I have had misophonia for over 30 years and psoriasis for nearly as long despite being prescribed immunosuppressants. As a result of arguments with a family member I have attempted to commit suicide twice by overdosing prescription drugs (beta-blockers and sleeping pills which shall remain nameless). On the second attempt late last year I was found by a doctor and taken to hospital where I narrowly avoided being sent to psychiatric hospital. Waking up in a hospital in a Fentanyl induced daze is a peculiar experience, especially being read the riot act for trying to take out my cannula.
As my misophonia and psoriasis are incurable and will probably get worse with age I am in a constant state of despair. I am especially close to my mum but she is very ill and probably won’t realise that I’ve gone. I look like a burns patient due to my psoriasis so meeting ‘Ms Right’ will never happen. My imminent passing won’t financially affect anyone and direct funerals don’t cost much. Recently I stockpiled pills again and plan to avoid the mistake of the last attempt which was being found in a public place. I’ve tried buying the type of pills used by Dignitas but haven’t got enough money to be scammed.
I feel like human dross and keep being reminded that life has passed me by. Misophonia seriously affected my ability to study and all I’ve got for a 5 year stretch at two universities is a graduate degree and a post-graduate diploma which undersell me. Is it normal to feel like this? I’ve been diagnosed with anxiety and depression, can’t sleep, can’t get a job and truly can’t see any point in continuing.
Apologies in advance for seeming negative, but I’m just being truthful about my reality.
This story is 100% batshit nut TRUE STORY. and its pretty queer and peculiar but here it goes……I NEVER thought I would be so unhappy in life but I realized shit hit the fan in my life from the beginning ….
BOTH of my parents conceived me in the state mental hospital and I was born in 1988 and was adopted
I have been homeless for over 2 years since 2011. and I tried to commit suicide 4 times too. I suffered a lot of emotional torture from being a crossdressing punk rocker who was raised in a adopted close minded conservative home , that I moved out of in 2006. I got made fun of a lot in the homeless shelter for being a crossdresser and actually tattooed the word stupid ****** onto my right arm just too shock the fucking shit out of people & I didn’t care what they thought about me. and it actually worked too.
I actually tattoed myself beause I really hated being transgender and never thought that I would end wanting to crossdress like that and also because I wanted to shock people with my crazy tattoo. but now that tattoo is making me feel really depressed and suicidal so I am having it removed.
AMAZINGLY though , I DID NOT feel that way about my tattoo until recently.
I also have borderline personality disorder like my parents who both have mental illnesses too and cant seem to be happy and have been like this since 2010. when I lost my job due to my depression.
I have admitted myself to psychiatric hospitals and had terrible side effects from about 17 different psych. medications I took between 1995-2014. I don’t take any psych meds now though. because of a little brain damage from taking them.
I think about suicide ALL day long EVERY single day. However I do believe that suffering teaches me WISDOM the same way as in Buddhism and eastern culture.
Without Suffering I learn NOTHING. So if someone is reading this . just be glad your not me and if your suicidal like me. just know that life can always be waaaaay fucking worse than it probably is for you OR me right now.
and right now I am staying with some open minded family and I hope I can remain unhomeless for as long as possible.
However sometimes I still feel very ambivalent with my suicidal thoughts even with mantras life still seems OVERWHELMINGLY DIFFICULT for me and YOU. but I think that T.V and fucking fairy tail movies and media make us think that life is supposed to be easy . when YOU and me know its NOT.
LIFE is NOT supposed to be easy for ANYONE or ANYTHING.
I hope this helps me by writing this and I maybe I can inspire someone else to think more deeply about being suicidal. and if not I hoped you thought it was at least interesting.
I don’t really know where to start off. This is my first post so please don’t criticize me or anything.
Okay. So ever since I was a little kid, I mean little like 3, I’ve been terribly anxious. Anxious about anything and everything. And I don’t really have a reason, I just am. I’ve never really liked who I am, appearance, personality, etc. And in 5th grade I would constantly get made fun of and I just hated going to school. And then in 6th grade, I hated myself. I hated how I looked and I hated that other people were so much better.. So I would constantly try all these new diets, yes as a 6th grader, and I could never please myself.
So in 7th grade, I was about 12 or 13, I became depressed. And I started self harming. Only small cuts here and there. But it became an addiction. I would cut very frequently, and soon it wasn’t enough. So I would scratch myself when I didn’t have access to a razor. Or hit myself to cause a bruise. And having to hide these scars fed my depression. By the beginning of my 8th grade year, I was so badly depressed. I hated school, I hated people, and I hated myself.
