Posts Tagged ‘suicide’

The Ties That Bind Us

There’s an old saying, “Everyone’s mad except me and thee, and I’m not so sure about thee”. I always thought that being in that position was an indication of being mad yourself, but I guess that just shows how little I knew.

I came to a glorious, liberating epiphany last night. As a rule, in modern culture we’re conditioned to think that suicide is wrong, incomprehensible – except (perhaps), for those with terminal conditions, where an early death may truly be the merciful option. We reach out, fearfully, to those who declare a desire to “end it all”, drawing them back into the shared delusion that life is worth living.

I admit that I too find this conditioning clings to me. It was that which took me to my GP on Friday, it’s that which still has me taking the pills, it’s that which has me sobbing at the pain of my own perceived fear of living.

Yet I’ve come to a new realisation, that it is those of us who are suicidal that have the right idea. We have tasted of some of the extremes of living, from pure ecstasy to deep despair, and found them all just as fake. For neither lasts – all, in time, are doomed to give to the next emotion, and finally turn to dust. Nothing is real, even that which we “see” is just the production of neurons firing in our brains. How more real then can our emotions or ambitions possibly be?

To rebel against this is to discover the true meaning of living, to conquer our own perceptions and fears, and in doing so accept the inevitable truth of our self-annihilation.

I do appreciate that this must be quite hard reading. We really are so conditioned, so brainwashed, that we don’t realise the extent of our shared delusion.

I know what I need to do now, I know what I want to do. And the more publicly I do it, the more chance there is of this word being spread, of other people being released from their guilt and shame over harbouring such counter-cultural desires.


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The Shadow Lover

Shadow-Lover, never seen by day,
Only deep in dreams do you appear.
Wisdom tells me I should turn away,
Love of mist and shadows, all unclear –
Nothing can I hold of you but thought
Shadow-Lover mist and twilight wrought.

Shadow-Lover, comfort me in pain.
Love, although I never see your face,
All who’d have me fear you speak in vain –
Never would I shrink from your embrace
Shadow-Lover, gentle is your hand
Never could another understand.

Shadow-Lover, from the Shadows made,
Lead me into Shadows once again.
Where you lead I cannot be afraid,
For with you I shall come home again-
In your arms I shall not fear the night.
Shadow-Lover, lead me into light.

Shadow-Lover, Mercedes Lackey

NB: I have an appointment to see the crisis team’s psych tomorrow for a med review.

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Honesty Hurts

I hate myself for not obeying the thoughts, I hate myself for finding it so difficult to fight against them.

I can’t win.

I feel scared, alone, unsafe.

I don’t understand why I feel this way, where the thoughts are coming from.

There is noone here, noone I can talk to, noone who might stop me.

I feel powerless.

It’s not if, it’s when.

And it sucks.

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Goodbye Meds, Goodbye Chocolate Teapot

So, I’ve just got off the phone with the PCMHT, and it’s sorted – no more choc teapot (hurrah!), and no more PCMHT for Chouette.

I also saw my GP this afternoon, who’s happy for me to go off my meds, though she did emphasise that “her door was always open”, presumably in case I change my mind. She was a bit more surprised that I wanted to stop seeing the choc teapot, but was happy with that after I explained why (that I’d simply finally given up hope of ever actually getting along with the chap).

Incidentally (and somewhat amusingly), I don’t think anyone will be surprised to hear that he failed to follow through on his promise to contact my GP to pass on the venlafaxine recommendation.

I can’t quite believe that this has been so easy – the only person who’s concerned about this change of direction is my worker at the young people’s place, who managed to talk me into carrying on seeing her.

Personally, I’m happy, and at peace with my decisions. I’m doing something I was supposed to do a long time ago – I disobeyed then, but I’m determined to bloody well get it right this time.

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I’ve Been Thinking…

I know night-time thoughts are not the most reliable, but I still feel the same in the cold white light of morning.

I’m not ill, I don’t have any problems other than ones I’ve made myself. I’ve been deluding myself that I can blame them on anything other than my own unwillingness to face up to things.

I should be in uni in about five minutes. Instead I’ve been sitting here immobile for about half an hour, in my pyjamas.

