Tag Archives: suicide

Comparison to Three Months Ago

I decided to look over some of my earlier posts from before my time in IOP. I wasn’t completely aware how much different I felt until I read over those entries.  Here are some quotes from my October posts:

I don’t plan on doing anything drastic, but it just feels like this emptiness I have been experiencing is just going to engulf me.  It’s like I am standing on the shoreline and a giant wave is just going to drown me and my lifeless body will be swept to sea.  It feels like I have no control over this.  I feel like someone is going to find me dead, not by my own hands, but by some unforeseen force, like I spontaneously combusted with despair … I imagine my spirit as this decrepit soul, weighed down by chains, carrying a boulder the size of a small car and dripping wet from being doused with ice cold water.  It is seeking solace, warmth, relief, but all it does is get colder, wetter, heavier, weaker.  How do you come back from that?

The world is pressing down on me and I am not fighting back.  I’m letting it crush me, asphyxiate me slowly.  The light inside of me is no longer the sun always shining, it is a candle constantly being blown out … How do I start caring when the thought of doing so crushes me into immobility?  I can’t face living.  I don’t want to die though.  I’m not only at the end of my rope, it is fraying quickly under my weight, under everything I am going through, everything I am feeling.

I feel, dare I say it, hopeful now. I feel like I have purpose and I can do the things I want to do and succeed at them.  I don’t constantly feel like I am putting up roadblocks from my goals.  I know I still sometimes do that, but I don’t feel like they are impenetrable like they once were.  While my sleep schedule and issues are still wonky and need to be worked on, I feel I can fix that if I push myself to change.

I still do not have a job, but I am actively looking.  While I do not want to take just any shitty job out there, it’s becoming more and more likely that that is just what I have to do for now.  I do not want that at all, but apparently being a grown up means doing things you don’t want to do to better yourself.  I once was capable of doing such things, but haven’t in several years.  Maybe it’s time to start.

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I’ve reached the end of my rope

I don’t feel anything.  I don’t care at all.  It just feels like I simply can’t care anymore.  I really don’t know what to do.  I do not want to die or anything, I just don’t care.  I am a huge disappointment to everyone in my life, yet I can’t get myself to stop doing what I have been doing.  I feel no purpose in life.  I feel incapable of loving people.  I feel incapable of everything.  The world is pressing down on me and I am not fighting back.  I’m letting it crush me, asphyxiate me slowly.  The light inside of me is no longer the sun always shining, it is a candle constantly being blown out.

How do I start caring when the thought of doing so crushes me into immobility?  I can’t face living.  I don’t want to die though.  I’m not only at the end of my rope, it is fraying quickly under my weight, under everything I am going through, everything I am feeling.

My cat is my everything.  She gives me purpose, yet I feel myself losing that sense of purpose when I look at her.  She deserves better than me.  She deserves someone who will fight for her, who will give her everything and not give up on themselves.  She loves me unconditionally and I her, but when I can’t even seem to care about feeding her when she is begging for food, how does that show her that I love her?

I don’t know what to do anymore.  I’ve been considering checking myself into the mental hospital because nothing seems to be working.  I have no idea where to go from here.

Gloomy Sunday

I wrote this tonight and really like how it turned out.  It’s inspired by the Billie Holiday song “Gloomy Sunday.”

I awaken realizing you are no longer there.  The complete despair leaching into my soul leaves me hollow.  How can I go on without you?  Life isn’t worth living in a world where you no longer exist.  The angels have taken you, never giving me a chance to tell you one last time how much I loved you.  That is what kills me, knowing our last words weren’t confessions of love.  Oh, how I long to hold you one last time, smell your uniqueness, caress your cheek as I gaze longingly into your blue eyes, smiling ever so slightly.  We’d sit on our couch while you tell me about your day and I’d listen intently, hanging on your every word because that is what you did to me.  I was so in love with you.  I am so in love with you.  I became a new person the day we met and I’ve never regretted the change.  You made me a better person, someone not so closed off and resistant to the idea of love.

I throw my legs out of the bed, dropping my head into my hands, knowing how hard it was going to be to function without you by my side.  How can I go on without the person who gave me everything and more?  How can I ever say goodbye as they lower you into the ground, throwing flowers, like our dreams, into a pit six feet deep?  The angels are never going to give you back, no matter how much pleading and begging I do in the minutes before I fall into a restless slumber.

I place my bare feet on the cold wood floor and shuffle to the wardrobe that holds the black outfit your mother picked out for me to wear as I say my final goodbyes.  The dress can never convey the emptiness I feel since you left.  No one understands the misery I undergo without the love of my life holding me at night.

Robotically, I slip the black dress over my body, tears threatening to fall.  Today I say goodbye to you, my love, but would the angels forgive me if I joined you?  Would they forgive me if I gave everything up to be with you again?  Being with you is all that matters, even if death is the only way.

I sneak out the front door and take a cab across the city, instructing the driver to take me to the Brooklyn Bridge.  I’ll see you, my love; it won’t be long until you are in my arms again.  I reach my final destination, pay the cabbie and walk along the side of the bridge.  I stare over the edge, my heart beating wildly at the anticipation of seeing you.  I climb over the railing, look down at my fate and let go.

I awaken, my heart beat pulsating in my ears, my breathing ragged and quick.  I am in our bed, alive.  I glance over to your side and I see you sleeping peacefully.  I watch the rise and fall of your chest, relieved that it was all a dream.  Sliding closer to you, I lay my head on your shoulder and whisper into your ear everything about how much I love you and need you.  You rustle in your sleep and your eyes pop open.  Blue meets hazel and a sleepy smile graces your lips.  I love you, my love, always.

