You know what’s really fantastic is lying awake at 2:30 in the morning, trying to figure out why I feel like a piece of shit. I mean, I feel like shit, obviously, with the dizziness and the nausea that comes from not sleeping for a couple of days. But why do I feel like a piece of shit? I fed my cats. I went to work, didn’t screw up or underperform. I didn’t get into any arguments, I didn’t say or do anything rude or unethical. So why, god, do I still have this leaden guilty-and-wanting-to-die feeling without any outside circumstances to justify it?
I have never had insomnia before, this is the first time in my life. It is hell and making my depression even worse.
Does anyone else have it? Or has anyone else had it? How did you deal with it?
I’m just going to put this here for me to re-read when I’m at a low point. Kind of as a public time-capsule. Bear with me as it’s going to be a lot about I-Me-My.
I was born to a single mom with a lot of personal issues. She was a pretty promiscuous party girl during my early childhood. She dated, and we lived with a few
different drug dealers before I was even 3, not that I minded at that age. I temporarily lived with my grandma for a year from 3 to 4. I don’t have any memory of
this but apparently, according to my family who lives by the rules of Lifetime original movie exaggeration, it really bummed me out. When my mom finally took
me back she constantly had new and increasingly more worthless boyfriends. I didn’t mind her dating, honestly. That’s whatever as far as I’m concerned. But early
on some of the guys she would date were abusive towards me both sexually and physically. It was a rough time. Over the course of my childhood, as the oldest, my
mom had five other kids all with different dads. Way to go, someone deserves a gold medal. As I got older, my responsibility to be a surrogate father for my siblings
was increasingly foisted upon me. I hate to be so flowery in my writing, but it’s just my personality, I can’t quite get over it as much as I’m trying to.
My mom would work all day, party all night and then come home for a few hours. When she was home, she was angsty, angry, tired, and not in the mood for parenting.
Not to say that she didn’t make an effort, we still did fun stuff on occasion like go to the park, eat out, go on drives, etc. She tried. But regardless, the problem wasn’t
when she was there usually. It was when she wasn’t. When she wasn’t there I had to make sure that the house was clean, the kids ate, that they did their homework,
etc. It got to the point where it was beyond babysitting. And I wasn’t skilled in any sense of the word. I didn’t’ realize it but I had some severe emotional problems as a
kid. Things that didn’t make sense until I understood the implications of abuse as a teenager.
I was pretty violent as a kid, I can’t lie. My younger siblings found it hard to comply with me and what I needed them to do, rightfully so, I was barely older than any
of them and sometimes my demands were pretty angry by nature since that’s the only way I had heard them. But I had the responsibility and if I didn’t fulfill it, I was
the one who was punished. So, fastforwarding to this pattern happening for a few months or so, when the- almost said ‘the kids’. When my brothers and sisters didn’t
do what I needed them to, I’d get physically violent with them. Especially my younger brother. I think it was because he was so good and sweet and innocent. In many
ways everything I wished I was at the time. They didn’t deserve it, and I didn’t need to be so aggressive. The punishment wasn’t even that bad in hindsight. I think I just
tricked myself into a low pain threshold and it made me think it was worse than it was at the time.
Eventually, I made it to what in my area, we call intermediate school. It’s a school for just sixth and seventh grade and is intended to prepare kids for middle school.
It was about this time that my whole soul sank into an incalculable depression. Far beyond what I think any kid my age could have imagined. I didn’t know this yet, but
would find out in time, that I also had very bad seizures in my sleep that was adding to the problem by perpetuating a deep fatigue that I couldn’t overcome. Couple this
with insomnia from a time when my mom’s boyfriend came into my room when I was very young. It was a recipe for disaster. My body starts getting all these hormones and
feelings, and I was doing very poorly in school, like straight ‘F’s despite testing the highest in the state every year on end of level testing. I began to dive deep into self loathing.