So my freshmen year came and things were starting to look up. I would still self harm occasionally, but I wouldn’t consider it a huge problem at the time. I made straight A’s in all honors courses. I was in the marching band. I wasn’t happy, but I was far less sad.
And then that summer, I found out my mom was cheating on my dad. And they separated and my mom moved out and got her own place. And to top things off, within a month, the guy she was having an affair with, moved in without notice. I literally came home from band practice one day and all of his stuff was there and we had to meet him. So ever since then, I’ve had a hatred/disappointment for my mom.
Well my mom found out about my self harming problems so she set me up with a therapist and a psychiatrist. And I was diagnosed with major depression, bipolar disorder with psychotic features, OCD, and severe anxiety. So they prescribed me Abilify, Lamictal, and Seroquel. It’s safe to say that it had no effect on me whatsoever.
By the beginning of my sophomore year, I wanted to die. I would skip school at least 2 times a week. And being in all honors classes, I fell extremely behind. And all of the makeup work was just adding to my stress and depression. It’s not that I didn’t want to get it done, it’s that I physically felt incapable. I was exhausted all the time. And by this time, they were switching up my medications so much, I’ve lost track of what I’ve taken and what I haven’t.
In February of 2013, second semester of my sophomore year I was 15, my mom sent me to a psychiatric hospital for about 7 days because my self harming had gotten so bad. It was a place called Peninsula. And it sucked.
About 3 weeks after I had gotten out of Peninsula, I tried to kill myself. I overdosed on about 50 different pills, not enough to do any real damage. And my mom found out and took me to the nearest hospital. And they called mobile crisis and I ended up getting sent back to Peninsula for 8 days to stabilize myself. And after that I was in some Intensive Outpatient (IOP) therapy for about a month. Which is where I went to group therapy every day for about 3 hours for a month.
I hated myself and I was so unhappy and miserable. After I discharged from IOP, I continued to take more pills than recommended. Not that I was trying to kill myself, just escape.
So it’s the beginning of my junior year, and I self harmed so so bad. It wouldn’t stop bleeding and it was incredibly deep. But I eventually got it under control and of course I didn’t tell anyone. Until two days later at school. I was having a panic attack in the middle of Spanish class so I basically just got up and ran out of the classroom and into the bathroom. And I stayed in there for a good 20 minutes. I eventually convinced myself to go to the nurse. And when I got there, I explained that I was having a panic attack. And she looked and pointed to my wrist and said “What’s that?” and I kind of just said nothing and hid my arm. But she was persistent and asked if she could see it. And I eventually showed it to her. I could tell she was trying not to panic and freak out for my sake. Because it was bad. So she cleaned it up and wrapped it. And then she called my mom to tell her about it. So I waited in the guidance counselor’s office until she got there. And when she did, she told me that I was going to be going away for a while to a residential treatment center called The Village.
I was there for 4 months. And it was hell but that’s another story. So I got out in January 2014 and for about 3 weeks, I was completely fine. Not self harming, less sad, socializing. But then I fell even further into depression.. I was more depressed and suicidal than I had ever been. So I tried to kill myself, again. But this time, I made sure I did it right (or so I thought). I took a variety of overall about 170 pills. And I spaced it out so that I wouldn’t vomit if I took all of them at once. And I passed out on the couch for about 2 days. And the next day, I awoke. And boy was I disappointed. So I went to school and around lunch I began to feel extremely weird. And I don’t know how to explain it. My vision and hearing was off and I was slurring my words and my coordination was messed up. So I, being a stupid teenager, decided it was a good idea to drive home. So I did and I almost killed myself and others by running people off the road. But I managed to get home safe and no one was hurt.
I ran inside and started bawling because I could barely see, hear, or walk. So I ran into my mom’s room crying and continuously saying I was sorry and she tried to comfort me and ask me what was wrong. But I could barely talk so it was extremely hard to understand me. But she knew something was not right so she called 911 and got an ambulance to come to our house. And I managed to tell her that I had taken a bunch of pills and she just started crying and saying it was going to be okay.
So the ambulance got there and I was barely able to function. I managed to get myself up, with help, and walk to the stretcher. And I got on the ambulance and it was a silent ride to the hospital. They didn’t pump my stomach because it had been 2 days since I had taken the pills and it was too late, they were already dissolved. So I was just closely monitored. I have permanent kidney damage that I have to go in every once in a while to check up on. And I ended up getting sent to this place two hours away called Parkridge Valley for about 8 days to stabilize me. And it wasn’t that bad.
