everything make sense and all the pain and suffering “worth it”.

My singular goal for tonight, this last day of 2014, was to not spend it in the ER like I did last New Year’s Eve. When a friend asked me what my plans were, that’s what I told her.

I am struggling, and I am hanging on for now, and I am trying to make the right choices. But telling me that “the miracle” is right around the corner is not helpful to me. It kind of just makes me want to slap you and tell you that you haven’t got a clue.

I’m sure I sound cynical. I’m sure I sound mean-spirited. I’m sure I sound bitter. However, when you deal with people telling you the same useless phrases over and over for years, it just gets old.

Your own worst enemy

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I was having a conversation with the boy about how my disordered thoughts have been getting worse lately. Then I showed him this picture. It’s the lock screen on my phone. A reminder of how disgusting I am, just in case I were to forget.

He told me that I am my own worst enemy.

I said I know. I just don’t know how to change that.

Right now, my hands are stinging. In an extra effort to ensure I remember not to eat, I cut all over both hands, assuming I can’t eat without seeing them and being reminded how undeserving of food I am.

Today was also my late sister’s birthday. I worked hard to ignore it. However, despite my best efforts, I felt suicidal and self-destructive all day.

It’s getting harder to hang on. A friend’s father committed suicide today. I felt like a total ass for being jealous.

I’m trying to at least get past the holidays.  I know they’re hard enough for my family after losing my sister. I’m trying, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep going.

I spent New Year’s Eve in the ER last year, I’m trying not to repeat that. Plus, my mom’s birthday is in a few days.

People say that those who commit suicide are selfish. Suicidal people almost always think of their families and friends. Each day, each moment is, “Can I hold on for now, for them? Can I keep going? Can I do this to spare them the pain?” But I know that sooner or later, the answer will be no. I can’t do this, I can’t hang on any more. I’ve lost too much footing and I’m about to fall and be swallowed up by it.

Because I am my own worst enemy…and I don’t know how to destroy myself and remain intact. One of these days, one of us has to go. And if one of me dies, we both die.

But I’m Scared…

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All I can see are they.

The blue veins of life…of death…

I have the blade in my hand, ready.

But I am scared.

I want to, but I can’t bring myself to.

The finality.

Tonight, I am afraid of the finality of it.

Other times, I long for that.

I crave it. I need it.

But tonight, I am scared.

Last Night Gus

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Last night I took half a bottle of effexor.

Last night I couldn’t sleep because of the pain.

Last night I was so nauseous I wanted to tear out my stomach.

This morning the pain had subsided substantially, but I was still nauseous, and with that came dizziness, shaking, weakness, blurred vision, fatigue, and so much more.

I’m too sick to eat, and even sipping liquids are hard.

I don’t know what I was trying to accomplish. Whatever it was, I don’t think I succeeded.

Overdose

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I’m overdosed on effexor last night. It wasn’t a fun night.  It’s not a fun morning. More to come.

I’m helping

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It amazes me how many times people do or say something that they think is profound or helpful when it’s really not.

I was scrolling through my Facebook news feed and saw this:

 

 

Screenshot_2014-11-04-00-44-46-1I kknow so many people think this is fantastic. “Oh, if I just wear a shirt that tells strangers that they’re needed, instead of investing any time in their lives, and despite whether anyone in that person’s life treats them like they matter, I can save a life!”

I won’t say that CAN’T happen, but I will say it’s unlikely.

Why?

This is how someone who is in that position is likely to take such a shirt:

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You see, a flippant remark on a t-shirt by a stranger is highly unlikely to “convince” someone to not be suicidal. I think it also shows an ignorance of suicide. It’s not like someone just “feels” suicidal because they “think” the world doesn’t need them. It’s so much more complex than that. Suicide will never be solved with a “happy thought” or a phrase printed on a t-shirt directed at anyone and everyone. 

aoe

 

 

Last Night

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Last night, I was hanging out with my ex. We’ve maintained our friendship for the last year.

I don’t know what was different about last night, but he called me sweetie and we kissed.

And we kissed.

And we more than kissed.

I was enjoying it. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him, how much I missed being close to him. It felt good to be close to him again.

Then it happened. Before I realized it had happened, we went further than I was comfortable with. I suddenly found myself overwhelmed and scared. I didn’t know how to respond.

