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by HearMyBrokenHeart

I’ve never posted here though I’ve thought about it before. Scrolling through the stories of those who seem down, heartbroken, or even suicidal… Today, I will finally post, as I once again feel misunderstood and left unheard.

I tried to kill myself Tuesday. My mind raced as I left work and went out to a spot I had pictured before, but not without stopping by my apartment for a knife that I wasn’t sure would complete the work – but at least enough to try. I had texted my therapist, who I wrote a short text, one she labelled cryptic, as my mind was made up at that point. I texted, “I wonder if people like me actually get better. I won’t make it clean.” An unexpected (as I expected none) response was given, “Of course they do.” I wanted to believe the response, I still do, but I have my doubts.

I am a survivor of sorts, but sometimes, I feel like a monster. I don’t feel lovable. I don’t feel like much more than a burden who can not cope with all that has taken place or the overwhelming stress that I face daily. No one knows the unbearable pain I can not seem to get past, despite my best efforts. I continually put on the facade of a happy-go-lucky gal who has the ability to listen to everyone else around me – but I can not cope. I feel dirty from sexual abuse. I feel broken from emotional abuse. I feel lost from spiritual abuse. The physical abuse doesn’t top the words that have been beaten into my soul that still rattle through my mind and rob me of laughter. I’m triggered and tense and I don’t know what to do. I’ve been trying to stay clean as I’ve struggled with drug use, a temporary escape from the hell of being me trapped within a body that has trouble relaxing.

Once I arrived to the spot, secluded away from the hustle and bustle, I cut a few lines as my adrenaline pumped. A few scores to test myself. Then, I turned the blade from a horizontal position to a vertical one, right above my veins. As I cried and pressed, I couldn’t do it. I tried to press harder each time but could not bring myself to press hard enough to do real damage. Sure, blood puddled and ran down my arm, but it wasn’t enough to do the deed. It wasn’t enough to even come close. After some time had passed, I stopped. My dissociation kicked into overdrive as I cleaned up and gathered myself enough to drive to my apartment, talking to myself to stay alert as to not cause an accident.

Part of me feels defeated. Part of me feels enlightened. It wasn’t the first time I had tried. I had downed too many pills before, unsure if I would wake up. I had felt regret on those nights as I was afraid of falling asleep. I had felt the sickness of overdose but I kept it to myself.

I’ve been diagnosed with BPD, which sounds horrific, and has quite the stigma attached to it. (Aside from PTSD, Panic Disorder, and Derealization Depersonalization Disorder.) I don’t lash out at people, though I self harm. Not many know, none of my family, only a few friends who I had to explain when my hidden scars were noticed once at a small house party. If I ask for help or cry out, it may be seen as dramatic, as a cry for attention. If I don’t directly ask for help, then I’m faced with being called manipulative. I find myself between a rock and a hard place. I don’t like to worry people so I usually suck it up and manage to keep trucking but on days like those, where suicide seems like a legitimate option, I have a difficult time convincing myself it’s not the answer.

I was scared to tell my therapist. Though I see her point, as to be direct, I sit here feeling misunderstood. Yes, I should have told her how serious the situation was on Tuesday. I should have plainly stated that I needed help rather than the “cryptic” text message. However, after texting her a day later stating that I was unable to return to work, I again hoped she would catch my subtle drift. But who wants to be labelled an attention whore or drama queen? Not me. Not when I keep mostly to myself. Now I’m unsure she will continue to work with me because of my actions, or rather, that I shared… Depends on how you look at it. Because I see it from both angles, but it only makes me regret opening up at all if she decides I’m not worth the risk. I’ve told her things I’ve never told anyone and it would be devastating if she gives up. Then again, as I think on today’s conversation in which she offered no warmth, no words of encouragement, rather than pointing out my obvious flaws which I am well aware of, I wonder if I should continue on with her. Not all therapists are good, or rather, good for us and our particular set of needs. I just wanted to know that I mattered. I think I just wanted her to let me know that she was glad I couldn’t follow through. But, now, I feel more lost for opening up and the weight of another secret plagues my mind.

I told her that Tuesday, I was “done” and she asked, “Are you still done?” Knowing I could be held against my will, I answered, “No.” Meaning, I had learned my lesson or that I wasn’t suicidal. But, as soon as I left her office, that old familiar darkness consumed me. And suicide for someone as fucked up as I am seemed once again like a real option.


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OFFTheShadows 8/18/2018 - 11:39 pm

the option of suicide will always be your best friend.
It’ll hurt less when you accept it.