But I got out and here I am now. Summer of my senior year and I couldn’t be less unhappy than I am. I’m miserable and I don’t know that I even want to get better. And I wish I could tell you that tomorrow’s better, but I’ve been through so many tomorrows and they’re all the same. So my story is basically here for people who need to know that they aren’t alone. I have no advice or good words to tell you for the future. But I can tell you that you are not alone. And if you need someone to talk to, I’m here.
(A + for you if you read all of this)
It has been 3 weeks ago since I had to leave the psychiatric hospital. In those 3 weeks a lot of things have changed. Everything is for me too stressful and I feel really stressed. I also feel really down, more suicidal and I don’t wanna do a single thing, there’s not a single spark of happiness in me. I even can’t handle school, and I’m doing only the half of my lessons. I really don’t know how to go further anymore. I’m fighting to get a better life for 10 years now, and it only gets worser and worser, so why should I anymore? I really don’t see the sense of life anymore, I feel like I’m done now.
I few days ago I had a meeting with my doctor an psychiatrist, and my doctor was like: “Oh, and ofcourse next week thursday is your leaving date.” Just in middle of the conversation, and I was like: “What??!! O.o” because it wasn’t the plan, we would discuss about what next, staying longer in the psychiatric hospital or getting therapy, on next week tuesday, and he already made a discision, which he would not change clearly. They had the plan to send me home with no therapy, while I still need help, and I wrote a poem about it, because I waa really confused and down of that news. I wanted to share it with you:
Why do you always underestimate my problems?
I never exaggerate,
but you still underestimate my problems.
You won’t truly help me.
You just want to please me.
Don’t you get it?
I’m a girl,
who’s feeling sad and lonely,
She sees no other option than dying,
she’s fed up.
She has a lot of problems,
she doesn’t go to school because she can’t handle it,
because she’s always stressed.
She’s getting mad on the smallest things,
because her body is full of anger.
She’s not enjoying her life,
because she’s depressed.
She ruined her body,
because she self-harm,
it’s the only way she knows how to cope with her problems.
She has a trauma,
which she can’t handle.
She has constantly flashbacks,
that are driving her crazy.
She is wearing a mask,
that hides her true story,
because she doesn’t want to annoy anyone.
She has a voice in her head that commands her,
telling her to do things she doesn’t want to do.
She can’t trust anyone completely,
even not herself,
because people have misused her trust too many times,
people have damaged her trust.
But no one really seems to understand,
how worse her problems are,
how much she’s hurting.
She really wants to get better,
she really wants to do her best,
but she can’t do it on her own,
but no one will help her,
or they underestimate her problems,
or they can’t help her.
Her problems are worser than you think,
but you won’t believe it,
because you are just naive and you believe her outside,
which is just one huge acting.
She wished that someone would really understand her,
and won’t underestimate her.
She needs help,
she can’t do this on her own,
she is too weak to solve all her problems on her own.
She needs help,
Trying to kill myself was the best thing that couldâ€™ve happened. Because if I hadnâ€™t tried to and if I hadnâ€™t failed, I wouldnâ€™t feel the urge to change how I felt and I wouldnâ€™t have gone to Four Winds. It was tricky, I had just enough of the Nortatryptaline to go into coma but I just ended sleeping for a straight 48 hours. I then didnâ€™t leave my house for an entire week and was drinking so much, I decided physical pain would have been the answer to everything. I cut the word help into my arm and cried myself to sleep that night. I thought of two scenarios before I fell asleep. There was the one where I jumped off the ledge into the freeway, or I admitted myself to a psychiatric hospital for treatment and care. I chose the latter. There not only did I meet wonderful people, I saw growth in myself. Since being diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder, I have come a long way. It doesnâ€™t matter that Iâ€™ve been hospitalized now 3 times, it shows that I always do have a little hope left, that it never goes away. For a long time, I didnâ€™t feel anything – couldnâ€™t express anything, that was revolved around happiness. I felt like I didnâ€™t understand happiness or love and kept constantly trying to find it everywhere I went. I couldnâ€™t get by if someone didnâ€™t express how their life would be without me in it. At the hospital, I found that I have to feel that way about myself before I go finding it in other people. With the proper medications and observation I was receiving I found hope, which settled in my heart and began to grow. As I got fonder of others around me, the hope continued to multiply. The thing is, I didnâ€™t know where I was headed but I have it now. My dream is to become involved in Psychodrama. I want to use what I love most in my plans for creating a better future for others. Therapeutic theatre for both me and the patients who have a similar bond to it. I got my help and found my hope. I think Iâ€™ll be alright.
