Oh, my… Do they ever diagnose you straight? I am diagnosed with SO many fuckin’ shit by different doctors. Like, what is wrong with me???!!!
I ain’t living long like this. No one or nothing could help me. It’s been a decade, nothing yet. There are holes in the floor of my mind, like those in a medieval dungeon floor — Making it difficult for me to crawl back up from the pit. I feel worse than numb. The medicines only fucked me up real bad. I can’t even begin to talk about them for I’ll have to pen an entire fucking essay on it. Bruh. Oh, the ECT made me lose my fucking memory. Sure, it did help me with my severe mania episodes, but it worsened my OCD and anxiety. And Ketamine Infusion Therapy sounded cool, but ‘twas only momentary. Nothing helped. Nothing helps. Constant panic attacks and PTSD episodes over trivial matters. I’m depressed. I’m paranoid. I’m neurotic. What-fucking-not. One of my most favourite fictional characters, Dr. Hannibal Lecter says, “If you weren’t neurotic, Franklyn, you’d be much worse.” Well, guess what? I’m much fucking worse already! There’s no point beyond this. It’s said —
People who have psychotic episodes are often unaware that their delusions or hallucinations are not real, which may lead them to feel frightened or distressed.
Well, I wasn’t aware as well and was in complete denial about it. But now I am. I’m psychotic as fuck. Psychosis sucks. It’s morbidly awful. My psychiatrists were right after all. I may sound dumb, but why aren’t there methods to legally kill a person like me and ease the pain if the person involved consents to it? Why do we value a human’s life so fucking much? Ugh. Kill me already! I tried killing myself more than thrice, but joke’s on me; I’m a fucking loser! If I could, I would hire a hitman to kill me. I just… I want to go home. I want to die.
My tests say that I show extreme Alexithymia traits. Is that actually a thing? I don’t know. I don’t care about/for anyone. I just don’t give a fuck. I’m an awful person to even begin with. If you showed me a video of a child getting sawed, I’d stand stock-still. But if you showed me a video of an animal being abused, I’d flinch at a stroke. I don’t fucking understand myself. I hate humans. You could come to me crying, and I’d ask you to just fuck it and nothing more. I can’t help you with your emotional needs ‘cause I don’t relate. I haven’t truly loved anyone in all my life, and that’s just scary. I’m more in my head than in my heart. I don’t know if this is a boon or a bane. It’s like a two-edged sword, really. It’s just sad. Imagine ending up all alone because of this attribute… I don’t have a problem with that, but it’s funny I can’t have the normal things that normal people have. Can you believe that I’ve never felt butterflies in my stomach? I can never be okay.
They say tHe mEaNinG oF liFe iS lOvE, but what’s the meaning of my life when I don’t even love myself?
I’m unlucky. I can’t even begin to say how unlucky I’m. Maybe I just fuck myself up, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m fucked. I’ve nothing. I would top the school back-to-back in the mid-tests and mid-exams, but then my body would randomly decide to put my life in danger during RE/TEE. I had acute health complications, both physical and mental. I survived Varicella in grade 10 and Enteric flu in grade 12. I had only 30% attendance. Although, I still managed to score 97% (with two 100/100) and 92% tho, I didn’t top the school. That sure was embarrassing — note: I live in India with prying relatives around. It was time for college. I was hoping to get into IITs or go overseas – wasn’t able to do ‘em both as I couldn’t take JEE and SAT/ACT since I was fucking hospitalised again. I could’ve waited a year or so, but I was already running late for I did my nursery classes twice as I was mute. Although I’m now into one of the top 5 private universities of India (NIRF), it doesn’t really make me feel good. Oh, I also fucked up my college – consecutively fucking up my career. Same yada yada, I was a topper and a 9 pointer in 4/6 semesters yet, but my mental health got fucked real bad in the mid that I had to be immediately put in a psych ward. Well, that’s how I ended up with 8 backlogs by not attending the Winter 2018-2019 classes and exams. Upshot, I’ll be a timed-out student ‘cause of my arrears. I can’t as well clear ‘em on time for I hardly have only two semesters left, and unlike other universities here, our university requires us to redo the N grade courses for an entire fucking semester again by paying 6K/course. I thought I’d complete those due credits in the Summer I and II 2020 classes if they offered the courses I’ve N2 (<75% attendance) and N3 (absent to FAT) grades in, but thanks to Corona! No way I’d be there at the 2022 graduation ceremony. No way at all. Unlucky. So fucking unlucky. So, yes… timed-out and no on-campus placements for me. Surprise, mom – The 13-15L you spent on my useless degree is for naught, and your child is a stupid piece of shit, but you already know this. One may argue that marks don’t matter. Well, they sure don’t — but I was only good at one thing, and that was academics. I failed there as well. I’m not jealous, but the people that I helped with almost everything related to academics are way beyond me in life now. They’re all successful. Good for ‘em. But… don’t you think what’s happening to me is downright unfair? I’m just a waste of space, have always been. Everything has gone wrong in my life. Everything still goes wrong. I was born with (neonatal) Jaundice. Cerebral Palsy, Kernicterus, and DEATH were in order. They should’ve fucking let me die but no. 21 years later, death is still playing me. Still alive after all. Why? I don’t know. I want to die.
