I just now figured out the reason I cannot seem to find anybody around my age (at support groups, @wherever) so utterly lacking in social support and so needy for human contact and connection–they areÂ already dead.
If you want to manipulate your psychiatrist into giving you the medications you think are best, educate yourself with regard to mental illnesses and their medications. Always participate in your own healthcare with your doctor, if you can.
I feel I ride upon so much life potential, even at the age of 47, but I am trapped in circumstances where all this potential is backing up upon me, and destroying me. Sometimes I feel my only hope is for somebody to place me somewhere else and give me a suitable function, for I myself not only lack initiative, I often lack mind, entirely. Too many early morning awakenings, where pacing in mindless anguish continues for lack of any thing other than the going thing–pacing in mindless anguish. Only later on, in the evening, it dawns on me all the things I might have done earlier but which I could not have done earlier for the insidiousness of the disease. And the cycle repeats itself. Even if I write down things to do upon early morning awakening, I am unable to remember to find the note to read it, for the morning misery has already swallowed me upon awakening.
People say we live only once, but theyÂ speak beyond the limits of trueÂ knowledge, for all we truly know is we live ‘at least’ once.
It could be a kind of ‘suicide prevention’ site. I think that could be a very good thing, especially considering all of the young anxious, depressed, grieving, lonely, trapped but otherwise healthy individuals who have so much potential for a decent life,Â their suicides would indeed be premature and tragic.Â Such youngsters could really benefit from interaction with others who have gone through similar experiences,Â perhaps developed coping skills,Â and survived to enjoy a better life and tell about it.
It could be a kind of site where people logically and rationally discuss quality of life issues and whether or not suicideÂ (perhaps euthanize is the better term)Â is a humane and sensible option.
It could be both these things and/or whatever users make it.
As for myself, I stumbled upon thisÂ site searching for information about euthanasia/suicide. I have never attempted suicide in my life,Â not for lack of suffering, butÂ forÂ the (instinctive)Â fear. I feel like I don’t have the balls to commit suicide. Now as I am getting older andÂ acquiring physical health issues (whichÂ are apparentlyÂ here to stay)Â on top of mental health issues,Â I am wondering how people do it, how they cultivate the balls to attempt/commit suicide.Â How does oneÂ enable themselvesÂ to overcome theÂ fear of killing themselves?
No need to answer, unless you feel the need, just sharing part of my personal dilemma.
This morning I’m outside sweeping away puddles of water off the concrete court, even though it is still raining and the puddles reforming. I do my best to ignore the obvious pointlessness of the work, andÂ keep telling myself: sweeping is a legitimate job, people sweep for a living, so what’s the problem, keep sweeping.
The needle for your soul and the steel and concrete for your body: double-barreled hell. It is known as desolation unknown. And yet, somehow, I don’t know how, it is known. From this perspective, it would be rather nice to have my brains blown out. So I used self torture as a focus to distract from desolation unknown, my only rule was: do not tear the skin. I urinated on my feet to keep them warm, but at least I had urine. Because after two days, I was given water. It makes very little difference if you are on the inside or if you are on the outside, when you are not free on the inside. For those without the gift of self expression, I imagine the healing might not be possible. For without the gift of self expression, I would not have the all of you to support me. And this is how I know, we are all TRULY connected. God takes the good, with the bad, and the ugly. “There is no such thing as God.” That statement makes absolutely no sense! Unless of course, you, like me, BELIEVE in God.
So Many Of You Young Ones Who Keep Yourselves Alive Are Going To Be So Happy One Day You Did Not Commit Suicide
Say a person is destined to suffer for the rest of theirÂ life, what are they supposed to do, learn to accept it, and live the remainder of their lifeÂ in pain and anguish, misery and despair?
Whenever I imagineÂ ways to commit suicide, I cannot help but to imagine even moreÂ ways ofÂ something going wrong. When I imagine screwing up and placing myself in an even worse nightmare,Â such a terrible feeling wells up withinÂ me and I becomeÂ afraid of attempting suicide. I feel so trapped because of this, and because I believe at some point in my life it really is going to be the humane thing for me to do, and I don’t think I can get anyone to do it for me. I feel like I want to convince a physician to please euthanize me, but I know they won’t do it.
Especially if you are young and healthy and suffering without friends and relationships, admitting yourself into a hospital can really change your mental state around in a big way.Â Just being surrounded by fellow patients and staff had a very therapeutic effect on me. I actually miss being with all the company in the hospital, despite the abuse. So if you are considering suicide, I highly recommend you check yourself into a hospital first.
Please do not report me and get me taken into the mental hospital. I just spent 49 days and nights in the hospital over the summer and I had to self-catheterize on the psych ward in very unsanitary conditions. I contracted an infection immediately and had to struggle to get Cipro to treat the infection. This is my dilemma: I want to go to the hospital for the company ofÂ people, but it is risky for myÂ physical health.
My father once said to me, “Life dealt you a really shitty hand, but all you can do is play the hand your dealt.”Â That was before I lost bladder function. I did not think to say to him at the time,Â “Well dad, I can always fold.” I was born unto a house of pain, and now I have to deal with health issues on top of all the psychological issues, all the arrests, all the beatings,Â all the hospitalizations, all the incarcerations, and for not ever really even breaking the law. I have been locked in a dry cell with nothing in it, no plumbing, no water, for over 48 hours and the guards (this was overseas) still would not bring me water. A fellow prisoner handed me a 1.5L Coca-Cola bottle full of water through the steel bars. I have been locked in a dark wet cell (again, overseas) with nearly a foot of water flooding the entire floor. I have soÂ many terrible stories to share. They all rush upon me so fast, I have trouble relating even one in sufficient detail. Can there be no mercy for me upon earth?
When I apologized to you the other day in case my inquiry had upset you,Â I had not yet seen your comment. Yesterday I saw it and read it and I feltÂ hurt againÂ even though I know I am not responsible for your hurt, but we are all in this thing together, and I just feel bad and think in the future I must be even more careful about asking people here questions. I cannot seem to find your comment in order to reply to it there, soÂ I am doing it here. Even if we can consider it healing therapy to hurt and cry, I still feel bad about it.Â I can understand the head slamming, and I saw this guyÂ in the mental hospital slam his head full force into a hardwood door, everyone on the unit ran away from him, staff rushed in and tied him up. I fully understand the head slam as a desire to get out of the miserable body experience.Â Reminds meÂ of waking in a panic, having to jump out of bed, then run out of my room, then I began running from the residence until I stopped myself and realized I cannot run from myself no matter howÂ hard and fast I run. I also just wanted to let you know, like you, I used to hold my breath (if I did not get my way). My mom would seeÂ me begin to turn purple and give in to me. Then sheÂ spoke with the same psychiatrist she would take me later at age 5. He told her not to give in to me and just let me hold my breath, I will pass out and start breathing again and then no longer engage in the behavior. All I can sayÂ about that: shitty advice from an ignorant male psychiatrist in the late ’60s. He should have told my mother to pick me up and hold me, she simply lacked a loving caring maternal instinct it seems to me, as she was all caught up in her own mental illness.
I am glad to see you read happier today then the other day, Amakua. I hope my presence on this site is more helpful than hurtful to others. For myself, this site seems both helpful and hurtful. I feel good to identify withÂ many of you people, but then it often wells up my own pain–oh well, I guess we cannot have the good without the bad.