Passion

Touching on my last post about obsessions, I’ve come to the conclusion that you will never find another person who is as passionate about things as I am.  When I find something I love, I am committed to it completely.  When/if I have children, the one thing I know I will teach them just by being myself is that having something you are passionate about, something that drives you is the reason we are alive.  I have probably learned this from my mom too.  She is passionate about fighting for the little guy, especially children.  She fought/fights for all three of her children to live as normal a life as possible despite our disabilities and setbacks.  My mom is a teacher at a nonprofit and sees the injustice in America toward those who are disadvantaged in life.  She fights for those who can’t fight for themselves.  While my passions aren’t nearly as noble, I understand where she gets her drive to live.

In other news, I hurt my back last week and I’m finally gaining back my mobility.  I still can’t sit for very long or walk for long periods of time, but I’m getting there.  Tomorrow, my parents and sister and I are going to the Parade of Homes and I’m hoping I’ll be able to make it through the day.  I want to spend time with my parents, especially after my dad’s suicide attempt a few weeks back, which I’m not going to talk about on here.  So anyway, I think I’m going to go pursue some of my passions and write a little.

Dealing with Depression

To say the last few weeks haven’t been that great is a gross understatement.  I have been dealing with various forms of depression, seasonal, situational and of course just simply major depression.  I am depressed about not having a job, the weather is absolute crap so I feel trapped in my apartment and I’ve always dealt with some baseline of depression my entire life.

It’s hard to get out of this funk I’ve been in and I’m struggling to keep my head above water most days.  I feel like I’ve got a vortex of sadness following me everywhere.  Every time I want to feel happy about something, the vortex sucks it away.  I’m tired of feeling this way, but I don’t know how to turn it around.

My confidence is shattered because of the various interviews I’ve been on the last three months and still nothing has come from it.  It took me 5 years to get a new job only to lose it a month later.  Part of me is certain that it will take me another 5 years before I get another job.  I am absolutely terrible at interviews.  I panic and don’t know what to say about 95% of the time.  I feel like people don’t see the real me on interviews, they just see this bumbling mess of a human being.

I decided to take a drive today to the bank to deposit a check and on the way there, i was listening to Cheap Trick and just started crying.  It wasn’t a sad song at all, but I just started crying for no apparent reason.  My cat, Willie, seems to notice I’m not at my best because despite the bedroom door being open, she has been hiding in my bedroom with me.  She usually lives for the chance to be away from my bedroom because I lock her up with me at night, but she has been voluntarily spending time with me.

I have been having trouble concentrating on homework and I just feel like I’m going to fail this semester.  I don’t want that to happen in the slightest, but I don’t know what to do.  Not knowing what to do seems like a common thread in this post.  I would love to go see a therapist, but I still am waiting on my Medical Assistance application to go through even though it has been two months.  It’s starting to get ridiculous.

So, I am going to leave you with some words of wisdom from my favorite TV character, Kate Beckett.

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Before my Depression

When I was in middle school and high school, I was highly motivated, crazy so in some cases.  I look back and think “Wow. I had such determination.”  In 8th grade, I joined the cross-country running team at my mom’s insistence.  My mom was training to run the Twin Cities Marathon for the first time and I was an overweight teenager.  My mom probably hoped that running would help me lose weight, but that’s really a whole other issue for another completely different post.  Anyway, I joined the team, went to every practice.  The first meet came and I came in last place, way behind everyone because I was the overweight girl running.  I continued to go to practice until the second meet came and the same thing happened; last place, finishing way behind everyone else, but still I trudged on.  I went the entire season, always coming in last place at every meet, but I went to every single one of them.  I still have the ribbon I earned for participating in the 2 mile race.  It’s in a box sitting on my toilet, which is an odd place, I know.

In high school, despite being suicidal during my freshman year, I never let that affect my grades.  I was determined to do well in life.  I was on the soccer team, still as an overweight teenager, I played clarinet in band, I also did softball and track and field in the spring.  I did this throughout high school (except soccer, I gave that up junior year and did marching band instead).  I never got a D or an F as a grade (except that one F in calculus senior year because the teacher wouldn’t help me).  I refused to allow myself to be average in school.  As I said, I was crazy motivated and driven.

When I graduated in 2004, things changed.  I went away to school where I would skip classes and sleep most of the day.  I had terrible insomnia.  I spent most of my time on the computer.  I was a completely different person.  I had fallen into a numbness; an empty existence where I accomplished little, if anything.

Nine years later, I entered the treatment program, still battling the same depression, that left me unmotivated at UMM, forced me to drop out, and eventually made me feel like I was useless, worthless and basically garbage.  While I didn’t get much benefit from the program, other than the nudge to get diagnosed with autism, it was two months later at my psychiatrist’s office where I finally got what I had been asking for; motivation.  I didn’t know it at the time, but my psychiatrist asked me if I wanted to switch my antidepressant and I said yes.  She put me on Pristiq and I tried it that night.  I ended up throwing up all day which I thought was because of the medication, so I decided not to take it anymore because I couldn’t call in sick anymore days at work.  Not wanting to give up on it though, I had a week of vacation coming up and decided to try again.  This time I didn’t have any problems which made me think I probably just had a serendipitous stomach bug that first day.

Fast forward two months to now.  The medication is in my system and I feel amazing…or at least better than I have been in so many years.  I feel motivated again.  I actually went for a walk today, I decided to change my eating habits and I did well with that today too.  I feel back to how I’ve always meant to feel.  I feel like me.