WELL HELLO, CRAZY NOISE

WELL HELLO, CRAZY NOISE!!
> THANKS FOR CHECKING IN.

SO YOU THINK WE SHOULD SLICE OUR ARMS AND BLEED, JUST TO PROVE WE ARE ALIVE?
> okay.

SO WE SHOULD SLIT OUR NECK ACROSS ITSELF TO SHOW OUR OWN STRENGTH AND DETERMINATION?
> sounds great.

OR MAYBE I CAN JUST JUMP INTO TRAFFIC, DRIVE INTO THE ONCOMING, OR SHOOT OURSELVES OFF THE CLIFF.
>  perfect plan.

_____________________________________________

did you disagree?  because I didn’t?

I suspect tomorrow will be fine.

but I’m seriously running out of “bad days” that don’t get logged as “last days”.

____________________________________________

SEE ALSO:

the Final Day is ideal,

desired,

perfect,

heavenly,

HOPE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

please allow it to come soon … or even better ASAP…..

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self-mutilation and suicidal ideations  while in your 30s

so, here I am. awake. despite the begiing and pleading and bargaining with Great Powers-That-Be.

and I forgot to make my SI pack to bring to work. erg.

what 30-year-old still struggles with self-injury and personal inadaquecies quite like this?  I mean, I know SI isn’t actually something that’s restricted to a particular age group or anything, and it can some in any forms for any persons.  but really. who in their thirties is still getting fresh scars…?  by now, there’s better coping skills and the like. how am I still using a blade to deal?

and though it’s mainly becoming cutting, it’s not and rarely was restricted to just that.  hair-pulling and hitting are actually my most common; they leave minimal marks and require no additional tools.
I think that aas I’ve gotten older, as I’ve become less religious and black-and-white, I’ve come to idealize suicide even more.  while ypunger and strong in my faith, religion said suicide was wrong, and thus out was.  then I got to a point wherein I believed that it should be discouraged, but still an option.  these days, as stated in a previous post, I’m almost confused as to why I haven’t really done it yet.  time changes your perspective, yes; but in what direction?

maybe we won’t make it out alright

:: TRIVIAL WARNING ::
in retrospect, this entry is all the fuck over the place.  sorry about that.
um, i’d love to give you a map or outline so you could follow along;
but i got lost in re-reading it for grammar and spelling errors m’self.
so yeah, that’s no-go.  :/  good luck on your own, though.

i’m getting really hopeless.  like, really hopeless.  as in i included the words “my wanting to die in the near future” in a recent email to my psychiatrist.  i’ve been off any “real” anti-depressants since November when Townsend took over my medication.  and i’ve been off even their stuff since mid-January.  i mean, i’m on the valproic acid, which is an anti-epileptic medication that many bipolar people take because it also stabilizes moods.  but that doesn’t actually improve my mood; it just means i’m fairly consistently depressed.

i’m getting lost in my Thoughts.  i get sick trying to figure out how people can just be okay with life, wondering why not everyone is suicidal.  i can’t fathom the idea that there exists people who aren’t hurting internally all the time, who aren’t falling apart completely.  i realise that many are wounded and just hide it well.  but those who talk of hope and send words of encouragement — from where do they get that?, from where does that come??  i am so far down that i literally cannot comprehend that some people do not suffer like this.

apparently thinking about killing oneself on a daily basis is not the norm.  apparently wanting to rip your skin apart or take pills until you pass out is not typical.  apparently the average person does not have to spend 15-45 minutes in the shower every morning talking themselves into enduring yet another day of living instead of committing suicide.

i honestly don’t get it.  i can’t understand.  it’s like asking a blind person to imagine the colour red.  wtf?

the amazing Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half created a post about her own struggles with depression (one of two that i reference and quote all too often).  at one point, she explained it as follows: “But trying to use willpower to overcome the apathetic sort of sadness that accompanies depression is like a person with no arms trying to punch themselves until their hands grow back.  A fundamental component of the plan is missing and it isn’t going to work.”  and it’s true.  the brain is what’s broken, and it’s the same tool that needs to be used to fix the problem.