I didn’t ‘cut’ or anything like that but self harm was a big pass-time of mine when I was done with school. I’d punch myself in the face quite intensely. I think it actually messed
up one of my teeth’s position. I don’t know. I’ll have to talk to a dentist about that I guess. Eventually I got to the point where that wasn’t satisfying (because let’s be real, nobody
wants a bruised mug when they’re at the age when they start to find girls attractive), and I started just unleashing all my aggression on my legs. It’s not really a big deal
for me in an emotional way like it was, but it’s just a part of the story. Eventually I got so completely depressed that I fantasized about dying almost every day. My home life
responsibilities, the piling amounts of work that just never seemed to get done, my mom began to be a lethargic parent, I couldn’t even talk to her. Incidentally, I think that’s
what set me off the most. My mom’s lifestyle caught up with her and she stopped partying but then worked ALL day. Not a big deal, some parents make it work. But what
sucked about it was then when she got home, she just wanted to watch TV in peace. And I didn’t have any other parent, my siblings despised me because of all that I had to
make them do, and because of all the things that I had to do after school I had no friends. And this is no exaggeration, I literally had no friends. It was my emotional 9/11 at that
point. I got so frustrated trying to tell my mom about what I was feeling, I was weeping standing trying to talk to her and she wouldn’t even look at me. She yelled at me and told
me to shut up. I felt so betrayed and alone I ran to the kitchen and grabbed a knife put it to my throat and told her I was going to kill myself. She walked over to me, started shoving
me and kept saying “Do it, *****.” I got so angry. I knew I couldn’t do it at that time. I think I was more worried about getting in trouble than anything else.
I threw the knife on the floor. It missed us both completely and it broke on the floor. She immediately freaked out that the knife was broken and chased me and beat my ass. I mean,
I probably would have handled it differently, but who’s asking?
My teenage years just got worse. I got to the point where I started praying to the god I don’t believe in to kill me. All day, every day. I had a prayer in my heart that he would take my
life. Just give me an opening. A gun to kill myself, even just the strength to kill myself in any way. I prayed for accidents, for homicidal shooters to come to my school and shoot only
me, etc. Morbid fantasies of a 13 year old. Further becoming an outcast in school due to undeveloped social skills (don’t worry I got much better. 😉 I felt detached and untethered
to my peers. I started seeing the school counselor in secret after I left a note in the suggestions box. We talked from time to time about what was bothering me. But nothing really
ever came of it. She was limited in how much she could ask, and I was limited in how much I could talk about as I knew the consequences would be bad for my family. So it was
just general feelings and how the day was going. This helped tremendously. But eventually, as it so often goes, I had a victim complex as a kid. And victims attract bullies. I had
a few kids that would find every little thing to poke fun at when I was young and at perhaps my most vulnerable point at the time. I wasn’t a bad looking kid, I’d even actually argue
quite handsome- but my appearance was under the most refined microscope. My eyebrows suddenly became ‘weird looking’ to me. My nose was crooked (I vow on George Washington’s
grave it’s not.) My ears were too big. Suddenly everything about me became repulsive. So on top of my emotional and mental repugnance of myself, I found a way to finally hate the
last thing about myself that I felt was any good. I started writing really lame poetry about how much life sucked. I wish I still had some of it. It was really bad. But it expressed
my feelings at the time that I deserved death. I had alienated everyone I could have had connections with, and had turned against myself. It felt like being trapped in a boxing ring
in a straight jacket with your evil doppelganger.
To be honest, I think that the mentality of a low threshold for pain is what saved me. There were so many times where I thought, ‘Jump in front of this car. Fuck that person.’ or
‘Just slit your own throat. It won’t hurt that bad. And you’ll be dead really fast.’ But my brain kept me going by giving me the best inspiration that a brain can: “Fuck that. That shit
will hurt. Are you out of your mind?”
So I stayed the course. I made it to high school finally. I changed schools to go to a charter school for artists. Not my best decision ever.
It was good to make friends. I finally attained popularity. People thought I was funny, charming and sweet. It felt nice. I questioned why I ever felt poorly in the first place. I fell
in love with a beautiful girl who was very kind herself. She had had a pretty damaged life as well. And I found that very attractive that she was able to overcome that. We went
on a few dates but she still had more challenges to go through in life before we would ever get romantic.
Eventually life catches up. My brain was stuck on this treadmill of failure. My school habits didn’t improve despite the more liberal schedule that I now had. I thought learning
the information was enough. I was wrong. In this school it was in high demand to perform because that’s where the school got its funding as a charter program. So whereas
the public school would have been fine with me failing every course, this school was not. And it became public knowledge as to who was studious, and who was not. So now my
poor habit became a public spectacle. I started noticing how my poor ‘parenting’ skills had affected my siblings. My youngest brother had also become violent. My other brother
now suffered from low self-esteem and depression. My sisters all felt unattractive and worthless. And I know it wasn’t because of my mom, because she wasn’t there. It was me.
Finally I started fully soaking in my guilt and letting it consume my very soul. I didn’t see it how I should have, as a brother in a poor situation, but as a father who had let his
children down. I didn’t do much to correct it either. At 14, I wasn’t in much of a position to anyways.
