Hate

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I gave up on my plan last week, I was too scared to go through with it and be discovered. I need time alone to make it work. Some people tried to talk me out of it and I felt so guilty that they care about such a useless person as me. I don’t know why I should bother hanging around this shitty world, in this shitty life. I’m beginning to think I’m incapable of being happy, the only time the pain relents is for a matter of hours and then it’s back again.

Why should I want to live? Everyone would seriously be better off without me. The same could probably be said of a lot of people, but I don’t want to be here. I wish I could give my opportunities and resources to someone else who deserves them. I’m sick of myself and how weak and pathetic I am. Nothing can change, the damage has been done and I’ve fucked up everything. I threw away a life, I can’t deal with the consequences.

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Escape Plan

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DISCLAIMER: I am fully aware of how easy I have things as a white, western, straight male with no physical health problems. I feel guilty every day because despite being born into lucky circumstances, I’m still a failure. I know other people have things much, much worse.

It’s been a while since I posted properly, I apologise for that. Life is wearing me down mentally and physically. I still cannot sleep like a normal person, I’m awake until the early hours of the morning about 50% of nights and then I’m fighting to stay awake the rest of the following day. I’ve stopped myself from sleeping during the day time and I walk a couple of miles each day to try and get myself back into a regular pattern but it just isn’t working. I have to drink caffeine to concentrate at work, even though I’m only in 4 hours a day.

My new job is several orders of magnitude better than my old one for many reasons. First of all it pays more and is much less demanding. Secondly, I don’t hate my coworkers and they don’t spend every day coming up with new ways to insult me. I’ve only had to endure minor taunting about how quiet I am so far. The thing that I prefer most though, is that it’s only part time. I struggle to manage even these small amounts of hours though. It reminds me of the fact that one day I will be forced to work full time, most likely with people who hate me and I just don’t know if I can stand it.

One month of this was enough to push me into my first serious suicidal mood back in 2006. The first time I wrote my family a note and looked up the most effective way to kill myself. Thankfully over circumstances forced me to leave that job but then followed over a year of depression, unemployment, worsening anxiety and isolation before another crisis forced me into returning to university. I know I’m not going to have that option again in the future (my life certainly won’t be worth living if I drop out again) not many people get a second chance and very, very few get a third and I’d be way too old.

I keep wondering what the point is. I’ve been like this since I was a child, as far back as I can remember I have always dreaded obligations, right from playgroup at age 3 up to going to work. I get the same sick feeling in my stomach, that I have to face the people out there makes me feel ill.

Is life worth feeling like that? What’s so good about life if you have no friends, no-one to share things with, nobody who loves you. Is it really worth me hanging around for 10,500 more of the worthless days? I don’t see why I should want to live, other than guilt.

Don’t read on if you don’t want to see vivid discussion of suicide

I keep staring at the motillium, I have it all planned out. 36 hours of anti-emetic regimine before the amitriptyline and sedatives. I haven’t ever told any medical professionals about my new found tendancy towards pills, they know about my plans to jump but I can’t let them know about this. They’ll want me to get rid of them and I can’t do that. I need my escape route, I’ve gone down that path of no return.

I think suicidal ideation is addictive. Once you have accepted that it is a viable option and your life isn’t really worth living, it’s comforting to have the escape plan in place. I find myself thinking about it every single day, despite what I have told doctors. I see little point in discussing it with them any more. They only have limited options at their disposal, sending the stupid, interfering crisis team round is not going to help me. I can’t relate my entire life story and expose my most deep fears to someone I am probably never going to see again. What good does it do? I’m rarely in an acute crisis anyway, my condition is chronic. 1 hour of chattering isn’t going to change a fucked up life around.

I don’t think I’m unjustified in considering this as a serious option at this point in my life. There’s nothing that gives me any real pleasure or happiness at the moment. I’ve gone through 2 years of crappy drugs that don’t work. I’m sick of being jealous of everyone for having a life, knowing that I’m not a real person and will never be accepted as one by the rest of society. I couldn’t deal with that anyway, it’s easier to be a weirdo, at least I have no image to keep up.

It’s very difficult to explain to people who desperately lonely and disconnected I feel from humanity. I’m sure most people reading this have had feelings for someone but never got to do anything about it and the pain of that. I have experienced nothing except that. A long time ago I stopped even thinking of myself as a person capable of relationships. I’m a hopeless cause, a complete write off. What reason is there to live like this? Would you want to be in this situation?

In answer to why I want to kill myself; There is nothing in my life that makes up for all the shit. It will only get worse from here, why prolong the “suffering”?

edit: taken first one

Obsession

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Triggering, I guess. Just like the rest of this blog.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I am obsessed with my own death. I eye up buildings and balconies wondering if they are high enough to provide a fatal drop. I keep looking at the fire escape on one of my university buildings and wondering if I could make it to the top before someone spotted me. The pills are still in my cupboard, the sheer volume of them is daunting though. I bought anti-emetics. I wrote down what times I’d need to take them in order to stop me puking the lethal ones up.

There’s no single event that is making me feel like this, it’s a chronic thing, not an acute crisis. I feel like the walking dead, it feels weird that I can walk about campus and talk about next year even when I half expect not to be here. When I’ve discussed these things with the crisis team in the past, they asked what stopped me from doing it. I told them I didn’t want to hurt my family but I’m not really sure if that’s true. Maybe it’s hugely selfish of me, to put them through that pain to end my own but when was the last time I did something purely for myself? Don’t I deserve to have my way for once? Do I owe them a lifetime of suffering?