by the shadows of the night, i go.
i move away from the crowded room,
that sea of shallow faces masked in warm regret.
they don’t know how to feel; they don’t know what is Lost.

things have gotten worse over the years.

i mean, other than having Brian and my cat, i’m in no better place than i was when i graduated college.  in 2008, i left UL a success.  i was popular, well-liked, had an incredibly high paying career (for someone of my age and experience), had my own apartment, etc.  within the next six months, i got Zero.  i love that furball.  in 2010, Brian and i started dating.  but we had been courting long before that.  he’s really enriched my life and has gotten me through some tough times.  i couldn’t have survived without him.

but every other aspect of my life has fallen apart.  i’m more in debt than ever (more hospital bills, student loan, credit card debt, two DUI debts to parents, etc).  every day, i’m learning there’s more about my body that’s falling apart — therein more doctors to see and more medications to take.

i’ve stopped writing.  i hardly read.  i’m just … i’m not Creating anything anymore.  that used to be my sole drive for waking up every day.  and now, i can’t even manage that much.

i’m still in Lafayette.  i’m still in fucking Louisiana.  i’m still in the south.  i mean, i love the south.  i’ll be a southern girl until i die.  but i feel like i won’t really understand what that means until i’m not in the fucking south anymore.  and nigh everyone who’s lived anywhere else says how different Lafayette is from the norm.  HOW?  i want to know more!  i’m getting fucking cabin fever in this damned city.  legit claustrophobia is going to set in soon.

gad, this is all shit i’ve bitched about a thousand times before.  like another fucking post is going to change anything.  this is ridiculous.  i just don’t know what else to do!

lost in the Darkness of a land
(where all the Hope that’s offered is)
Memories of being taken by the hand.
(and we are led into the sun)
but i don’t have a hold on what is Real.
(and we can only try)

what is there to Give or to Believe?

i’m getting so far Down into this, that i don’t think i want to get Better anymore.  because 1] it’s too fucking difficult and may not be worth the effort; and 2] i don’t think i deserve it anymore.  i mean, my psychiatrist doesn’t charge me for most of my visits and gives me as many free samples as he can.  my friends are the most supportive and loving people i know.  even coworkers and mere acquaintances offer their assistance and sympathy.  i’ve got a good job; i have a car (though no license); i have an apartment with someone who loves me incredibly; my cat is great; i’m learned and well spoken; i’ve got excellent work experience; my family would do anything for me; et cetera.  yet i keep fucking everything up.

i’m a selfish, whiny bitch.  i want the world to revolve — not around me, but — because of me.  i want to be the best at everything, yet i don’t want things to be so easy for me that i’ll be bored.  i want to overcome my flaws and weakness without having to endure the patience for it.

i don’t deserve to be Happy, to get Better, to have Hope.

i deserve this Pain and Suffering.  and i deserve to endure it all forever.

i want it all to go away; i want to be Alone.
Sympathy’s wasted on my hollow Shell.
i feel there’s nothing left to Fight for,
no reason for a Cause.
and i can’t hear Your voice,
and i can’t feel You near.

would you like to know how pathetic this is and i have actually become?  i am honestly to the point that i hope the sentencing goes very poorly and that i do, indeed, lose my job.  i hope that the medicine doesn’t work, that life doesn’t get better, and that everyone abandons me.  because i’m ready to fucking Leave this shit; but i worry that i’ll only do so after everything’s truly fallen apart.

how fucking selfish is that?

i wanted a Change,
knowing all i could do was Try.
i was looking for some[thing].

as of the 2009-2010 decade transition period, the suicide success rate was 1:33.  that’s not promising.  :/

lyrics courtesy of Sarah McLachlan’s “Lost”

mobile Xmas recap

in Brian’s car on my cell, so pardon text speach and typos.