As I type this, I can see and hear all the people who tell you to “just say no” but it’s so much harder to do when you’re in the situation and you’re panicked and confused. I didn’t feel capable of stopping it. I felt trapped.

He didn’t know. He thought everything was fine. I disassociated and played the part. Why? I don’t know… I guess because that’s what I’m used to. That’s what I was trained to do.

I hated myself for it. I still hate myself for it. I wish I would have told him. I wish I would have stopped it. I feel dirty. I feel cheap. I feel like a liar. I feel sick.

Afterward, I wanted to die. I wanted to take out blade and cut into the vein on my wrist. Instead I lay there and cried silently into the pillow.

This morning, he was all smiles. He greeted me cheerily and kissed me. I was revolted. I think then he could tell something was wrong. He invited me to come shower with him. I declined. He left shortly after, and I haven’t heard from him since.

I woke up repeating to myself, “I hate you, I hate you.” I keep finding it playing on repeat in the back of my mind. I’ve been near tears all day.

I feel like I have no right to be upset. I am not justified in my despair. I feel guilty for last night, and I feel guilty for feeling guilt.

I don’t know where to go from here.

 

Permanent Solution to a Temporary Problem

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Sometimes (most of the time), the rhetoric surrounding depression and suicide really annoys me.

Some people, yes, will come out of a temporary bout with depression or suicidal thoughts. However, for others, it’s not temporary. For some, the storm DOES last forever.

For those people, for me, these trite phrases don’t help, they irritate. They accuse. They judge.

I have tried for over 15 years to get past this. It’s not like I haven’t fought. It’s not like I sat around in self pity. I have fought, tooth and nail. And sometimes I manage to find the light for a while and sometimes I find a steady place to rest, but for the most part my life is the storm. I am the storm. And I can’t last forever.

Backpedaling

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I noticed a trend in myself this morning. I backpedal a lot. But only in situations where it’s important, and mostly when others are trying to help me.

I remember, when I did residential in 2010, I was there for almost 8 months. About halfway through, I was really struggling. I was having a lot of hallucinations and I was very suicidal. I wrote a note about it and put it in the program director’s mailbox. (That’s about as direct as a I get.)

I was summoned to her office to talk about the note. When confronted, I backpedaled. No, I wasn’t reallyworried about hurting myself. I that suicidal. (I’m not sure how suicidal you have to be to be considered a risk?) I wasn’t really having hallucinations. Blah, blah, blah.

Because I couldn’t be upfront and honest, I ended up not getting the specialized help that I needed, and my stay there was probably longer than it would have been otherwise.

I noticed this morning that I do this a lot. I put some information out there, wait for the professionals to react, then retract my statements. I don’t know why I do this. I did it this morning.

In my session this morning, I mentioned in passing how much I was struggling, and the finger indecent. He was, naturally (and rightly) concerned. He wanted to call an ambulance and have me admitted in the hospital to keep me safe. He was very worried about my safety.

So, I did the only logical thing, which was to downplay the whole event and to minimize the extent to which I was struggling. I’m, apparently, really good at this. I’m great at assuring mental and medical health professionals that I’m not really a danger to myself and that I’m not really struggling. And I convinced him. Well, at least enough that he didn’t call the ambulance.

He did schedule another meeting for Monday, but I wasn’t admitted to the hospital today.

The thing is, I do this with myself. I have thought every day this week, at some point, “if I’m feeling this way tomorrow, I’ll go to the hospital.” But when the next day comes, I talk myself out of it. I convince myself that I’m really not doing that badly and that I don’t really need to go.

Again, I don’t know why I do this. Maybe I should tell him on Monday…

Because I’m selfish

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I was told I am selfish for not wanting to live. Not that I am selfish for planning or attempting suicide, just for the sole lack of desire to exist. 

I was also told I’m selfish for not caring enough about others to stop being bulimic. I am selfish for making them worry. 

You know what helps someone who is struggling, who already thinks little of themself? Telling them that you agree with all the horrible things they think about themselves already. Telling them how selfish and inconsiderate they are. Not only will that make them see the error of their ways, it’ll guilt them into being less selfish and more mentally healthy. 

Oh…wait…