Every Summer since I was a teenager has been tough for many different reasons.
From being in hospital, to loosing someone to death, to drinking myself awake every morning.
This Summer is full of promise.
This Summer is probably going to be my most memorable Summer yet and maybe ever.
I have no money but so much hope and love that it could fill an entire city.
I’ve one small worry though. This might be the start of the end of me and my bestfriend.
I’ve known this girl Hayley for 13 years of my life and I’m 17 yet.
She is literally my soul mate.
I have done absolutely everything with this girl, we went to two schools together, had joined birthday parties, went over-seas with each other, lived in each others houses and seen each other practically every day since we first met. We could actually finish off each others sentences. We’ve both had problems and we’ve helped each other to feel better.
She is one of the reasons I could not complete attempting suicide on a dozen different occasions.
She is such a dear friend and always will be one of my reasons for living.
We have fought a few times growing up but always have re-mended our friendship.
She is just after completing her secondary level education and is now going onto college after Summer.
Sometimes when I would get into a relationship I would drift a little from her as I am a very dependant person and found one of my last relationships consumed all my time and interest in anything. It turned out to be a horrible and scarring relationship. But Me and Hayley were still practically sisters and stayed closer than ever.
For the last few months I have been in a relationship in which I am comfortable and is loving and fun.
Me and Hayley have drifted over the last couple of months but only today I realised to what extent and it hurt me very deeply as she is one of the most valuable things in my life.
I’m slightly exaggerating on how far we’ve drifted because we still see each other every week, and we go for tea and hang out, But I’m just scared that we’re going to drift over Summer because our group of friends are becoming different now.
As a person I do not enjoy life. I am suicidal quite a lot. Not because I am sad, well not any more, I was depressed for awhile but just because I was over hormonal when I was a teenager and I would blame all my problems on myself because I wanted to hurt myself. It is only a little hope that I hold onto that a select amount of people and things give me. She is one of those pieces that if it shattered or broken, nothing would ever fit properly..
I can accept that I will have to let her go enough to live her own life, But I want to still be a tiny part of her life that she may enjoy.
I am so young and really worry about too many things. I exaggerate so much and am so overly paranoid. I have the spirit of a 6 year old and a 50 year old at different times. It’s probably the drugs. Or the fact I am ”emotionally immature”, The phrase my Mam used to describe a ridiculously hard part of my life that she never looked too deeply into even though I was thought to be bi-polar, and had been diagnosed with BDD (Body Dysmorphic Disorder) as I struggled with eating disorders and self harm. In my later teenage years I feared I showed signs of slight OCD.
My Mam was the type of mother that didn’t like to bring her kid into the doctor incase it ”caused too much of a fuss” and the sickness was probably ”our fault anyway”.
I have horrific self destructive tendencies and have used burning and cutting to drug and alcohol abuse as ways to harm myself. It sounds typical self pity teenager doesn’t it? Yeah, it was exactly that, But that doesn’t mean it still didn’t happen. At many stages I’ve drank every day, taken drugs every weekend, cut every time I’ve cried and puked every time I’ve eaten.
That was before though, and I really was just emotionally immature. I am very impressionable and I am able to see this as a now stronger person. But that still doesn’t mean I didn’t feel every hurt that went through my body every night.
Every step of the way through all those problems, Me and Hayley have still been friends.
I think the thought of us stopping being friends hurts me more deeply than anything I have ever felt.
So with all that in mind, I am going to lock away that dark, ominous feeling and beg whatever force there is that keeps me here to not let that happen.
I honestly don’t think she knows how much she impacted my childhood and helped me grow up to a teenager and now an adult. She’s put in a lot of the love and friendship that has made me who I am today.
I hope you start your own life but I hope you keep me in it.
I love you girlie, no one will ever replace you.
Summer can now start, and I am so ready.
I don’t know whether I’m sad or not any more. I hate being unsure but I’m nothing but.
I’m now trying to live life, rather than just lose and gain reasons to be alive or not.
If I really felt like it I could easily take my own life, without hesitation. But I still have reasons, and purpose, and that is why I am here. Recently I’ve been much more happier though.
I am in a very loving relationship, surrounded by my friends, Summer is starting and I’m growing up.
I’ve become more comfortable with myself than I’ve ever been.
I still have self-image problems but minor to the past ones, And I think of myself now as a confident and headstrong young woman, Which makes me very proud to say.
Anorexia is probably the darkest point of my life.
