One Last Christmas

This is not the first year that I have told myself that I will get through one last holiday season before killing myself.  I’m not sure how many years I have told myself this, but it is at least 5. Last year I was in the hospital at this time, and even though COVID protocols prevented the psych ward from giving weekend “passes”, the Dr was very kind and arranged to let me go home for Christmas and return to the hospital.

I was later transferred to a specialized hospital and not discharged until May of this year, shortly before my 38th birthday. That hospitalization was one of many.

I have tried many different therapies: medications, CBT, DBT, ACT, EMDR, EFT, ketamine, and even ECT (twice). After many years of incomplete/inaccurate diagnoses and being given the “brush off” and even disparaged/yelled at by aloof or incompetent professionals, I have had some fantastic doctors who went above and beyond for me. I finally feel that I have a comprehensive diagnosis that fits, and two great doctors who are in my corner. I recognize that this is a tremendous privilege, and something that the vast majority of people struggling with mental (and even physical) illness do not have.

In order to honour that privilege, I put forth what I believe to be a valiant effort toward recovery. But after another year of trying to move forward, I am still stuck. I feel just as desperate as ever, if not more so.

All I ever wanted in life was a successful career, and I poured all of my resources (financial, emotional, and spiritual) into trying to build one. I even moved the goalpost from “successful career” to “average career that pays the bills”. Now, I am unable to work at all, let alone in the profession I spent 8 years of post secondary education, and many all-nighters in the office pursuing.  I might be able to accept being on disability if I didn’t still have outstanding student debt, or if had ANYTHING to show for myself at this age—a spouse, friends, even a decent physical appearance or an aptitude for a cool hobby. (I recognize that there are people who do build meaningful lives while on disability and I don’t think being on disability is anything to be ashamed of).

I am disappointed to give up the fight after so many resources were expended upon me, but I am certain that dying is the right decision. At this point, I am putting myself into my own secret “end of life care” regime. I will put on a happy face for Christmas with my family, and will then spend a month and a half getting the rest of my affairs in order,  enjoying a visit with an old friend who I don’t see anymore but who had a huge impact on my life, spending time with my niece,  and watching my favourite tv shows. I have booked a location for my suicide on Valentine’s Day 2022, and I intend to be kind to my family until that date so that they remember me in a positive light.  It is going to be torturous making it through Christmas, but I am determined to do it.