Xmas at Bri’s dad’s house last night. dad is federal judge, so rich, intelligent, and high class. all day long, I was doing great at pushing Bri away. many gifts to others invloved alcohol-related items. all but Bri and I were drinking alch. his gram even smokes cigs. his bro’s girlfriend got very tipsy.

I was completely sober — and miserable. always feel out of place there. then w DUI 2 out there and in their knowledgen I just felt like a big bag of fuck ups, shame, and poverish trash.

I lived on my cell, frequenting my two Twitter accounts and chatting w my ana buddies on kik. I’d occasionally reach out to a Recovering peer; but many were either busy w fam and didn’t answer, or simply replied with comments like “stay strong”, “pray on it”, or “it will all be okay”.  and again, I didn’t even have Brian With me.

aforementioned girlfriend was actually my biggest and harshest bully in elementary school. and now she super successful and following lawyer path (much to talk about w Bri dad), owns lostts dogs (Bri stepmom raises and trains show dogs), and went to LSU (as did Bri gram). the girl is still very pretty, intelligent, well off, and presentable. is ideal for this family. all along way, she continues to impress and better engage with everyone.

by the end, I was d-o-n-e.  once got home, I basically told Brian to leave me the fuck alone, hid away in the bathroom with bandages and a blade, and bawled for hours. (mind you never cut or drank.) in between sobs and fits, worked on my Plan on my cell.

eventually he came to check on me. vulnerable and hopeless, I opened up — told him about closing him out and the Plan.

after we made peace w one another, made new plan: call counselors Xmas morn, look up mental facilities, etc. I promised to survive until at least weekend; he finally gets me out bathroom.

in less than seven minutes, he does one more thing accidentally pissing me off. I lose it and hide in bathroom again.  we talk, make additional peace, go to bed.

I can’t write too deeply on this for fear of breaking down in car. maybe and expound later. but was one of my more terrible fits; def one of longest and most hopeless. after Bri last offensen was ready to nix self immediately (but had already put blade upn so couldn’t).

Xmas morn, call counselor (not the dickhead; a diff one). but she doesn’t answer.  I fret, totally suicidal again.  Bri try-ish to calm me.  I offer to call head counselor. he likes plan, so I do. she answer and ask what up. I lose nerve and hand phone to Bri. Brian tries to tiptoe about why we call.  she evntually asks to talk to me directly. (all while she on speakerphone.)  she notnunderstanding severity of situation and me still distraught and para-suicidal, I blurt it all out. she tells me get evalv from hospital immediately. I said will so after all holidays. much back and forth between she and I about what to do and how soon.

after much pleading on both sides, compromise that I check in with her every two hours and do reasearch on favcilities Fri. I bring work sched (so she can figure when I can make more AA/NA Meetings) and facilities research for 4:30 Fri Group.; I also supposed to try make Meeting Fri morn. wtf, but whatever.

so been checking in every two hours.

meanwhile, my fam Xmas this morn was great!! no fightsn great haul, awesome food, wondeful comradery, lots ofnfun and laughs and love. made me sad that I may yet still kill self in 3.5 weeks.

moreover, when told Dad about 3-week extension (tho said to finalize meds, not bc relapse), he was cool about. even offered to loan money again.

honestly, was *too* perfect. was storybook ending to life. my Higher Power is the Story, and this was perfect alignment w a Conclusion. (tho counterpoint is also great setup for Improves Life Plotline.)
(still need to write up explanation of the Story and Writers later.)

anyway. then Xmas evening w Bri mom fam. good at first. but none on that side can make fucking decision!! all so flipflop and wishywash.  could not devide between who sat where, what food plave order from, who picks it up, whose meal was whose, who hands out gifts, what game to play, who scores, what game rules are, etc.  love his mom to death, really do. but dammit, doing anything requiring organization w her stresses me out. know this well bc lived w her for about a year a bit ago.