I know I am strong.
I know I will always have problems,
but I am learning every day to embrace love into my life a help soothe my problems and lull them to sleep.
My spirit is a tiny little baby, soft and playful and innocent, that just needs to be cared for and taken cared of.
This is my first time posting on here, and I would like to read some first hand accounts of hospitalization after a suicide attempt, or being hospitalized for threatening to do so. I would like to know whether you feel it helped you or made you feel worse. Were you diagnosed with a mental illness and do you still want to kill yourself?
Bought components for helium bag online last fallÂ (live in a small town so it was easier to find online). I suppose I was acting a little too disconnected from others and my boyfriend caught on before I could summon the courage to go through with it. He gave me the option of packing my things and going in voluntarily to a state psychiatric hospital – so I did. Had to go to the emergency room and be admitted that way. Had to be stripped down naked and searched and not given any clothes for a day (had a hospital gown – and as a girl with no bra or underwear, it was terrible). It happened to be during Thanksgiving holiday and they were understaffed. The nurses tried to give me medicine before I was seen by a doctor, the male nurses were inappropriate towards me, unprofessional staff and so on. There was hardly an therapy period. They kept me there for over a week and were fascinated in the helium method and the nurses would ask me about it constantly. It was horrible, and honestly, IÂ have more severe suicide ideationÂ now than ever. Just curious if anybody else has had a similar experience.
In early 2009 I started dealing with severe recurrent depression, even though I was undiagnosed at the time. Â I’m sure many of you know what that feels like. Â I felt like my life had no point, none of my classes were interesting, I didn’t want to hang out with my friends, and I just hated everything and everyone, especially myself. Â All of these emotions just kept building up until I couldn’t deal with it anymore. Â In September of that year I tried to overdose on sleeping pills. Â I calculated what the lethal dose for someone my size would be, and took that plus a few extra just to be sure. Â Waking up the next morning was the worst feeling of my life. Â I had work, and a psychiatrist appointment (who had no idea anything was wrong with me, my parents just insisted I go see him and talk every week). Â I decided to try something a little more certain: Â opening my carotid artery.
I have no idea what prompted my actions that night, but I ended up posting on 4chan about my decision, my depression, whatever. Â Some of them seemed to care, and I had spent a lot of time there over the prior year, so I figured might as well have my last moments with them. Â I posted my email accounts, my Facebook account information, everything. Â It wasn’t as if I would need it anymore. Â Why not let them have some fun?
Soon after that, police showed up at my door. Â Apparently someone from 4chan had looked up my information, called the cops and told them about what I was doing. Â So I was handcuffed, put in the back of a cop car, and taken to a nearby psychiatric hospital where I was treated for 22 days, diagnosed, and put on an anti-depressant (Celexa, an SSRI). Â I won’t say my stay at the psych ward was pleasant, but it was certainly interesting. Â Most kids (I was 16 at the time, so was in the under-18 section) stayed for 6-10 days. Â I spent the first 10 days with the label “Close Observation Case,” meaning I had to have an orderly within 10 feet of me 24/7.
Anyways, long story short, I got “better” and was released from the psych ward. Â My return to school and normal life went pretty well, I remade friends, and life was better. Â I finished high school and went to college. Â Recently, though, my depression has come back. Â It’s like my anti-depressants stopped working (or they gave up on me like so many other people have). Â The haze of depression has returned to my life, and even though I’ve done years of therapy by this point, none of it seems to matter.
I’m back on the edge, and I’m back to this site.
I’m new here, but I’ve been following this site for a few months now. I triedÂ committing suicide almost a year ago. I wasÂ hospitalized for about 3 days before going into a psychiatric hospital for a week. It scared the hell out of me. I promised myself I never wanted to end up there again. The only people that know about this are my parents and my sister I was too ashamed to tell my best friend or any other family members. I did actually tell one friend from online but she completely laughed at me. Told me I was such a wuss Â trying to commit suicide and then telling my parents about it afterwards. I was scared. I tried overdosing on 90 different pills. I woke up (I was so upset it hadn’t worked). But a few hours later I started feeling very sick, headache, my lips were turning bluish, and I was so cold. I didn’t want to die a slow painful death.
Anyways I was doing good for a few months. I was on an anti-depressant. ButÂ the medicine made meÂ extremelyÂ hungry. All I thought about was food. I wanted off the pill but myÂ psychiatrist told me to just give it some time. By december I had gain 10 pounds so I decided the next time I saw my doctor I would tell him I wanted off it for good. HeÂ prescribedÂ me new medication but my mom hasn’t filled it in. She hates the thought of me being on medication since I’ve been on so many in the past for different health reasons. And she monotors my medication. I’m not aloud to handle meds what so ever and all our medication is locked somewhere. So I’ve been off medication since the beginning of December.
