I never keep promises unless I reeeeeeeally have to
The only reason I keep any promises is when either the law or the medical establishment forces me to keep them…
I’m a survivor and haven’t yet killed myself, nor have I gone with counting down five years from now to die at my own hands, because I was made to swear that I wouldn’t attempt suicide again, nor ask to be helped to die again, by who? The fucking doctors. I love them, yet they give me a hard burden to bear. I love one friend in this world, a few family members only.
I never believed in the Hypocratic Oath, not ever. Never trusted doctors. Not ever. Till a couple of weeks ago when I was getting ready for a prosthesis, and when I felt reeeeeally yuck because of some procedures I didn’t like, I decided it was time to go. I asked the doctor to shoot me. At first it seemed to be a joke. Then the next time I said: “I want you to lie me on my back and shoot me!” The doctor then said no in a very discouraging tone, then gently told me I have a bit of life left in me. In order to leave, he had to know that I was feeling a bit better, and he had to see I could think straight, and that I wouldn’t be feigning feeling ok just so I could commit suicide later on. The family member who heard my confession to this doctor, supported him, yet understood my concerns for my suffering. Luckily for me, the few family members who love me, helped me get over that shit. Now I’m all right today, yet I have this burden to bear, that I must keep promises I so hate! I only keep promises that suit my agenda.
I’ve never been a good promise-keeper. I literallly need others to make me keep promises, otherwise I do not follow my word unless it’s what I want. I’m a bit thankful for people doing that, but at other times I find this so intrusive and annoying! Yet in a way I’m able to survive when it takes a doctor to make me keep promises, even in front of some of the family. At least I know that because of this, these same people really love me. Maybe I need more people to force me to keep promises, only I have to be certain that whoever makes me promise things that will help me out, is genuinely caring. So far, the people who couldn’t give a fuck about me, don’t make me promise to look after myself. As for the other percentage of non-caring people, they don’t check to see if I’m all right. The few people who do, congrats to them. And to the doctors, thanks! And no thanks sometimes, when I’m sooooooo angry at the world. But for the most part, thanks to you, I’m living a much happier life today. I hate the shit in this world, but I’m just separating myself from it and making my own way. It’s working. But as soon as I get incapacitated by something whether it be cancer, old age, or whatever won’t be cured, I’m going. Hopefully it’ll just be the old age that I commit suicide for, before it gets me.
I’d been suicidal on and off for years, since I was an early teen. Family problems were a part of that, but in this post I won’t go into that. What I’ll rant on about is what happened last year to get this all started. You might find some reference to snippets of what I’m going to say in great detail, in previous posts from me. Last year I had to get one of my eyes sorted. There was calcium in it, and I was put in hospital a few times because the doctors wanted to save it from getting worse. Brief story is that this didn’t work out. Anyway, last year in I think November, I’d gotten calcium scraped off my right eye, and was suffering from a lot of medication side effects, of which my grandmother didn’t accept as something bad for me. She didn’t feel my pain or how bad I felt, so it didn’t matter to her. I hated her for that. I then blurted out after spewing up a lot and listening to her trivialise my feelings about this, downplaying how serious this was even though the nurses were trying to control it and what not, anyway I blurted out that I wanted to die, to commit suicide.
Nan laughed at me. She said I wasn’t gonna die, and not to say that, rubbing my back in an apparent sympathetic gesture. However, knowing who she is, she was again downplaying me. I know what sympathy is, and I know what downplaying is. After all that crap, lfe seemed to get better. Until December, when I didn’t realise a contact lens was still in my eye, and this is what caused a lot of pain. Another family member took me to the hospital after a bit of mucking around at the doctors, and anyway this person was supportive. She noted that I wasn’t reacting very well to a painkiller. Fast forward to a few months ago, this same person took me to the hospital so I could prepare for a day surgery. She nicely told the doctors on my behalf that I had bad reactions to certain medications which we listed. They helped me out and things were all right with that. Then April came. My right eye had to go. I had to have one medication taken off me, even though I thought that I was ok with taking this drug, but the doctor didn’t think so. I wanted to die that day, of a codeine overdose. All because of my eye and having to put up with medicine changes. Back in December I tried to suffocate, after spewing up, and because I didn’t want to face this in and out of hospital crap with my eye. Then in April I had to stay in the hospital for an extra day to get rid of the drug side effects and to be sure I wasn’t leaving to die at home.
