So about six weeks ago, I took an overdose. Clearly, it didn’t kill me, lol. Since then I’ve been overwhelmed with people trying to help. Counselling, reviews, going through my post.
I had an assessment yesterday. I guess breaking someone down into tiny little pieces is a good way of hammering it home that they’re not really in a good place. Ha. No, I’m sure that man was only trying to do his job, the only way he knows how, and I guess it’s whoever taught him that’s to blame.
He wanted to know if I would like to see the self-harm team. No. I think I know exactly why I do it. I know there are alternatives. I also know, sometimes, they don’t work. And ‘self-harm’? The use of that term still offends me. The psychiatrist. Well, they’re not likely to be capable of anything fantastically novel and/or helpful, so no. The very kind people at the charity who will call me over the weekend to make sure I’m still alive – I’m pretty sure that’s for their peace of mind rather than any actual benefit, so no.
If you’re going to ask for help, you need to take the help that people think is appropriate for you.
Been there. Done that.
What was I hoping for? I know what I was hoping for, you can probably guess. He knew what I was hoping for. And he’s right, it’s completely irrational and I’m not generally an irrational person. But I guess desperation does that to you. After all, I’m also supposedly too rational to try to kill myself. (What rationality has to do with it, I have no idea – except that I guess I can rationalise everything including death.)
But try, I did.
I guess the lesson I keep learning from mental health services is that you have to help yourself. I’m sure I don’t interpret that in the way they mean. I think they mean, let us tear your self-construct down so we can build you back up in a way that’s survivable for you, and pretty and functional for everyone else. I might think that was a good idea, if I thought that survivability was the most important thing, but I guess the thing about being depressed is that you don’t. I am (quite) functional, and I suppose I can sit pretty if I put my mind to it, but surviving the experience?
You’re missing the point. Nobody comes out of life alive. We are none of us going to survive. I know my own mind, even as I know it’s a train wreck, and honesty is the only thing I have left.