New Years is when reality sort of hit me and the depression came back. The reason I had tried to kill myself in the first place was because I was stressed out in school. At the time I was majoring in graphic design but figure out I didn’t want to major in it anymore. I wanted to drop out of my graphic class and my mom was upset. She started questioning me about what was I going to do the rest of my life, if you aren’t in school or working I’m kicking you out, do you want to work atÂ McDonald’s? It wasn’t just the stress and the pressure but also because I don’t have any friends (besides my best friend who has moved to a different country recently), I have sever acne, never had a boyfriend or been kissed, never had a job, not smart or pretty. I felt like a complete failure (I still think I am). This year I’ve taken a break from school. Only taking 1-2 classes a semester to try to figure out what I want to major in. But now that it’s time for me to transfer to a Uni I have no idea what I want to do still. Nothing interests me. And ever advisor has yelled at me or completely given up hope on me.
So now I’m back to my depressed and suicidal self again and I hate it. I thought I was going to be okay but here it is almost a year to the date of trying to commit suicide and I want to do it again. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I’m 20 years old. No job still, no idea what I want to major in (when I already have 60 credits), a burden to my parents, no friends, and also suffering from badÂ anxietyÂ lately. I don’t want to tell them because I know they’ll beÂ disappointedÂ and just worry about me. But I have no one to talk to. I hate myÂ psychiatrist- He doesn’t do anything but hand me medication.
At times I feel like I’ll be okay. I’ll transfer to a University figure out what I want to major in, meet some people, get out of the house, and be independent. But I’m so afraid! I have anxiety thinking about leaving my parents and my home. I’m afraid I won’t meet anyone and I’ll be even more depressed and actually go through with killing myself since my parents won’t be around.
I just don’t know anymore. I wish I had died that day so I won’t have these feelings anymore but at the same time I’mÂ grateful because I do love my family and they do mean the world to me.Â I’m so sorry this is so long.
I must have been around 8 or 9 when my mother first brought me to a psychologist. I had to draw a tree and had to talk to the lady. Obviously I must have been depressed but I didn’t know the word for it. When I was 21 I did three suicide attempts over a 2 year period. The internet did not exist then and my method of trying to die humanely (sleeping pills – Lorametazepam to be exact) were not to succeed. Sleeping pills in combination with a bag: no use either. I was only left with the humilation of waking up in a psychiatric hospital where there were many people who felt it as there duty to save me. Or at least, as long I was in hospital because they were payed to do it. When I was 42 a psychiater finally diagnosed me as being ‘manic depressive’. An illement that can be treated but the remedy to fight the symptoms is as worse as the disease and it doesn’t make me ‘fit to work’ or not any regular job that is. Life is a burden and people will help as long as they see fit within there restrictions. Truly helping like assisted suicide and simply being present without JUDGING would be out of the question.
As the ones surrounding me I searched for reasons of my depressive nature:
- I’m too sensitive
- I should be more of Â ‘a man’
- I should have ‘more character’
- There is ‘something wrong’ with my brain
- From a young age I never grew over the violent divorce of my parents
- I never grew over the grief of losing my first love
- I should try to adopt more to the game of a harsh and competitive society
Did I always ‘feel bad’?
Of course not: I’ve had happy moments but these seam so few face to face with all the moments I at best feel apathy or at worst feel deeply sad inside about the ‘state of the world’. Life seams to me about trying to surviving it, not ‘living it’. Not being able to ‘enjoy it’ like other people seam to do much more than me.
I regularly browse the internet now searching for dependable suicide information. A documentary from the highly reputable BBC ‘How to kill a human being’ finally gave me the answer. The answer is the hydrogen method. Like you reading this, I have searched high and low to find dependable information on how to commit suicide the most humane way possible.
It’s good to know this.
It’ feels good to know there is an easy way out.
It feels like a burden that has dropped of my shoulders
I can not stand the people anymore with there easy oneliners like ‘lighten up’ or ‘you should talk to somebody’ or ‘take a pill’ remedies.
