In Memoriam
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Daily Archives: July 2, 2015
You’re Getting Sleepy
In my years of trying to figure out how this disease works itself into my life, I have noticed an interesting little quirk. First, let me just say that there is a ton of research out there, and basically every doctor, social worker, therapist, and person with bipolar has agreed, sleep is a huge factor […]
Posted in Read Along
You’re Getting Sleepy
In my years of trying to figure out how this disease works itself into my life, I have noticed an...
The post You’re Getting Sleepy appeared first on Pretending to be What We Are.
New Job New Crazy
i started a new job 2 weeks ago. I don’t hate it and I can see potential for it being a place that I will enjoy working at. Just have to get over a few humps.
I realized that’s it’s been 2 years since I worked somewhere with more than three employees. I took a year off after I quit my job in 2013 and then I was a cook for a small restaurant that only had like 6 employees. It has been quite an adjustment for me. I have been able to see that having Bipolar truly does effect everything. After day two I was almost ready to quit because there was one guy that I just couldn’t deal with( they said he’s bipolar and doesn’t take his meds, I have no idea). But he has been moved around some and I’ve mostly been able to learn and do my job pretty easily.
I have been struggling to keep myself even though. There have been a couple days I have though “I’m gonna have to up my meds” ha! But I’m hoping that even though it may take more time than I want it to I will adjust and it will be a very good decision not to give up. It doesn’t help that I’m going in early right now to learn breakfast. I have never been a morning person. I though I might try to adjust to this early shift but the last two weeks have told me not only is that not going to happen. But that if I stay on morning shift I’m going to lose my mind and drive my family insane.
It has struck me that for the first time in my life my instincts make sense. I have always been very self aware and just known things about myself. I have even had people tell me I was just gonna have to get over it, or that my perception wasn’t accurate. They were wrong. I know myself. Being diagnosed has given me the confidence to say I don’t do things like other people, there are things that are important to me that many people will never think about, and I have to take care of my sanity or I run the risk of destroying the good things in my life. I am learning still and probably will be for the rest of my life. But for today I am so grateful. Grateful that I am a child of God. Grateful that I live in a free country where I am not persecuted for my illness and I can get the help I need. Grateful that my husband stood by me and held my hand when he didn’t have to do so and I had given him basically every reason not too. Grateful that I now know what is “wrong” with me and that I know all those years I spent living out of whack weren’t just because I’m a terrible person with terrible self control and decision making abilities. This week I am also grateful for answered prayers and rewards for patience.
When my husband and I got married his 13 year old daughter lived with him. Needless to say it hasn’t been an easy road, and the 9 year age difference between her and I didn’t really help any. We have been on a bumpy road but the last three years have been pretty amazing and a blessing. I couldn’t be more proud to call her my daughter and to be Nana to her two boys. This week she sent me the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. And there will never be a way to repay her for the gift that she gave me. This is what she wrote to me….
I was gonna post this on fb then I was gonna call you but u decided a private message would be better so I don’t have to hear you cry and I’m not trying to get attention so I’m not doing it on fb. If you wanna post it you can. I had a conversation at work earlier with a lady that mentioned she had her kids and “stepdaughter”. She wasn’t rude about it or anything but it made me kinda sad then smile. Never once in the past 7 or 8 years can I remember you calling me your stepdaughter and never have I felt like a “step child”. You have referred to me as your daughter on fb, to your family and even to your friends. Then when they look at you crazy for talking about your grandkids you explain that dad had a daughter when yall got married and the word step daughter is very seldom used unless it’s explaining to someone how you have a daughter old enough to have kids lol. So I just wanted to say thank you for that!! I never realized how lucky I was to have someone claim me as their own. Even at 25 years old and taking care of myself, it’s comforting to know that I really do have two moms. I guess I forget sometimes that you’re my mom because I really do see you as a best friend. I can call and complain to you about guys and you can complain to me about dad and I don’t get all defensive anymore, I don’t pick his side or your side because of who calls me, I give my opinion based on what I’m being told. Same with you and I’m glad you are honest with me and we’re able to talk now and disagree without it leading to a year without talking lol. Anyways, you don’t get long messages from me often so better save this and print it or whatever you need to do lol
So thanks again for being my mom and not stepmom. It’s little things like the conversation today that kinda made me have an “ah ha” moment and smile at how lucky I really am. 😊
Love you!
