A ‘death book’

I see it coming. I am not saying tonight or tomorrow… But it’s coming not so long away.

In January 2013, I told myself that I knew I was going to be a suicide statistic. I don’t think I was even so suicidal at the time, I just saw that after 3 years or so of this illness blowing up (literally) and things getting worse and worse, I knew deep inside that some day, I will die from this illness. BPD. Does this help to give me a sense of hope? Surely I am just putting myself down and because I am saying that I WILL become another suicide statistic, I am therefore closing all the other doors now as to things that can possibly help me and therefore I am closing off any chance that I ever had at getting out of this. Well, in a way yes and in a way no…. I will explain…

The chances statistically for me killing myself whether intentionally or intentionally are quite high. Now that doesn’t mean therefore I am going to die by suicide. But my chances are higher.

Concerning me telling myself that I will due by suicide and therefore not giving chance for hope, I do agree with that. But I am actually not doing that. I know that there is potential. There is potential for some improvement and some areas to become more manageable in life, but I can say that I know that nothing will ever help me enough so that I will become a living being until my old age and die by another cause other than suicide. Things have gone too far. Stuff is far too out of line. I can’t help myself even though I try. Others can’t help and the more that goes on, like the ‘conversation’ I had with my psychiatrist the other day, it’s all going to carry on going downhill, as I have seen from much experience and death by suicide will be the final cause.

There is more to say, but that is it for now.

Back to the title: A ‘death book’. I am starting to write one. It’s not going to be some over the top ridiculous written book about why I did it all and paragraph after paragraph of me mumbling away.

I’ll include several art pieces that I have done which express a lot. I will include all of the poetry I have written over the last 4 1/2 years which say a lot by themselves so not much else is needed to be said.

This is not something that will be done as if to say like the world evolves around me and LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME! And I’m not doing all the soppy stuff too much, neither am I going to rant on about all the things I have been through in hospitalisations etc etc. I will be sure to write about stories of awful stigma that I have faced since getting the BPD diagnosis 3 years or so ago.

I’m doing it in Microsoft Word. I’ll write all my poetry up, include the art images where appropriate and writing here and there. Once I finish it, I will print it all of, maybe plastic bind it. I know it sounds weird but if I am going to leave something behind then this is it. I’m not trying to make it any easier for my family to take or whatnot, but I don’t think on the other hand it can make things much worse if that situation arises. It’s just a book of me expressing myself and taking someone through the journey that has been.

I sense that if something triggers me enough, then I can easily do something ‘silly’ and it could cause my death. I am also aware that something can happen and I will perhaps impulsively or not impulsively do something that could cause my death.

Just being prepared. I told my psychologist when I met with her on Friday, whether it will be the case or not, I am NOT going to let another year go by without positive change. I’m not saying I want things to be 100%, but if they carry on like this, I am not allowing another year to go by of suffering. And it’s likely it could be before that.

Suicide is not an answer, but it is an option. It doesn’t solve anything, therefore it isn’t an answer, but it is an option where it’s possible to end it and rather have nothing, that something which is constant suffering.

I could just end it all right now

I could just end it all right now because the meeting I just had with my psychiatrist. It affected me that much that I am in a total breakdown about it. Crisis, some would call it.

I’ve been seeing him once or twice a week because the situation is a difficult one and he is trying his best to help me. But now this is it. I can see that he has decided to not carry on with our plan and for now I’ll see him once a fortnight. He is clearly frustrated enough at our meetings and to be frank, I am too.

I went in and we say our hellos. He starts with an upside down smile and says ‘hmm’. I say, yea, difficult but within all the horrible ways I am feeling etc, I have managed to go to the rehab work for a month now three times a week as I am meant to. So I really wanted to start off the conversation on something positive. I know it’s not all doom and gloom and the worst situation that it can be, and it could be a hell of a lot worse I know.

I look like a ghost and my eyes are all black underneath and the whites of my eyes are all red and all around my eyes too. Anyone can see that my sleep is at least a problem, and more of a problem than the last time I met him a week ago. So he asked me what’s going on and I said that my sleep has been worse and I am waking up every 1 1/2 hours or so and finding it difficult to get back to sleep and I’m purely exhausted from it every day. I brought this up with him because in the end, he is the psychiatrist and is the only person that can deal with my symptoms via medications (sure, plus talking about it) and seeing that the Lamictal is being raised now, it could be affecting my sleep. So I thought this was something suitable and important for him to hear. Once again APPARENTLY NOT!

