This is something I wrote on 15/03/13...I kept it aside to see how I would reflect on it.
Let me come out and say this first of all: I have never tried to kill myself.
For
the most part this is a blessing; to me, my family, my loved ones &
perhaps even some of the people I have worked with over the years &
hopefully helped on their path to change. Although I suspect that last
one is just wishful thinking!
There are some ways,
however, that this lack of suicidal ideation has not been all that
helpful. For someone with an array of mental health diagnosis, one of
which is particularly linked with very (self)harmful behaviour, I have
never been treated as an in-patient. I have been just a small drain upon
the NHS. But on several occasions this has left me feeling side-lined
by the health services; not needy enough to get much attention,
functioning at too high a level for a mental health sufferer. I've been a
patient of the Community Mental Health Teams (CMHTs) on just three
occasions over 15 years and it felt reluctant on the part of the CMHT
each time. Why is this employed, intelligent, reflective & "functioning" individual taking up our time? How dare I!!
But I digress.
Tonight, I'm feeling suicidal.
It's quite a remarkable place to be. I'm lucid, entirely sober and quite rational.
It's
quite remarkable to be able to state something so emotive so factually.
And almost impossible to state it without gaining drama & attention, despite those being far from the intended outcomes.
I'm
not actively trying to kill myself (clearly, as I'm typing these words)
but tonight the thought has been in my head and my mind has been
scrolling through the options; mentally I picture myself a bit like Tony
Stark with his snazzy floating translucent touch-sensitive screen,
flicking through morbid images of my own demise.
I can
only recall two other occasions where I have felt truly suicidal and
feared for my own safety. Firstly, at university. I was far removed from
reality, bordering on alcoholic, isolated, unstable & scared. All I
can remember from that night are fleeting images; the rich, dark green
of a wine bottle, a small mound of oval, white pills I'd carefully
extracted from their plastic & foil cases. That was a decade ago and
I was in a very different place. I have very little memory of what I
went through, how it unfolded and how it came to a close.
The
second time was just a few years ago. A time that shares similarities to
my current circumstances. I was alarmingly rational, sober, hard
completed a long & hard day at work. But felt the need to walk in to
the local A&E department and ask to see someone because I feared I
would seriously harm myself. I took myself to the hospital because I was
so afraid that if I went home I could and probably would end my life.
That's a pretty dire state to be in, non? I walked into that place
asking for help, asking to be kept safe and I was told that I wasn't
that ill, I was told that "you can't be that unwell because you're
getting to work & functioning". Those were their exact words. To this day I become livid with rage
just thinking about that response.
Again, I
digress. This wasn't meant to be an unpleasant and unnecessary trip down
memory lane. My intention was to reflect on the strange state of mental
health stigma and how we, as sufferers and as loved ones of sufferers,
deal with our difficult and intense negative emotions.
A
few nights ago I was dealing with absolute despair & I felt like I
had nowhere to turn. No-one I could impart this emotion on to.
It
felt too difficult and too emotive to share with those that I love the
most; my partner or my family. Without even saying the words I could
anticipate the burden it would place on them; of concern & worry and
even the feeling of betrayal, that someone that they give their love to
could reject it in such a way that they feel so unloved, so unhappy.
Feelings
of that magnitude and that sensitivity also feel far to personal and
weighty to share with friends or strangers. I can't reach out to those
that live nearby and I can't comprehend picking up the phone to the
Samaritans or similar to release that pressure valve.
Which leaves us (me) in somewhat of a quandary. How do we keep ourselves safe?
When
someone is rational and aware that behaviours like drinking a whole
bottle of wine, binge-eating a gluttonous quantity of food, inducing
vomiting that leaves petecial hemmorhaging and devouring entire packets
of laxatives in one go, are extremely harmful and likely to have
alarming short and long-term effects on their health, how does one go
about stopping those risky behaviours? Particularly when, despite
rationalisation and applied logic & thinking skills, the person
continues with this behaviour because it feels like the only option?
I
still don't know the answer to this, unfortunately. And one night in
question, I did all of those things. I scrolled through my entire
phonebook hoping to find just one person I could reach out to &
burden just a tiny part of my distress to and came up with nothing.
Plenty of people I loved and cared about, but no-one really I felt could
or should have to deal with my shit.
A few days
further down the line and I'm mentally scrolling through suicide options
and rationally considering how realistic it is that I might carry any
of these out. Right this second, it's fairly unlikely. But these
thoughts keep sneaking up on my whilst I'm not expecting them, whilst my
guard is down; playing a computer game, browsing Facebook, on the
phone. Moments of absolute clarity that demonstrate how simple it would
be. How quickly it would take away all the internal pain and abject
misery once and for all. I'd never have to make another decision in my
life that I'd regret, that wouldn't pan out how I'd anticipated and left
me feeling this troubled. Bliss.
Tonight I'm thankful I
do have an outlet. More than one, in fact. This silly little blog. The
chime of my phone as an unexpected picture of my family cat appears on
screen. A post on my Facebook wall from a long-lost friend just dropping
by. A text from the only person that knows all my darkest secrets but
only ever tells me I'm amazing.
Ahh yes.
As it turns out, I do have one
"safety net friend". He knows my deepest, darkest secrets and thankfully
the other night I was able to send him two words; "I'm struggling". He
responded and I was able to unburden, via text, a lot of my woes &
destructive behaviours and for some reason I knew it wouldn't
over-burden him. Far enough removed that he wouldn't panic for my safety
or be personally offended that I felt this way.
If even I have someone like that, I'm pretty sure everyone else does to. Don't forget it.
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