This pattern continued until eventually I left that highschool and dropped out for a while. My family was struggling financially which was one factor, but a girl falsely accused me
of making a sexual solicitation of her sister (whom I had never met. 😐 ). So I left, and worked for a year at a movie theater I had always wanted to work at. I started dating around
but couldn’t ever take girls to my house. My mom made it explicitly clear that there was to be no dating. Still to this day, I’m clueless as to why. The best I could ever get from that
rule was “Because I said so.” So, if you’ve got puzzle solving skills, please share with me your input on this one.
My boss eventually started to loathe my very being. Still clueless on that one too. But she would constantly berate my performance in front of the other crew and customers. I think
that it was just again, that I had a ‘victim’ mentality and she was a bully. She was perfectly fine to the females but to the males she was a little more cruel but me in particular she
hated. Oh well, she got fired after I quit anyhow. So, silver linings I guess.
I went back and finished highschool. Pointless exercise in my view. From there I decided that I would go on a two year mission for my church and they sent me to South Africa. I was
19 at this point and was still a little screwy in the head so to speak. I had a lot of personal growing experiences and talked to thousands of people, and got to see a side of life I hadn’t
seen before. But it came at a cost. I was in the Johannesburg area which was the violent crime capital of the world at that point. I saw a lot of violence there. But our instruction was
to not intervene for our own safety. I felt so guilty about not helping so many people. People who were raped, murdered, robbed, or beaten in public. There wasn’t much I could have
done, but I would have killed to do anything to help. I personally was only robbed about 6 or seven times. It’s been about two years since then, so I don’t remember all of them. But
I remember getting so depressed, even though there were a lot of people I was helping, building homes, cleaning, doing service opportunities, visiting hospitals, I felt like it wasn’t
even a drop in the bucket against all the violence. I remember thinking that I could just try to stop one crime. And if I die, I die. I didn’t care. But we had a companion or a fellow
missionary with us at all times. So, I thought better of it and decided not to make that move.
I eventually got home, and within the week that I had returned to the United States, my dog of six years passed away. It sucked but I powered through it. I moved in with my
friends and we shared a three bedroom apartment. I was working a job where my boss thought I was genuinely retarded despite the fact that I questioned if she had had atypical
autism. I- I don’t even know what more to say about that. But around summer of last year, my sister was killed in an automotive accident where her boyfriend drove drunk over
a cliff and killed her. He was totally fine. Yes, totally fine. I had met him before and he offered me drugs when I dropped her off. As fatherly as I could have been, I let her make her
own decisions but I told her that I didn’t approve. She obviously didn’t care what I thought, and I don’t blame her. I was a pretty shitty brother most of her life. Like grade D Douchebag.
When she passed, I was so consumed with guilt, rage, and grief. I felt like it should have been me. I was the one praying for death. I had wanted it so long and she had so much more
life in her than I did. I felt it was a cruel joke. My work didn’t really care. They gave me 2 and 1/2 days off of work to grieve. They basically said, “Sorry dude. That sucks. But we have
to move on and keep working or life falls apart.” Yeah, that’s true. I dont’ disagree. But two and a half days? Come the fuck on. That’s garbage. Especially considering that my mom
was so devastated that I basically had to take care of the funeral and the emotional strong front by myself. Which was just additional stress to the living situation with my roommates.
My roomates kept making it all about them and their plans and how they felt. Again, I was totally swamped with loneliness. Thanks guys.
My sister didn’t deserve to die. And her boyfriend should have gone to jail. But my mom in her hallmark movie mentality thought it would be better if he didn’t go to jail. Despite the
fact that this was his third time doing this exact thing, only this time, he killed somebody.
It was ironic, because my whole life, I was under more scrutiny by her for less, than this guy who had now essentially murdered her daughter. My brain gets into a twister even thinking
I started dating that girl from Highschool that I told you about after the funeral. It was great at first. We had everything in common and she seemed pretty affectionate.
Eventually I found out that she’s crazy and has some weird emotional hangups. We stopped seeing eachother, and I started living in a hotel. I hooked up with this girl I had known
back when I was a teenager. We went to the bar, made out, and had a good night. I didn’t pursue it further, but it’s mostly because I’ve got this crazy thing called depression going on.
It was about this time that I started noticing I have a pretty severe form of PTSD. I didn’t like being out in public as it gave me pretty hardcore anxiety.