Then he gets in mega agitated mode before we’ve even started talking about all the other stuff that is going on and I’m sitting and my stomach is turning and I am feeling my face go bright red. because of the situation, he has some idea that the rest of the carers I have are not doing what they are not meant to be doing. Well, first of all he is asking me questions about what I am talking with them about and I said for example yesterday I met with my care worker and we spoke about the hospitalisation I had in England and how awful it was. It was just a chat. Not something so built up and I wasn’t sitting getting worked up about it and getting upset. It’s like I was just telling her some of the stories I have from then.

The psychiatrist then just goes off on one seemingly for like 5 minutes literally and is shouting that I can’t keep talking about the past and get so caught up in it and it’s not going to do me any good. In some cases he is wrong in saying that as psychotherapy is also about talking about the past and connecting it to the present and seeing why we act and feel as we do. But this example about my care worker just blew his top of and I’m sitting thinking basically, shit, I’ve answered wrongly. Me and my care worker hardly talk about the past. We’re talking about the present and what’s going on now like how was it if I saw my sister, how was work, etc etc. We HARDLY go in to the past because this is also not the job of the care worker to do so. It’s more to focus on the here and now. I then said also that today I met with my social worker and we were filling in a sheet which is a plan of rehabilitation and we had ideas we out down and I therefore have things in the here and now and it’s nothing connected to the past. THIS WASN’T EVEN GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM!

Then the psychiatrist asked me something else and it got so jumbled and up and confusing, partly because he has little patience and the language barrier can be an issue but also because of me getting all worked up and confused and being worried about answering him ‘incorrectly’. It’s not that I’d lie to him just so he can hear what I think he wants to hear. I tell the truth. I just don’t manage to get it across a lot of the time. It’s such a bad mix, awful. I can’t get the words out and it frustrates him even more. I apologise and say I’m sorry I am really trying to think of examples of things he is asking for, but I’m almost speechless. It’s already gotten to me at how he is sitting here wound up and that is not healthy. And it makes me lose my concentration and I really can’t focus. To be honest, I only have this issue with him. The rest of the people that are in my framework helping me do not push me like that and drive me to bloody insanity where my face is red like a tomato and I feel like I’m going to explode.

I just wanted to say to him ‘you know what? I am fine. I don’t want to talk about things.’ And that’s it. I should have gone in and just said that or something in very short terms which says things are difficult but I am OK and I don’t want to get in to it.

But he’s not asking me about symptoms and perhaps what I am doing in life that raises difficulties for me and then symptom-wise what happens. He didn’t ask about my anxiety. He didn’t ask if I had self-harmed or had the urge to, he didn’t ask if I was suicidal (that should be asked every time in my opinion), he didn’t say anything when I said about the worse troubles with my sleep, he didn’t ask how I am emotionally like numb or full up too much, if I have bad thoughts, NOTHING. Nada.

I was in there for an hour and it was true hell. He can see how difficult it is for me but like I mentioned earlier, all he really wants to talk about is the fact that he thinks my other carers are not doing their jobs properly because mood-wise, there is no improvement and I’m still very depressed. But what can I say back to him!? I said that I have all the help that I need, I can’t ask for more. Maybe things can be adjusted with the psychologist and in fact I am on to that already as when I met with her on Wednesday I brought up about me being confused as to what to ‘bring’ to therapy and what about the past, what about the present and what about the future. I said I do not want to waste time with her and I am worried that will happen. I said that I am so desperate for change and to feel better that I’m not expecting things to change over night, however, with all the help I do have, I would like to see a little something and I can’t say that I really see that. And therefore that is what the psychiatrist sees and he is one pissed off man I tell you.

So I got out of there and saw someone I know on the street and even though it’s dark out she saw I was bright red and in a bad way. She gave me a hug and asked me what was wrong. I said just the meeting with the psychiatrist I had now and she said she understands and it happens to her a lot too. I know this girl from when I was first hospitalised and we were together perhaps a year in hospital. I know she understands. I am sure we all do at least to a certain point, if not, all of us the same at some point.