Therapists are cold bc its necessary to make us spit out all we have inside and get more mature but some show discretly they mind about your well being. If you dont get confortable with yours say it aloud and then see if its the case to change. Tell everything again to the next therapist is a shit.

I tried to change but couldnt. So I talked to my therapist and sometimes I talk again about what I dont like about her attitude. Then we rearrange things.

Life is a long path…I could identify myself with your pain…

HearMyBrokenHeart 8/19/2018 - 6:36 pm

Hello OffTheShadows,
I understand much of what you’re saying. I hate to think that the option of suicide will always be my best friend but it does seem that way.
Take care.

SleeplessMind 8/19/2018 - 2:03 am

I also have BPD, anxiety disorders, ptsd, MDD.
I was raised in an abusive home (sexually, physically, verbally) so I can relate to you quite a bit.
Email me if you want to chat.

SleeplessMind 8/19/2018 - 10:04 am

I also have BPD, anxiety and panic disorders, PTSD and MDD.
I can relate to what you are saying as though I dictated it.
It’s a hell of a diagnosis BPD and I don’t know how much I can help, but if you want to chat here’s my email

HearMyBrokenHeart 8/19/2018 - 6:33 pm

Hello Sleepless Mind, I sent you an email.
Thank you for responding.

fakehappy 8/20/2018 - 3:09 pm

I also have PTSD, probable BPD and Anxiety(although I just think that’s part of ptsd and bpd). The more I have been told to talk, to take meds the worse my suicidal ideation gets. It takes everything from me. Sorry not trying to make this about me, just you’re not alone… which can help right?

HearMyBrokenHeart 8/27/2018 - 7:54 pm

Hello FakeHappy,
I’m sorry that you seem to be struggling as well. I appreciate you sharing. It does help to know that I, that we, are not alone.

HearMyBrokenHeart 8/27/2018 - 8:44 pm

Hello everyone, I actually ended up admitting myself to the E.R. on Tuesday, as I could not shake the suicidal thoughts and found myself with my phone within one hand, and a bottle of pills within the other. After a couple of days, I told the staff I was no longer suicidal (which was a lie) but the short stay (four days total) did keep me safe during that time, allowed me a break from the outside world, and I was put on Prozac which seems to be helping though it’s too soon to be sure.

I was afraid of walking through the doors to the hospital but the staff was kind, and I thanked them for being so nice, telling everyone I came into contact how scary the situation can be… It was a much different experience than the one I had when I was younger and admitted myself years ago, which was an awlful time that kept me from reaching out until I knew I would absolutely die if I did not go. I took some pills, some powder courage, and walked to the counter to sign my name and the reason for my visit, where I wrote, “Mental health.” They quickly called my name and asked a hundred questions, the first being, “Are you suicidal?” I was totally honest about it all, from my history to my drug use that day, and I could see that staff cared about my wellbeing and offered me words of comfort. I’m sharing because I’ve had my own bad experience before and have read horror stories about poor treatment but I don’t think it could have gone any better.

I have not heard from my therapist. No text, or call. (I called her before going to the E.R. and I could sense annoyance, despite the circumstances. I hardly contact her unless it’s regarding an appointment but one would think I did so often with her short, cold tone.) I believe she “dropped” me but, thank God, her brother (who’s also a therapist that I’ve had group and a few one on one sessions with) will see me. He’s a better fit for me, anyway. Much more grounded and open. He told me he would not give up and to take my time, which NO ONE has ever told me. And, I believe and trust him.

I’ve been much better, battling negative thoughts as quickly as I notice them, trying my best to stay positive… Watching funny programs or reading lighthearted material, doing art and listening to upbeat music. Staying away from emotional vampires and visiting with the few who do love me unconditionally. Depression makes you believe these people do not exist, that no one cares, but it’s a lie, my friends. Even Sleepless Mind, who offered an ear on here, helped restore hope that people do care and are able to relate.

I still notice an underlying anger and sadness that comes on strongly with seemingly no reason. Like it sits below the surface and flares up without cause. But I feel hopeful it will get better. I’m hanging on to hope, and I want that for you all. Everyone out there… Please know you’re not alone, and unfortunately, as bad as you feel, someone else does understand and has wore those shoes. But if you find yourself unsafe from yourself, please reach out to someone. Love to you all.

HearMyBrokenHeart 8/27/2018 - 9:19 pm

Edit: I’m sorry, I meant to write Monday, instead of Tuesday. I admitted myself to the E.R. last Monday, and was at the hospital until Thursday.

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