oh. more on that. Bri and I live Lafayette, LA. his mom Baton Rougen about 1.5 hrs away and trip includes a 14mi bridge over swampland. first, bro Adam had own ride as self from Laf-BR. then was gonna ride w us. somehow mom and Adam still in Lft when we ready to meet them in BR. I meantion Xmas in Lft since all gifts and people already in city. mom not want drive in dark bc one headlight out, so we have to wait for her to drive Adam to BR, then we en route. apparently Adam getting ride BR-Lft w us. so now have to clean backseat out before we leave.  BAH.

anyway, mom side of fam had lots of sweets and fast food. that plus having four energy drinks made for irritable tummy. then with so many ppl in such small space (tiny cluttered house w many large-framed ppl), amxiety started in. add on tired, dopamine all fucked, exhausted, tummy hurt, wanting to nap, etc.– I fell into phone again.

felt bad when finally staryed game and I was in phone. but everytime tried to understand scoring or participate in rules discussion, got overtalked and felt overwhemled and end up neared tears.

hrs later, after a checkin, counselor replied back asking how doing. honest: “still in BR. anxious, exhausted, and totally ready to get up and build a blanket fort.”  counselor ask id we can head home. I show Bri whole text exchange. he agree at end of current game; tell same head counselor so. she ask if I can talk to Bri and leave immediately. I tell her he knows bc read convo. she conceedes.  shortly after, game end and we say goodbyes.  I tell her so; she pleased.

goodbye saidn load up car, Bri drive, me passenger, Adam behind me.  I hide in headphones and begin typing this.  Bri and Adam talk –loudly.  whatever; plan to sleep w music on.

about 10m into car ride home, my phone rings. is Bri mom. asks if Adam has his phone, bc did not answer. ask him. says does. relay msg. then she says Basin (that 14mi bridge w no alternate ways off) is closed at one point.

she tries to talk to me about alternate routes while she also talking to loveable-but-looney sister next to her back in BR, Bri to my left asking questions, Adam behind doing similar and offering other alternate routes, and I who have NO familiarity with area trying to relay all these instructions and requests between everyone. evetually, I start cracking.
“Adam, do you have an alternate route in mind”, I interrupt everyone.
“yeah, on my phonevs gps. but it will add 45m to the drive.” I think fuck itn bc I cant handle this any longer.

I tell mom we have plan and will let her know when back it back in Lft. she okay. hang up. apologise to Adam for my nerves; he so mellow always, so was cool about it.

Bri gets out to gas up while Adam discern route. mom apparently call Adam and they talk. I have miagraine at this point and want to strangle everyone. Bri gets in and loudly asking wuestions to me and Adam while latter still on phone.

I. am losing. my shit. afyer Adam off phone, I offer Adam my passenger seat to have Navigator in front. no answer. not sure if didnt hear, dont care, or ignore me. personally, no fucks any longer given. I run away into headphones.

currently still over 30m from dropping Adam to his car at gf parent house (he and gf live in Texas). then have to get home ourselves. bah! all this while, hyper excited Bri being ALL OF THE FUCKS LOUD RIGHT BESIDE ME. music on full and he still over it. and he cackles sharply and squacks, and making my head worse.

am jst thanking Lord, Jesus, Holy Ghost, Budha, and all pagan gods that is mot a 3- or 5-hr drive. fffff.  SOMEONE WOULD BE MURDERES BY END OF IT.

so I *suppose* survived Xmas. and suppose everyone else in Story does too. but holy fuck, came reeeeeeeeeally close several times. like srsly.

will try to keep updates about rehab and mental hospital and DUI2, also about letting Bri back into life.

also have numerous comments and updates from ppl on both journals and blog. promise is on todo list.

but in meantime, when I get home, FUCK ALL THE WORLD I WANT A HOT BATH W RELAXING MUSIC THEN BED.