Came home, collapsed on my bed, dissolved 2mg of Clonazepam under my tongue, laid on my back, cried my eyes out and 30 minutes later, here I am.

It’s not the doctor himself that is particularly triggering me to do something stupid, but it’s actually the situation. The frustration of it all. The guilt I have. How I feel like I am failing. Like I’m never going to be able to change anything. How I’ll get nowhere. I don’t know what I want in life, from life, etc. There’s no way out of this deep pit. Like why carry on suffering like this when I can just end it all within minutes. Why carry on having to be in these awful situations. How all of these people don’t manage to help me and it can only be because I am me and I am a failure. They are doing all they can. I just want to take a few boxes of different medications and what will be will be. Admittedly, I’d probably go to the hospital 30 minutes after I’d do it and say I took an overdose. There is part of me that seriously has had enough and wouldn’t complain if I die right now, and the part of me where I can’t scream out much more for help and like I say, I am getting all I can. Overdosing is like a cry for help and I am being honest in saying that. It feels like the only real way to show how awful I am feeling about everything and for then others to understand me better. Like if someone says their arm hurts and people say ‘ah, you’re OK’, then they go for an x-ray and it shows he has a broken bone and they put a cast on it and then people say ‘oh wow, you broke it? That must really hurt. Poor you. Feel better’….

Once again, visible and not visible. But in the end, an overdose or self-harming will get me nowhere asides from locked up in a psych ward again or some other shit so I’ve got to keep telling myself that and not do anything silly.

I’m meeting with my psychologist tomorrow just for 30 minutes. We are meant to meet only once a week but she is nicely making time for me on a Friday morning for as long as she can do, even if it’s for 30 minutes, she knows the end of the week is very difficult for me so she is very kindly giving me that time to talk about things. And I’ll speak with her about the meeting I had with the psychiatrist because no doubt it will be in my mind constantly anyway, but maybe it will help to talk about it, understand some things about it and perhaps see how the meetings with him can be better in the future.

Is there any way back?

I genuinely ask myself this question and I guess I am directing to my readers too that have perhaps in this ‘state’ or are currently in.

I have gotten SO deep in to negativity and hopelessness that I don’t feel there is a way out. My day to day life for 4 1/2 years has been negativity upon negativity upon depression, constant depression with maybe a few hours here and there of a semi-break from the craziness.

Upon having a conversation with my psychologist yesterday she said that things have improved in the last couple of months…. And you know what? I could not understand why she would say such a thing! I am better than I was 2 months ago!? You… What!? I didn’t sit there and have a reaction of shock or horror. This is not the first time that I have heard this from a mental health professional over the last 4 1/2 years. Yes, there have been certain large amounts of time where I spiralled downhill and there there was no way someone could say that I was doing better. A serious majority of the time, the bad times have been a lot more frequent and constant compared to like I say, a day or perhaps a week or two of a relief of symptoms.

When I hear this ‘but you are doing better’, it truly annoys the hell out of me. I hate that comment. But why am I having that reaction? Am I actually right in having this ‘ugh’ reaction to these comments? Have I really actually listened to this comment by whomever and sat and thought about it for even a minute. Not really, no. And that is totally wrong. I am fobbing off any positivity that could ever exist. Like I say, most of the last 4 1/2 years has been me pretty damn bad and spending 2 years in a psychiatric hospital and then several times hospitalised for a few days and then getting raped in December 2013 and going in to hospital for 4 months after going in to real bad dissociation.

But today, I thought to myself, come on now ‘A’, actually think and talk that through and see why my psychologist is saying this to me. I said that I am feeling worse now than I was 2 months ago. Then my psychologist said that for 3-4 weeks I have been going to the rehab work I have and have been more active and almost most of the time out of my bed. And eating better and whatnot. And I could not disagree with her. As much as my negative mind wanted to tell her once again she is wrong, I didn’t do it.

I am so caught up in this way of thinking that I can really not see it. It was literally something yesterday where I could not disagree any more and I decided that I had to recognise that things may still be extremely tough day to day, BUT I am doing a lot better than I was 2 months ago.

So I am really trying to work on things and change these misconceptions I have and all the distorted thinking. It’s awful and is no doubt the big reason as to why I stay in a very depressed state feeling hardly any hope.

This is like Super Glue stuff.