There is a way out, it’s painless, it’s lethal and I do know if you feel like me at least you will feel a little bit relieved knowing this.
i tryin kill myself bout month ago…they save me and i was at the psychiatric hospital…but i still feel alone..i don’t have any family and friends here…tryin find love of my life,someone who loved me but nobody cares.i still think bout kill myself.cause thats only way to be happy
I’m currently stuck in hospital, not sure when ill be released but they’ve kept me in here for 3 months before. I can’t wait any longer to do this so I’m just going to do it in here. problem is I’m a wimp with pain so want to do it as painlessly as possible. Not to mention the lack of things I could use to CTB with. my plan is to use the exit bag with valium (diazapam).
My question is, how much diazapam do I need? I don’t want to puke just lose consciousness. I’m going to start hoarding it and think I can get 5mg a night but I want to do this ASAP. I’m also on Haloperidol and Abilify and can start hoarding them if necessary but i haven’t heard of anyone using them too.
So I was released yesterday from an 11 day stay at the 3rd hospital.. The first time I went was October 3rd-26th. This past time was November 3rd-14th. At the first hospital they put me on Prozac, Zyprexa, and Welbutrin. Hasn’t helped even the slightest.. I’m ready to just drink a bottle of vodka and slit my wrists. For the sake of my family, someone please convince me not to…
Some time this week, I was planning on cutting my arm really bad and then going to the nurse and counselor about it. What do you guys think would happen? Would they send me straight from school to a psychiatric hospital? Would they just call my parents and have them start taking me to a psychiatrist?
When I went to the nuthouse, I brought two books with me: Orhan Pamuk’sÂ SnowÂ and Gyorgy Konrad’sÂ Stonedial.Â The latter is the closest I will ever have to a bible; every time I’ve gone somewhere new, that book has come with me. After all, Dragoman wouldn’t have walked through the double doors of the psychiatric hospital with shoulders rounded, arms clenched, flinching at every touch and trying to make himself as small as possible so as not to be hurt; Dragoman would have walked in like he owned the place, grinned, cracked a joke… he would have treated their confiscating of his clothing as amusing and, if I’m sure of anything, it’s that he wouldn’t have spent the better part of three weeks mentally dissembling the curtain rods to get at the sharp bits.
I am not cured, despite their having taken my vitals every morning and having forced me – with threat of indefinite incarceration – to participate in group therapy (the joke of which is that it’s simply voyeurism on the part of the therapist, a contest to see who’s been raped most frequently, or beaten most recently, or attempted suicide most severly, or had the worst hallucation of the day). I am not cured. I spend the better part of every class period caught in a vision of my head being bashed against the concrete block walls until it’s nothing but a mess of skull fragment and brain and blood. And then the delusion starts again, like a record on repeat. I still have paranoid episodes – there are rooms in which I am afraid to talk, because I’m convinced of the presence of microphones. I have retained my sense of terror, this absolute terror for my life, every minute of every day. There is a particular delusion which plagues me like no other, in which there is a hostile entity lodged somewhere between my lungs and brain, a possessive demon whose sole goal is to kill me for no greater purpose than to kill me: I call him my Ghost. He is the personification of my illness. One day in the nuthouse, I sat on the white, white bed in the white, white room and wondered if I would ever be able to survive without him.
I worry about the person I will become when I leave this place… This darkness has been in my soul for so long, it has grown like cancer into my intellect, into my world view, into the very heart of me. My Ghost, my dark passenger, has His claws in my lungs and in the indent at the back of my skull and He digs a little bit deeper every day (like a tick). Am I condemned to this forever? More importantly, will I survive the exorcism? I will pull Ghost from me with both hands, scrape the black from my skull with the kitchen knives, burn it out with cigarettes, bury the palmfuls of tar in the back garden, where it will turn to glass under the pressure of dirt and time. The skeleton it reveals will be thin and brittle, thin and white and clear… will I lose the parts of me that I love? Will there be enough of me to salvage?
The word isÂ schizoaffective,Â and that’s the word in my file: signs of schizophrenia combined with a major depressive disorder. You have to laugh about it to survive it, downplay it and pretend that, at most, you’re just another sad kid, maybe a little too sensitive, nothing seriously the matter. What can you do but laugh? If you don’t laugh, you have no choice but to return to the quarantine you narrowly emotionally survived. So you start to think of that eventuality, of ways to hide a syringe of air in the soap, you try to remember the boy who hanged himself while you were on the inside, and how he tied the sheets.Â The concept of psychiatric lock-up is comforting to most people, because despite all rationality. The sane do, it turns out, fear contagion. Susanna Kaysen says it best:Â People ask, How did you get in there? What they really want to know is if they are likely to end up there themselves.