If you are wondering if things will ever change. If loving someone is worth it. If your patience is ever going to pay off I’m here to tell you it will one way or another. I love this girl with all my heart and I am so proud of her kind heart and loving spirit. She amazes me and I couldn’t be more grateful for her words. They came at the perfect time and with the perfect effect. God is good!! And all those years I worried and wondered if she would ever know how much I love her are gone now. She does know and no matter what else happens that is all I ever wanted for a little girl that needed someone to love her only because of who she is, not who her Dad is.
I hope you are blessed his day and this week!! Remember this weekend that freedom isn’t free and that we are only free to do all the things we do good, bad, or ugly because we live in the USA!!!
New Job New Crazy
i started a new job 2 weeks ago. I don’t hate it and I can see potential for it being a place that I will enjoy working at. Just have to get over a few humps.
I realized that’s it’s been 2 years since I worked somewhere with more than three employees. I took a year off after I quit my job in 2013 and then I was a cook for a small restaurant that only had like 6 employees. It has been quite an adjustment for me. I have been able to see that having Bipolar truly does effect everything. After day two I was almost ready to quit because there was one guy that I just couldn’t deal with( they said he’s bipolar and doesn’t take his meds, I have no idea). But he has been moved around some and I’ve mostly been able to learn and do my job pretty easily.
I have been struggling to keep myself even though. There have been a couple days I have though “I’m gonna have to up my meds” ha! But I’m hoping that even though it may take more time than I want it to I will adjust and it will be a very good decision not to give up. It doesn’t help that I’m going in early right now to learn breakfast. I have never been a morning person. I though I might try to adjust to this early shift but the last two weeks have told me not only is that not going to happen. But that if I stay on morning shift I’m going to lose my mind and drive my family insane.
It has struck me that for the first time in my life my instincts make sense. I have always been very self aware and just known things about myself. I have even had people tell me I was just gonna have to get over it, or that my perception wasn’t accurate. They were wrong. I know myself. Being diagnosed has given me the confidence to say I don’t do things like other people, there are things that are important to me that many people will never think about, and I have to take care of my sanity or I run the risk of destroying the good things in my life. I am learning still and probably will be for the rest of my life. But for today I am so grateful. Grateful that I am a child of God. Grateful that I live in a free country where I am not persecuted for my illness and I can get the help I need. Grateful that my husband stood by me and held my hand when he didn’t have to do so and I had given him basically every reason not too. Grateful that I now know what is “wrong” with me and that I know all those years I spent living out of whack weren’t just because I’m a terrible person with terrible self control and decision making abilities. This week I am also grateful for answered prayers and rewards for patience.
When my husband and I got married his 13 year old daughter lived with him. Needless to say it hasn’t been an easy road, and the 9 year age difference between her and I didn’t really help any. We have been on a bumpy road but the last three years have been pretty amazing and a blessing. I couldn’t be more proud to call her my daughter and to be Nana to her two boys. This week she sent me the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. And there will never be a way to repay her for the gift that she gave me. This is what she wrote to me….
I was gonna post this on fb then I was gonna call you but u decided a private message would be better so I don’t have to hear you cry and I’m not trying to get attention so I’m not doing it on fb. If you wanna post it you can. I had a conversation at work earlier with a lady that mentioned she had her kids and “stepdaughter”. She wasn’t rude about it or anything but it made me kinda sad then smile. Never once in the past 7 or 8 years can I remember you calling me your stepdaughter and never have I felt like a “step child”. You have referred to me as your daughter on fb, to your family and even to your friends. Then when they look at you crazy for talking about your grandkids you explain that dad had a daughter when yall got married and the word step daughter is very seldom used unless it’s explaining to someone how you have a daughter old enough to have kids lol. So I just wanted to say thank you for that!! I never realized how lucky I was to have someone claim me as their own. Even at 25 years old and taking care of myself, it’s comforting to know that I really do have two moms. I guess I forget sometimes that you’re my mom because I really do see you as a best friend. I can call and complain to you about guys and you can complain to me about dad and I don’t get all defensive anymore, I don’t pick his side or your side because of who calls me, I give my opinion based on what I’m being told. Same with you and I’m glad you are honest with me and we’re able to talk now and disagree without it leading to a year without talking lol. Anyways, you don’t get long messages from me often so better save this and print it or whatever you need to do lol
So thanks again for being my mom and not stepmom. It’s little things like the conversation today that kinda made me have an “ah ha” moment and smile at how lucky I really am. 😊
Love you!