Living in the hotel, I started planning how to commit suicide. I had mapped it out. I was going to go to the shooting range, rent a gun for the day and when I was done (because I wanted
to get my money’s worth) I’d turn it on myself. Flawless plan, poor execution on my part. I made a few goodbye videos. And by a few, I mean, one addressed individually to each member
of my family , one to each member of my ex girlfriend’s family, and one (actually the first one I made) to a girl who had been my best friend for a few years.
I started dating the girl that I had made the goodbye video for and it totally changed my life. I started feeling self esteem again, and started working a lot harder to overcome my PTSD.
It was great. Eventually she left me, and I don’t blame her. I brought a lot of baggage to the relationship and nobody needs to deal with that. Also, I hope nobody is stupid enough
to say, “What a *****.” I’ve heard that a lot since we broke up and it’s just not true. She’s probably the nicest girl I’ve ever dated. And she tried to help me probably more than anyone
in my life ever has. Really, that responsibility falls to me to make it work and I didn’t. I bought an engagement ring, and I was working towards getting a home loan so that we could
get a starter house and get married. I’m glad she had the courage to end it when she did though. It’s helped me a lot to have the extra spare time I need to transform as a person.
However, the loneliness, has made it very hard for me to even consider living. I spend probably most of my day when I’m not working, or staying busy (I’ve been staying busy a lot more
lately as I don’t need to spend a lot of time talking to her) in a very emotional place. I’ve caught myself crying myself to sleep most nights, haunted by all my past mistakes. I’ve tried
distracting myself but it only makes my insomnia worse. I realize that it’s not going to help anyone if I kill myself. But I’ve noticed that this time around, that she was the only thing
that stopped me last time. And I let myself make that mistake. I should have stopped myself just because I wanted to live. But I didn’t. And I guess now that she’s gone, it’s like my
safety net is gone. I would never kill myself over a breakup. That’s stupid. It’s more like, I’ve always wanted to kill myself and finally, I have everything I need to make it happen.
But I don’t really know what I want anymore. I really don’t want to live. That much is obvious. But I don’t know if I want her to feel like she could have done more.
I really don’t care too much about how anyone else would take it. I have a pretty well worded suicide note that I feel like makes it impossible for anyone to feel bad about my
decision. But I know that no matter how well worded my note is, and no matter how much sense it makes, she will blame herself. That’s just her personality.
She’s blocked me on all social media and I even think she blocked my number (maybe out of guilt? We broke up on good terms so that’s the only thing that makes sense to me)
so there’s a good chance she may not even know about it until later. But I don’t want to risk it and have her feel that guilt. I was thinking about waiting a month or two more and
when she’s feeling a little more adjusted, hitting that gun range up.
I figure she’ll probably still feel a little guilt, but unlike if I were to do it now, she’ll be able to get over it eventually.
And before anyone starts spouting off absolutes like, “No matter when you do it, they’ll never get over it.” I want to let you know, affirmatively, that you are 100% wrong.
People move on. You can still feel a little bad about it later. But not guilty. Not shameful. The timing is everything. And I also think it’s funny when people use absolutes
as if they’ve actually acquired the data necessary to make such claims. I know you haven’t. So speaking as if you have only turns me off to everything else that you can say.
By the way, I’m a suicidal asshole, so that’s a pretty hard combo to reason with.
This isn’t me sharing a method of suicide or a plan to commit suicide. I’m still undecided and I’m not looking for input to help me commit suicide. Like I said, it’s a time capsule. I’d
like to be able to come back and read my story again. If people want to share their thoughts, it’s a public forum so they’re more than welcome to.
It’s hard for me to sleep. It’s 1:04 AM here and I am still awake. My sleep patterns are getting weird. And I am sure I won’t sleep until 5:00 Am. I just lay awake at night, losing myself in thought and contemplating my doom and misfortune. I think I need to get myself on sleeping pills. Any suggestions?!!??
I have it real bad. The medication is not doing a thing.
Everyone is sleeping. The ward is dead quiet, with the occasional snoring and farting from the old ladies.
I’m still up. I doubt I’ll sleep. I guess this will have be a night spent on SP and pretending to study on the side.