It is futile seeking help for this, I know there are only a few outcomes. 1: The same thing as before, they ask me the same old shit and can’t comprehend how I feel and what it’s like to live like this and I end up with intrusive busybodies coming to my house for a few days. 2: They lock me up, that’d cause my family as much pain as if I did it and I don’t think I could take it. 3: They increase my meds and continue the status quo. I don’t think they really believe I am serious because I don’t cut myself and I haven’t taken any pills as far as they know. How can I sum up my entire life’s experience and answer the question “Why do you want to kill yourself?” I’ve written thousands of words on this blog, probably enough to fill a small book and that doesn’t even tell the full story. How can I, with my limited vocal expressive capabilities even start to explain it all?

Don’t read if you don’t want to hear about suicide

As for what is really stopping me, I don’t really know. I feel like I owe people an explanation but I don’t think I can do it justice. I have written a suicide note for my family but it doesn’t tell the full story. I don’t think I want them to know just how pathetic I really am. What about the few people I could vaguely call friends? I don’t want to leave them wondering but I don’t want them to know what a miserable excuse for a human I am. Should my secrets die with me, only visible to those few who read this site? 

I notice on the news whenever someone dies prematurely, family and friends always describe them as full of life and “everyone liked him/her”. I don’t suppose it’d be much of a surprise to people if I went through with it. You could say “Well I always expected it to be honest, he never smiled and barely said a word to anyone. Nobody liked him or will even notice he’s gone”. You might think I’m exaggerating, but I’m really not. I’ve been here a week without people knowing I’d even come back one time. What a great loss to humanity I would be, a loner who does nothing but drain away the resources of everyone around him, emotional and material. A waste of opportunity, a waste of space and energy.

Too Scared

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I got too scared about my first plan and I went out walking into the night. I found myself at the bridge I had planned to jump off a few months ago but they have put barriers either side now so it’s impossible to climb over. I’m too much of a coward to do anything about it so now I’m just sitting here shaken and helpless, for once I haven’t broken down into tears but I feel weak like I do after that happens. I wish I had someone to hug me, to give me some comfort but there is no-one.

Mixed Feelings

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I came back home today and found a letter from the psychotherapy place, they’ve offered to put me on the waiting list for cognitive behavioural therapy but couldn’t tell me how long it’ll take until I can see someone more specifically than “several months”. I’d hoped that it would be sooner than that, although I suppose I’m lucky to get the opportunity at all without having to pay for it. By the time it starts I’ll probably have finished university for the summer, which puts me in the bizarre situation of being back at home but not being around anyone who I know.

It’s going to be difficult to make any progress when I don’t even have to opportunity for any socialising, at least when I’m at uni I could see and say a few words to a person I know every day if I wanted to. When I’m at home, there’s nobody except my family, who I have no problem talking to. I dumbfounded my psychiatrist by telling him this last time, I wouldn’t accept that there was no-one I could ring up and arrange to meet. “No friends? How about a friend of the family?” Nope, sorry doc. I’ve told them this before, I’m sure they don’t listen or they think I’m exaggerating. I really sat at home and didn’t speak to anyone outside my family for months and months. Nobody wants to know me, it’s obvious to me why that is, but they either don’t listen or don’t care (probably both). The place where I live doesn’t help things either, there is literally nothing but houses around here. There isn’t even a shop any more, you have to walk for about half an hour to get to another housing area where there is a Spar. Hardly a vibrant and inspiring place. The local town is a rough area and pretty much consists of £1 shops and bookies. If you tried to strike up a conversation with someone there you’d probably get knifed.

It’s very disheartening to think about how long this would all take if I try to stick with it. I’ve already been waiting over a year since I realised CBT is what I need and it’ll probably be another 6 months before I’d even get to make a start on things. Another package arrived today as well, a way out. I’m not sure how long I can stop myself from using it. I walked around the house with a suicide note in my pocket for 4 days last week, distraction only works for so long.

2009

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Another year, I’m surprised that I made it this far. This time last year I was just beginning the journey down the NHS mental health system and it seems to have taken a lot of effort to actually get somewhere, despite the fact that my problems have been enough to personally concern several of the staff I’ve been in contact with. 

I keep looking at the amitriptyline, can I swallow that many pills? The prospect of being 24 and still in this situation is not a pleasant one and it’s rapidly approaching. People seem to act like if you want to kill yourself, you must have something deeply wrong with your brain, or more frequently, that you are just looking for attention. Trust me, I’ve spent more hours of my life avoiding attention than just about anything else. I don’t understand why living is so great, if I had the choice to have not been born, I’d take it in an instant. Nothing happens to make the pain and sadness worth suffering through.

Is living 80-something years of unsatisfying drudgery so laudable? I can’t remember a time in my adult (or adolescent) life that I’ve been happy and I see no reason that will change. The more I discover about life and how harsh and unforgiving it is, the more I want to escape its unrelenting grip. I’ve only ever been happy when I’ve been sheltered from reality. Not knowing what people are like in the real world. I can’t survive outside my protective bubble, much less experience happiness.

It’s generally accepted that it’s harder to make friends as you get older, and I’m almost 14 years without having made one now. Things aren’t going to get any easier. I’m too far behind to ever be normal, too socially retarded and emotionally undeveloped. 

People try to tell me it’s not too late and things can change. I don’t know whether it’s petty of me, but the idea that sometime in the future, maybe 20 years from now, I might be able to make a solitary friend is not really a comfort. I don’t want to be a middle aged loser still living at home and catching the bus. The kind of person people avoid sitting next to and certainly would never want to converse with.

I hope the new year brings happiness for whoever reads this, I’m doubtful that it will for me.