I don’t wanna fucking live anymore. I hope there’s no afterlife. I just want to die, and that is fucking it. If there was another realm or anything of the sort, I’d seriously be more fucked up than I’m now ‘cause I think the problem is not just with my body and my mind, but also with my soul – if there is any. I feel like some evil maggot has drilled a hole so deep in my skull that it is controlling every fucking thing that’s me. I just wanna be gone. Forever. I wanna die, and I don’t give a fuck about anyone. I don’t love anyone. I just can’t. Wait, it’s not what it seems like. I don’t want to die ‘cause I’m lonely or some shit like that. Not even close. I’ve people that actually love me bat-crazy, but I don’t give a solitary fuck about any of ‘em. Sure, I’ve helped ‘em with academics and still do, but that’s only ‘cause I’m condescending – Not because I like any of ‘em back. Heck, I don’t even reply to their messages most of the time. I’ve ignored everyone around me for almost a decade now. I wouldn’t even be surprised if they all hated me to the bone now. It’s understandable. I mean, who the fuck puts up with a shitty friend like me for years? It’s actually okay for I don’t seem to care even a tad. Anyway, I was the most successful kid at school. I was the consecutive topper for a decade. I was teachers’ favourite. Though I hated it, I was always surrounded by friends back in the days. I had the coolest of things; thanks to my mum! I was never bullied. I was never humiliated. I had a good run. Everything was A-OK except the fact that I could never be happy, no matter what. Nothing fucking mattered, and nothing matters. I can’t enjoy the things that normal people enjoy. Maybe I just never intended to try ‘em out? I don’t know. I’m 21 now. I never danced, never partied, never smoked, never had sex. Nothing really. I guess it’s just the way I’m. It’s not rocket science. Shit’s simple – I’m fucked up beyond repair. That is all it is. Mind you, I’m the shittiest person you’ll ever meet. I’m not even kidding. I don’t hate anyone more than I hate myself. I wanna go. I really wanna.
I OD’d on my psychotropic (/psychiatric) pills in 2019. ‘Twas a heavy overdose and my pills were strong and of very high dosages. I was naturally almost sure that I’d wind up dead. But guess what? I woke up in the morning. Not in a good state at all, but I awoke. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t utter a solitary word. Hell, I couldn’t even see things. I was cold. I’ve a long history of mental illnesses – BD (+ Psychosis — Schizoaffective disorder) and various PDs, so my folks figured out that I must’ve once again yanked some suicidal sh_t when I didn’t answer their calls. I guess they must’ve checked the locked medicine cabinet to find out that the pills were missing from it, and the lock was picked. They stormed into my room only to see me half-alive, half-dead. I was soon rushed to the emergency room. Gastric lavage was carried out. Ewald tubes were let down my entrails. Cannulas and tubes all over – IV and NG tubes. Oh, did I mention fecal incontinence? Pathetic. That was a nightmare. That really was. I’ve pulled through seizures, tremors, and H(a)ematemesis. You might be wondering why I pulled it again. Right? Well, I was so f_cking desperate, and I was actually dumb enough to redo it. I was that desperate to die. I still am. But only now, I’ve learnt the lesson that overdosing on your pills isn’t a cool way to go. It’s painful. It’s humiliating. It’s hardly successful.
Right to die must be a thing. Assisted suicide must be a thing. (Update: Heard from a Swiss friend of mine that it’s actually a thing in Switzerland — Exit, Dignitas presumably offer the services… Why not here?) I know when my mind and body can take no more. I know how it feels to be so mentally f_cked when nothing actually is wrong in your life (or is everything?). I’m convinced that killing myself will be the kindest thing I can ever do to myself. So, I will not stop you with the lame a_s TED talks. However, do not overdose on your psychiatric pills… or try to slit your ulnar or radial arteries, please. I’ve around 30+ sutures on just my left arm, and I’m still alive. Over-the-counter P500/P650s OD in 2017, and I’m still alive — N-AC treatment. Sucks. Maybe I’m just a loser, but that’s for another post! Good day(?)