I keep thinking that in two years or five years or ten, I will be a different person. I will be better. And I will look back at this time of my life as one looks back at one’s childhood: hazy memories, scattered images and smells. I will forget what it was like to be trapped behing the glass wall, and I think of this… I think of this and it troubles me. You don’t see the scars on my fingers anymore – when my hands were cut to ribbons and the knuckles bled for days – but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s almost Heideggerian bad faith for them not to be there.
So, 2 weeks ago, I planned to kill myself on Monday. I sent my ex-counselor a goodbye e-mail on Sunday, but instead of killing myself, I ended up going to a Psychiatric hospital and stayed there for a week and a half. He sent me an e-mail on Monday and Tuesday, but I am no longer able to access the e-mails. I know I should tell him that I’m okay, and that I’ve been in a hospital, but I’m not sure if I’m going to stay alive. You see, I wanted to stay longer at the hospital, but the staff said I was ready to leave, even when I repeatedly told them that I could not keep myself safe if I left and that I would kill myself.
Since I left the hospital unstable, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep myself alive. I don’t have a specific date set, but I feel like I could die at any moment now. Like, one day, I’ll just wake up and decide to kill myself with no warning.Â Â I don’t want to tell him I’m alive just to have him be disappointed when I “die” again, but I also don’t want him to mourn my death when I’m still alive.
What do you guys think I should do? I’ll take any advice you can give me. I don’t feel too good right now.
I was sectioned into a room by myself. I was still wearing my bathrobe which they checked and found nothing Because i had been down this path before i had secretly stored some tablets in a secret compartment in my purse, when the attendees had left me alone at my unit. I knew how to get away with this. I wanted to use them to put me to sleep as i knew they would have prescribed half the medication dosage that i was used to.
This was not the first time i have been inside and spent days and nights in a psychiatric Hospital.
All up in two different countries it would be my sixth time. I knew the routine and i knew what they would try and make me do. I knew the environment and what was in store for me. I never felt as though i was like the other patients. The majority who would walk monotonously up and down drugged up to their eyeballs with their mouths hanging open. I didn’t want to mix with any of them. I’d creep and dart around the walls and doors when the coast was clear. To anyone else i was probably just as crazy in my actions.
I remember one frightening marvel that some limp wristed moron must have thought was a good idea. They played “Born free” none stop everywhere. The patients wailing in anguished torment during the refrains.
“Born free, as free as the wind blows as free as the grass grows……”
All together now,
Some of the patients would be singing a few words behind the beat. Some would be shrieking in some other tongue. And one individual with enough grey matter still pulsing in his skull would rush in shouting to one of the singers, “Shut the fuck up ya carrrrn’t fuckin sing.
“Yes i can. I’ll fuckin burrrn ya. I’ll burrrn y’ alive. Nothin wrong me singing ya fuckin ****”
Karaoke sessions were a glimpse of hell in full swing.
My nurses kept on saying to me.
“Jayne, you won’t get better in here all by yourself. You have to get out here and mix in with everyone.”
You have got to be fucking kidding, i kept thinking. Mix it with Satan’s celestial nut choir?
Medication time was straight out of “One flew over the Cuckoo’s nest” a long line of addled slack jawed males and females trudging behind one another to the dispensary trolley. I refused to join the “Born free” queue. Instead they would come down in my obstinacy, and give me my medication in my room.
I did not have any visitors at all during my five day stay.
Mentally i was still thinking of suicidal thoughts. I was so alone and lost. My days spent crying under the sheet, curled up in a fetal position. The nurses failed to redress my feet that were seeping puss and blood over the white sheet. This was distressing me further.
In my pain i prayed to Jehovah. I asked him to take me away. “I’m no good on this earth. Why are you keeping me here?” And i prayed to him to look after Warren.
“I’m really so sorry Warren!”
I had several psychosis chats in the Quiet Room with doctors, while a nurse was present.
The root cause of my crisis was analyzed in depth ad nausea. The causes already known but never satiated. The best thing to come out of my stay that i was finally diagnosed with OCPD, lucky me.
I just don’t understand how a depressed person could at first want to get better and eventually doesÂ startÂ to feel better but then wants to be depressed again. Or how a person wants to be in a psychiatric hospital again, for the third time. I’m very curios as to why I feel this way. I can only come up with two explanations but I’m not sure if they make sense. Well one is I think because I only know myself best when I’m depressed and that’s my “comfort” zone. And two is because at hospitals I get attention and I feel like I’m being taken care ofÂ and I’m around people who I feel like I belong with. Has anyone else on here felt this way before?