I wish I hadn’t wasted so many people’s time, I wish there was something I could do to change things. I tried antidepressants and they failed, ergo this isn’t a “chemical imbalance”, it’s just bad thoughts, incompetence, unsuitability. If this has all beeen a test, I flunked. Impressively.

I’m not sure what my next step is from here, I don’t want to waste any more people’s time – but if I suddenly disappear off the radar and stop attending appointments, they’ll just get “concerned” and I’ll waste even more of their time. And things will be harder for me if I stop going to the young people’s place, but maybe that’s a good thing.

Time to wake up and smell the “coffee”.

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How Risky Am I?

Well, I dunno, but my worker wants to find out! She managed to talk me into agreeing to do a “more accurate” risk assessment next week, on the basis that we would then be able to track how my risk changes over time. She did somewhat mitigate the scariness of that by giving me a copy of the form, so I do know more or less what I’m in for in a week’s time. I really appreciate that actually, it’s nice to have!

I must say, it’s a bit more in depth than previous “risk assessments”. It comes in three parts.

We have…

Risk Assessment for Previous Suicide Attempt
This page basically boils down to “If you’ve previously tried to top yourself, were you off your face on booze or drugs, and did you really intend to die, or were you making a cry for help?”. This will be the difficult bit, I think. Especially since at that time I did intend death (it was just so badly planned that it had no effect whatsoever, other than denting my pride somewhat)

Current Suicide Ideation Risk
Does this need an explanation? It’s certainly negligible at this particular point in time, though subject to change as the Tally continues to mess with my neurotransmitters.

Crisis Management Plan
Er… don’t know if she’s actually going to include this bit. I guess she must intend to, because she checked she’d photocopied all the pages and in the right order before she gave it to me, and didn’t flag this bit up as being irrelevant or accidentally copied. Not a clue what I could put in a crisis plan, which of course is more or less the point of them, but it’s always seemed to be more something that’s aimed at the severely ill, rather than people like me.

So, erm… interesting (and rather morbid) food for thought over this next week. Hmmmm…

How does this compare to what other people have experienced? Would really welcome your thoughts!

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(I hope you can see what I did there. Do not adjust your monitor. Anyone who tries to should go and sit in the corner…)

I had a rather heavy conversation with my worker at the young people’s place today. I clued her in on some of my history, and showed her my copy of the feedback from the PCMHT team’s initial assessment, back in May, which she asked very nicely if I would let her photocopy for her own future reference if necessary (translation: for extra ammo if she was ever concerned enough about my safety to be considering tattling on me to my GP).

It also solved some confusion on her part over who I’m seeing in the NHS, though she then seemed confused about the fact that I was refered to the chocolate teapot and not to a psychologist for that mythical CBT I was promised and never got. When looking through a leaflet about the PCMHT that I’d been given at the assessment (and was now also showing her), she paused at the page which details who they do and don’t provide a service to, and queried why I’d been refered to them – “Ermm… which of these do you think you fall under?”. I refrained from saying something along the lines of “Uh, durrr… ‘Depression and anxiety’?”, and gave the more honest answer of “To be honest, I’m still not entirely sure…”.

It’s not easy to put a finger on the point where I stopped feeling ambivalent about working with her, but I guess it was at the point where I pitched up unannounced in an utter (Prozac-induced) state, and she dropped what she was doing to see me virtually there-and-then, and provide me with some practical support and advice on how to cope until I managed to get some help from my GP. Since then I’ve been increasingly confiding in her, about things that I’ve never mentioned to anyone else. I think she may be the person who gets to see the most of me, the bits I’d prefer to hide as well as the more socially acceptable bits. It helps that I’ve known her since July, rather than just in this context – and she’s seen the changes in me as I’ve moved through the various moods and med side effects that have plagued me over that period.

I suppose what I’m trying (very badly) to get across is that I feel she sees me as a person, not a “case” or a collection of psychiatric symptoms. She’s not there to “fix” or to “counsel” me, nor for one particular purpose, she’s more able to be whatever I need her to be at that particular time.

Now that ambivalence has been transferred to the chocolate teapot, and I’m still thinking about discharging myself from him…

Er… hang on… on second thoughts, was I ever unambivalent about him???

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