I was deployed to Afghanistan in 2010 as a Lance Corporal in the U.S. Marines. L0ng story short I came back with PTSD and Depression. For me that meant nightmares, fear of public spaces, panic attacks, insomnia, hyper vigilance, anger and flashbacks along with everything that comes with depression. 2011 is when I started to get suicidal and went into the VA ( Veterans Affairs) the first time in September for a week and again in October for about a week. They didn’t fix anything they just gave me a nice cocktail of meds to keep in a zombie like state. Living like that sucks. I couldn’t work or do much of anything else. My day normally consisted of isolating and not eating (I lost 25lbs in a week and a half), watching Netflix and porn, taking my pills and drinking in my room. This is how I lived for about a year. November 2012 I got fed up with it all and tried OD’ing on about 1500mg of Trazodone, and I don’t remember how much of my other sleeping pill. Obviously it didn’t work. I was found and taken to the E.R. No damage was done and they didn’t have to pump my stomach just hook me up to a few IVs and I was good. I went straight from there to a civilian hospital that had a program for veterans and I was there for about a month and a half. I came out of there feeling pretty good and with a new confidence and even got married in 2014. I was also medically retired from the Marine Corps in 2014 due to my PTSD and depression. Things have started to go down hill as I have been having to fight the VA for my benefits and I have started to have the worst migraines and my doctor gave me meds that are weaker than stuff I can get over the counter. I get these migraines 2-3 times a week and they are so bad that all I can do is go lay down in a quiet and dark room and try and take a nap to sleep it off. This has started to affect my marriage as I am at work until about 3 pm then come home and spend the rest of the day laying down by myself. Another thing that came up is the likelihood that I have sleep apnea on top of everything else. The icing on this shit cake is that my retirement was taken away because of a mess up in paperwork back in 2014 when I applied for CRSC so I could keep my VA disability check and collect retirement. So now I cant take care of my family and will be calling it quits here in the next month or two. The plan is this time to go somewhere where no one will find me for a few days and take all my remaining trazodone, prazosin, divalproex, and lithium to knock me the fuck out. Just as I start to feel all that kick in though I will be putting a large trash bag over my head and tightening it around my neck then binding my hands behind me to keep myself from ripping the bag off when my brain goes into panic mode and I will eventually pass out from the meds and eventually die from lack of oxygen. I’m done with the wife, the VA, and constantly getting screwed over and not getting fixed. I cant and wont live like this. I’m done fighting this hard for the benefits I need.
I’m here because I don’t know what to do now…
The easiest way to put his is to say that I am lost, tired and hopeless. Suicide has been on my mind for months now and the more I try to push it away the more it grows stronger.
When the depression started a year ago, I made myself promise that I would never ever, ever hurt myself.I love my parents, my family, my friends and the random people I meet that are full of life, kindness and appreciation. I also told myself that I am a fortunate human being. I was born in a poor country but I did not starve, I went to school and I was surrounded with love.
In that way it’s hard to admit I have depression. Anyone looking from the outside would think it’s all roses and daisies. I guess that’s how it is for most of us though. We allow everyone to assume what they want. It would be cruel to disappoint them right? If they knew that life is truly shitty all around, they would lose all hope too.
Hm…I’ve never been a writer-type person. I always loose my train of thoughts like I am right now. But this is the only thing that answered my question about what to do now.
My sister actually referred me to this site. She survived depression. I say she survived but I’m not sure it truly ever goes away. She tells me she has those moments of weakness where the symptoms come back but her coping skills are very well developed so… she copes. I’m proud of her. She thought she was weak but she made it. Now it’s my turn, and I don’t see a way out.
Back to suicide, well I’m not sure what to do now. I’m not sure what else will keep me busy enough to not attempt anything stupid; to not get sucked in the thoughts of my depression; to not think about ways that would look like an accident so the people I know love and care for me would not feel hurt and betrayed. Now I must end this post since people won’t read it if its too long… maybe I’ll write another one or read everyone else’s.
Just help, I truly don’t know what to do now…
For fucks sake! Can somebody please shut that fucking dog up?!
Its the middle of the night, 02:15 am to be more exactly and I cant sleep because this fucking dog wont shut up.
I swear, if it doesn’t shut up, my rage will reach boiling point and I wont be responsible for my own actions.
It keeps barking and howling, and it wont let me sleep. The images in my head wont go away. Im sick of it. I fucking hate it.
Now Im crying…
I can’t get no sleep
Ok, so that’s an exaggeration. Even on the worst nights, I usually manage 1-2 hours. What I mean to say is that I can’t get enough sleep to function properly. During my work week, I spend most of the time wandering around in a haze, zombified, narrowly avoiding bumping into people, longing for the day to end. But then the night finally comes, and I just can’t get to sleep at a reasonable hour, no matter how tired I am.