Fast forward to two weeks ago. I was having a good time. I went to another city to get my right eye sorted out, for good. Today it’s all right… But a couple of weeks ago I had to put up with four little procedures to make it that way. On the Wednesday, my two procedures were painful, which wasn’t this doctor’s fault. We bitched about my other ophthalmologists, but then he could sort of see why they had to be a bit aggressive about making my eye socket bigger. It couldn’t be too big either, so now I can understand, I just couldn’t do so back then. Anyway! By the time I’d put up with a fair bit of shitting around on that day, I felt reeeeally sick. I can’t stand having anything shoved into my face let alone other procedures, I just couldn’t trust this doctor. I simply don’t trust any of them. It’s my trust issue really. It got in the way. I wanted nothing more to do with procedures.
I eventually told the doctor as he was finishing up with what he had to do, that I wanted him to shoot me. He didn’t believe me at first. So when I asked him to liie me down to shoot me, he took it seriously. I freaked out. I felt as though I’d never get to where I’d ask a doctor to euthanise me. I’d allways wanted my suicide to be a secret, at least the initial plan and attempt. I knew someone would eventually find me. But no, I finally had to tell someone, a doctor of all people. I do remember weeks before this, I had told my cousin to give me a gun so I could die then, but then that was ages ago, and I knew he wouldn’t be allowed to assist with suicide, and he’d find out if I’d tried to steal his gun. So I dropped that idea. I thought that maybe the doctor had more authority to get away with helping me die, but I found out that he also is not allowed to euthanise people.
When I think back on all this, and my past history of about nine months, it was this doctor, and maybe one other one, who saved my life. Now that my family knows, they don’t impose on my space at all, but they want to know what I’ve been up to after a while of me not seeing them. They’ve always been this way. But now they’re more concerned. When it comes back to how I hate promises so much, I now have to swear black and blue that I’ve just been walking, lazing around, playing games etc. It’s true though. Lately I’ve been thinking of suicide plans, but unlike what I was like a few weeks ago, a few months ago even, I haven’t actively tried to attempt to hide a suicide attempt. My plans are now in my mind, more for if I get old and need a way out, or if I get a terminal illness. Hopefully not the latter!
My family, the few people that is, who love me, are relaxing more and more each day. Their idea of finding me dead one day or finding me attempting suicide, or catching me out questioning someone into helping me, is getting more and more to be a remote memory. I’m glad for that. I didn’t care about the fuckheads who I know only want to use me for what they can get out of me. I did care about those who really care about me. I didn’t want to scare them. I still don’t want them to freak out if they don’t see me for a few days.
As for my grandparents, I hope she goes to a part of hell where people will pretend to sympathise with her when she’s sick, only for them to turn on her later. Sorry that’s so morbid, but that’s what she does and has done to me. We’ve had a love-hate relationship for years, now it’s a purely hate one. If someone is sick and/or spewing up, you don’t try to downplay what is happening! People don’t want advice when they’re at their lowest. They want to hear “I’m sorry this is happening to you. I love you! Loo it’s all right now, we’re trying to help you see? You’ll be better in a while, here, what do you want me to do for you right now?” Stuff like that would havve been really appreciated, and wouldn’t have elicited ongoing suicide plans and attempts in the making. So my grandparents can both die tomorrow for all I care. They cared about my other aunty’s fuckhead rotten drunkard husband so much when he went into hospital, and yet he still acts like nothing is wrong. Dirty rotten thing he is! But without the low-life shit remarks, I’ll just say that this chain of events has enabled me to stay alive today. Not the suffering bit and not the miserable crap. It was the nice people who came out of the woodwork who proved to me that I don’t have to die yet. And even thouggh I won’t keep promises of my own accord, I’m still going because people are teaching me how to keep them. And people are still helping me stay strong. I’ve learnt that I don’t need many people in my life to survive. It’s not how many people I have around me, it’s who I have around me that matters. Just one person who can make my day is better than the rest of the dickhead world that still exists without a care for any soul.