~REBLOGGED~ NeuRoundup

is it sad that I would totally purchase this album if I could fucking find a way to do so??

blahpolar

Trigger warnings for suicide.

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“why bother? why bother with me?”

but when I got sick, they became totally focused on my disorder.  what I was eating, how skinny I became — everything shifted from our family to just … me.

I’m ready to quit.

I’m drawing up plans.
not necessarily to carry out;
but to at least comfort me.


I have felt so alone for so long.


the above is my plan for the next three weeks
(more about their extending my rehab time in the next post):
fake it till you Make it.

and Making it, in this case, is finally Leaving.

You wanted me to be normal, I know.  But I’m not, and I’m never gonna be.

“Caligula would have blushed”

I’m [broken].  Do you get that on any level?  You want me to be normal, and I’m never going to be.

~ Emma, Red Band Society

 

I’m tired, man.  I’m getting really exhausted.  how hard does a person how to fight to live, to wake up?

I was getting dressed this morning.  I put on my bra.  and then I started to put on my pants.  I remembered that with these pants, I actually had to wear underwear (I often go commando) due to comfort reasons; I realised this after the pants were already halfway on.  so that meant I had to undo what I just did, put on underwear, then redo it all over again.

I didn’t have that in me.  I took the pants off and hid under the covers in bed.  I stayed there a good seven or so minutes, because even the prospect of fucking getting dressed was too much for me to handle.

but eventually, I managed.  I got out of bed; I put on clothes; I went to the doctor’s; I went to work; I’m (kinda) doing my job.  and then tonight, I’ll go home; I’ll go to rehab; I’ll play nice; I’ll go home; I’ll pretend to be alive inside; and I’ll cry myself to sleep, again.

I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour;
but heaven knows I’m miserable now.
two lovers entwined, pass me by;
and heaven knows I’m miserable now.
I was looking for a job, and then I found a job;
and heaven knows I’m miserable now.

while merely brushing my teeth last night, while lying in bed afterwards, even when I awoke this morning — I was pondering what tactics would work.  I’d throw pills up; I don’t own a gun; I’d paralyze myself before snapping my neck; I shake too much to cut a straight line.

I suppose carbon monoxide is a maybe; sneak out in the middle of night when no one is paying attention to a running car.  also jumping; that would actually be pleasant; but messy for whoever has to deal with it.

what she asked of me at the end of the day,
Caligula would have blushed.
“you’ve been the House too long”, she said;
and I naturally fled.

a student told me about a childhood friend of his who killed himself Monday.  then he told me how his own father was anti-suicide, calling those who kill themselves cowards.

I got up on my high horse and informed the student that sometimes people suffer so much that finally taking control of their own life is one of the strongest and bravest things they could ever do.  I believe that.  I strongly believe that.

why do I have to be alive for you?  you just want what’s best for me, right?  you want me to stop hurting, to be happy?  this is not happiness; this is pain, this is sorrow, this is longing, and this is regret.  this is despair, hopeless, and self-hatred.  happiness would be ceasing to exist; that would be freedom.

but instead, you not only ask me to stay alive for you, but to also live as you’d like me to, do as you want me to.

so you don’t really want me alive; you just want my life.

in my life,
why do I smile
at people who I’d much rather kick in the eye?

I’m not doing it anytime soon; don’t worry.  the holidays are a horrible time to do this, as it is selfish; it ruins the holiday season for the families.  but I do think I’ll start making my plan.  I seek out proper tools or methods; I’ll find a good location, a good approach.  that way, after all this holiday bullshit is over, after I’ve stayed alive long enough for everyone else, I can make a decision for myself.

in the meantime, I’ll play nice.

after the interactions I’ve had with my counselor this week (I need to write about that later), I’m ready to quit.  I’ll keep aiming for sobriety, sure.  but not because I want it; rather, I’m in the mindset that I need it.

I need it to keep people off my back.
I need it to have people believe I’m getting better.

lyrics courtesy of The Smiths's "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now"