I feel like I’ve tried all the standard advice. Sticking to routines, exercise, limiting technology use, changing my diet, meditation, yoga, warm baths etc. None of it seems to make a difference. I’d like to try sleeping pills, but I’ve heard they’re only effective for a couple of months, and I’ve been like this for years, getting progressively worse.
A part of my brain just won’t let go of consciousness, until I’m so tired it can no longer resist. It can’t accept the reality it perceives during the day. It wants me constantly alert, searching for a way out, a way to make things ok, when clearly none exists. My body is in a constant state of low level fear. There is no longer any safe space, no refuge. There is no peace of mind.
I don’t know how to move forward with anything when my body won’t even allow the basic functioning that would provide me with concentration, focus, energy etc. Even treading water feels increasingly impossible.
This is my first time posting anything here, so I feel like I should introduce myself a bit. My name is Rae. I’m transgender, my preferred pronouns are his/him. I’m asexual and aromantic. I write sometimes, draw even less. I read a lot, though. I was going to go to college for psychology and philosophy, but I probably won’t make it that far. My favorite colors are white, gold, red, and black, in that order. I really love flowers and reptiles and am constantly torn between the two. Alright, this is just turning into me babbling about myself, but whatever.
Anyway, I found this site and kind of wanted to give it a shot while I was still around, y’know?
So, I guess I’ll explain my suicide story here, since that’s what it says on the home page.
I’m not sure how long I’ve been depressed, and I’m still not sure if I am. I feel like my psychoanalysis wasn’t in-depth enough to diagnose me with that. Anyway, I think I can pinpoint feeling depressed to back in middle school. I never really had a lot of friends. Ever. It’s not that I was shy or anything, I just didn’t have an interest. I jumped from friend group to friend group because I get bored of people like I get bored of food. You can only eat PBJ so many days in a row until you want something else, right? That’s how I’ve always been around people. And in a way, I kind wish I weren’t. It’s kind of lonely. I’m not able to tolerate the same people so many days in a row, and it sucks because I can’t have lasting relationships that way. I’ve always been so isolated, and I do this to myself. Ugh, whatever, that’s a different story for a different day.
Okay, so you get the idea that I have a lot of acquaintances, but not a lot of friends. Alright, so in March of 2014 I attempted suicide. Overdose of whatever the fuck was in the medicine cabinet. I just wound up throwing up. A lot. So I asked my mom to call me out of school on Friday and then the following Monday and Tuesday. I didn’t tell her why, and she didn’t ask. Family matters are a whole other issue, but the bottom line is that nobody in my family really gets along with each other.
So, I go back to school and nobody really asks me what’s up. Of course. I don’t have any friends. And I didn’t tell them.
I didn’t tell anyone that I had attempted suicide.
I simply brush the suicide attempt under the rug and pretend it never happened. But it got a lot worse after that. My thoughts of suicide got a lot worse and more frequent. I came out as transgender to my parents in July and now my dad hates me more than he did before. My mom calls me he only in front of me, but I hear her when she thinks I’m not listening and she doesn’t even try. She’s only doing it in front of me so I won’t say anything bad about her. My sisters are fine with it, though.
In November of 2014 I had a breakdown and my older sister forced me to go to the hospital. I was in crisis and was transferred to somewhere else, where I stayed for 5 days. This is where I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. But I think they just assumed that’s what I had because I was admitted for suicidal ideations. But whatever. So eventually I get out of there and I start therapy and medication. We found out that the medication only makes things worse, but helps me sleep (I have horrible insomnia). Therapy sucked, but that’s my fault. Again, with the people thing. I couldn’t connect, and then I got bored of her. So I stopped going to therapy. And I stopped taking the meds.
I’ve been going untreated for I think 3 months now, and I’m getting kind of bad again. I’m not really sure how much longer I’m going to be around to tell my story, but have this much, I guess. There’s so much more, but I don’t have the energy or motivation to write it all out. That’s almost sad, I always wanted to be a writer. I still do. Look how well that went. I’m fucking pathetic.
Thanks for reading this, I guess. It’s really text-heavy, but whatever. It felt kind of nice to get it out.
I’m also the-lord-of-the-lamps on tumblr, you can find me there if you want to chat, but you probably don’t.
I really don’t like this whole not being able to sleep thing…it screws everything up even more and leaves me so exhausted.
My brain won’t stop dancing amongst the putrid errors my fucked up self has made in the past. Like ever, seriously.
Slept for 9 hours last night but I wake up feeling less happier than yesterday. I don’t know how many times I woke up in the middle but should be plenty. I feel less happier, less motivated than yesterday. How I can be happy one day and suicidal the next I don’t understand.
Well insomnia is not the cause for my state but only a symptom. The actual reason I suspect is some kind of digestive illness. I’ve lost a bit of weight. I have had horrible reflux since 3 years. Celiac/Crohn’s/GERD I don’t know what it is but I’m tired of stressing over finding out what it is.
I haven’t slept peacefully for the last 8 months and now I feel that I never will until I take that medicine which makes you sleep forever. I’m tired of fighting this illness day after day for the last 8 months.
Yesterday I felt normal and felt happy for a bit which made me think that I can start a new life. But that is followed by a night of bad sleep and today I wake up feeling so lost and suicidal. This has been the cycle for the last 8 months – Sometimes feeling hopeful and most times gutted. Now my memory is messy. My iq feels messed up. My consciousness feels messed up. Just Everything. I can’t fucking feel normal anymore.
I’m bloody tired of this shit and I’m edging closer and closer to taking that that final step which will make me fall asleep forever.
PS: I know I’m ranting but thats all I want to do right now!!
(I know that some of you won’t, but please keep your rude, degrading comments to youself. Like a diabetic doesn’t ask for diabetes, people with mental illness don’t ask for it either.)
I inherited bipolar depression from both my mother and father. I’ve had a lot of emotional problems since I was a child. I was always extremely depressed and angry, somtimes suicidal. I had a compulsive cutting addiction as well, not just surface stratches..the kind like “Oh my God hold her down, put pressure on the bleeding. Call an ambulance” I was hospitalized twice which I am immensely grateful for. They gave my bipolar depression diagnosis, and started me on some meds.
Fortuneatly for 4 years I’ve been regulated on quite a cocktail of mood stabilizers, anxiety pills, and antidepressants. I have never cut since! In short, I’ve been quite happy and content with my life. I found the ASHLEY that has been trapped inside for so long!! BUT…..
in the past month I’ve noticed a change in my thinking. I’m having FREQUENT, PAINFUL ANXIETY ATTACKS. I don’t think I’m having a mood swing, but I’ve got this weird feeling in my head. I don’t really have much a reason to be sad, but I am. I just feel extremely uncomfortable in my own skin. I try to do things to keep my mind busy but I just can’t concentrate on things. I’m disinterested in everything I normally like to do. I CAN’T SLEEP at night and when I crash after being wired up for 17 hours I sleep for about a day. It upsets me because I feel like I’m wasting my life. I don’t know what is wrong with me, but it’s getting worse every day. I see my pschiatrist in a week, but it seems like a long time until then.
Can someone help? Maybe give me some insight on what might be going on? How I can make things better?
The first time I attempted suicide I was eleven, it involved a shoddily tied hangmans knot, a bag, and a closet it looked like some kind of scene out of an erotic asphyxiation porn than a suicide. It left a circle of bruise around my neck for a week. My mother had been screaming at me for days , constantly yelling, constantly questioning my loyalty, constantly belittling me, keeping me in the house for days unable to go to school like all the other little girls do. I had no other option, no one would believe me, my mother told them I was crazy, I was schizophrenic, I was abusing her, I was eleven, how could I?
I failed. My mother took me to the houses of everyone we knew and twisted what I had tried to do, it became a temper tantrum. I was trying to get escape, not call for help, help wasnt going to come, but it just became something that my mother used to isolate me, to spin her tale of an out of control daughter, I was eleven I just wanted to escape, both my mother and the man she let molest me.
Time past, I grew, I left, I was free. But I had no one, I was alone. Space constantly pressing all around as far as I could feel I had no one. I was 19, I was desperate I was failing, I was working 40 hours a week with a full course load for an apartment with no heat in the middle of winter and the time I had was the dark hours of morning where sleep became insomnia and insomnia became a reel full of memories relentlessly playing out my life in full color for me to watch again and again. I took two Â weeks off school trying to work up the nerve and to wallow in the desperation, the time came, I drank a mickey of scotch, I took two bottles of aspirin, I destroyed an inhaler and I finished an inhaler for asthma, hoping it would somehow help. I tied a rope to a twenty pound barbell and my neck I filled my tub, I practice slitting my wrist, I the actually slit my wrist all the way to muscle with a box cutter, I got in the tub, I waited, I blacked out. I awoke beside myself in the bottom of this tub. Even though I had tried to cover my bases, I realized I didnt want to drowning was painful i could feel the struggle, it would take to long. I blacked out again, I woke up in front of my friends apartment bleeding, wet like a drowned cat. I chickened out.
Now i bide my time, home Â made chloroform is tricky, sleeping pills might work, its not a question of being afraid of death anymore, its a question of the pain most methods offer to do the job, life hurts why do I have to hurt dying, so nowÂ I am waiting waiting for the least painful method with the highest success rate.
Now the 7 in scars on my wrist shame me, not my mother.
I want to die, and not because I’m going through some ‘rough times’ or whatever, I’ve felt this way since I was at school.
I’m in my 20’s and I have mental health problems, manic depression,Â insomnia, amongst other things, I never have any energy nor feel happiness.
I feel like life isn’t for me, it’s all too hard when I think of it all, it’s soÂ daunting and I just don’t have the energy for it. I can’t hold down a job because of my insomnia, so what’s the point of living? I’m not wired properly to ever be happy and I’ll always have problems doing normal things.
I believe it’s a basic right for any living being to be able to end their life, yet it’s so hard to do so, I don’t like pain and I’m scared of something going wrong if I attempted anything, it just makes me so mad the way this world is, all I want is a quick and easy way out but apparently the government, Â people in power, or Â the law (whichever) get their kicks from letting people suffer, I can’t even get a gun where I live.
I’m just so fed up.
- Abandoned by my mother
- Raped by my grandpa
- When i told abandoned by my grandmother
- Raped by my brother
- Abandoned by everyone in my family but my dad
- Went to court
- Diagnosed with Pseudo seizures
- Struggling with depression, anxiety, ptsd, insomnia, cuttingÂ and other mental illness’s
You would thing my life wouldn’t get any worse.
About 3 month ago, I noticed a lump in my upper left abdomen, it hurt but i ignored it.
1 month ago the pain moved to my lower right abdomen.
In my right abdomen I had an ovarian cyst. Nothing bad right?
I told them about pain on my left side. They did a CT scan. And found a mass.
For the last 2 weeks we’ve been hoping it wasn’t cancer, and that it was kidney stones.
Today I went to the urologist, and was told, it was not a kidney stones.
I’m a 15 year old girl with cancer.
After doing a CT scan today, I found out there’s tumors in both Kidneys.
In 11 days a cancer board will look at my case, decide what to do next.
Their still is a 0.01% of it being “benign” but they told me it is highly unlikely, were now trying to find out what kind of cancer it is.
If its Wilms tumor the fact that I have tumors in both kidneys would make it a stage 5
If its renal cell carcinoma stage 3. ( but cant not be treated with chemo and can progress rapidly.)
In 11 days my life can change.
.. After all I’ve been through, you would think my life would finally start going up hill
i usually make myself a drink or smoke before i go to sleep but tonight im out of everything.
i can’t get high and i can’t get drunk and i can’t fall asleep.
all i want to do is feel like im drifting but i can’t and i don’t like that i can’t.
i hate being sober sometimes.
i get the best sleep when i’m not.
im not an addict. i keep my shit together. i have a good job and i go to school.
i just don’t want to feel like me at night.
is that so much to ask? 🙁
The nature of my job requires me to be somewhat social. Â This is quite a contradiction in the sense that when my anxiety and depression are at their highest, my desire — and ability — to be social is at the lowest. Â I spent most of the day today at a family reunion. Â It was totally exhausting being social for so long. Â Today it’s back to work after too short of a summer, facing what already suggests will be a long, long school year. Â This week will be hard because I will be forced to be social with my co-workers, repeatedly, over and over, through endless district and building meetings, in-services and such. Â It makes me tired to just think about it.
I have an appointment tonight with my therapist. Â I know what he wants to hear. Â After 20+ years of this, I know the drill. Â I know what a suicide assessment interview sounds like, and I know when one’s being done with me. Â I know he wants to hear that the thoughts of suicide are gone. Â That would not be true. Â I am worried about this school year. Â I have not started the year like this in many, many years. Â I feel trapped in a life that limits my ‘freedom’ to act out. Â Like I’ve said before, I don’t act out in the various ways I used to because I can’t risk ruining the ‘normalcy’ and ‘stability’ that I’ve developed. Â I have my child to think about. Â But, even though I can’t act on them, the urge to cut is there; the urge to drink wildly is there; the urge to just ‘go crazy’, to lose myself in insanity is there always.
I need to sleep; there is no napping today. I hate insomnia…