If you are wondering if things will ever change. If loving someone is worth it. If your patience is ever going to pay off I’m here to tell you it will one way or another. I love this girl with all my heart and I am so proud of her kind heart and loving spirit. She amazes me and I couldn’t be more grateful for her words. They came at the perfect time and with the perfect effect. God is good!! And all those years I worried and wondered if she would ever know how much I love her are gone now. She does know and no matter what else happens that is all I ever wanted for a little girl that needed someone to love her only because of who she is, not who her Dad is.
I hope you are blessed his day and this week!! Remember this weekend that freedom isn’t free and that we are only free to do all the things we do good, bad, or ugly because we live in the USA!!!
God God Damnit Damnit
Well, there went June. I mean I was in California for half of it, and I’ve been pretty sad for the rest. My grandma died the evening following the previous post, so, like 5 weeks ago at this point. It got really ugly. The last few days she was in hospice, we were all kind of hoping she would just go. Watching her struggle to catch her breath and then feeling my stomach drop in between breaths as the pauses got longer and longer and I thought, this is it, she stopped breathing was pretty brutal. The last 2ish days she was really loaded on morphine and lorazepam so she wasn’t really even there, but there was a really brief window when she was still lucid and I got to say goodbye to her.
Fuck saying goodbye to your loved ones forever so hard. It’s the roughest thing I’ll ever be grateful for. At this point, I’ve lost 2 really important people in two different ways. My dad died without warning and the shock was unbelievable…and the regret and the guilt and the wondering if I had a hand in it and the accusing other people of having a hand in it, but not to their face because: You’re a fucking backbreaker who worked your husband into the ground (I’d say “literally” but my dad’s not buried in the ground, he’s in a mausoleum with mostly strangers and now my grandma)…is like maybe the quickest way destroy a relationship with someone. Probably. Not that it was great to begin with, but at the end of the day, we were all shellshocked and miserable and shitty to each other. I had to watch my grandma die. I saw her shut down piece by piece. I saw her fingers turn blue as she got less and less oxygen with each breath, I watched her chest heave reflexively in a morphine twilight, I saw tears of pain gather at the corners of her eyes that she didn’t even know were there.
I heard her whisper in Sicilian: Mama, I’m coming to be with you.
God god damnit damnit.
I’ve been ignoring how unsteady I’ve been since she died. I went back down to my normal dosage of meds because the extra olanzapine was making me really tired. I had a panic attack in San Diego. I cry when I think about this, so I don’t think about it a lot. I’m motivated to shower and drink gin and impulse buy shit off Etsy. I made a Pinterest board of things I wanna put on my back deck. I won’t ever actually put them there, but in my mind (and on the Internet), I have a killer back deck. I haven’t picked up a guitar since I borrowed one in Carmel like over 2 weeks ago. Sometimes, without provocation, my heart pounds real hard for several minutes and then goes back to normal. The last thing my grandma ever ate was a pancake and they had to stop feeding her when she started to choke on a piece. When I think about pancakes, I cry. That reality is 100% not workable.
I missed 3 MMA classes in a row, but the third time was to see Seregeti at one of my city’s myriad summer street festivals/glorified block parties with sponsors, which, at the time I decided was worth it, but I’m gonna be like, cursing his name at the gym on Sunday when I barf on the floor after 90 seconds of jump roping. I’ve been trying to work out at home. I’m not a self-motivator. I need my class. For many reasons. But live music is also a tonic, so it wasn’t a loss, really.
I’ve been smoking cigarettes kinda. I quit 2 years ago, but watching my grandma suffocate slowly warranted a number of cigarette breaks in the hospital parking lot with my sister. The cognitive dissonance was not lost on me. But I really needed some timeouts, so whatever. I have an e-cig. I have more than enough vanity to keep me from using in in public. Nobody looks cool smoking a e-cig. It’s not really the same anyway. I had intended to go home after the Serengeti set last weekend because I had no other reason to be at the festival. I hadn’t slept much so I wasn’t drinking because I didn’t wanna fall asleep in the grass. But I hung out for like an extra hour just to bum cigs off dudes which is really easy so I made the most of it. I bought a few packs in California – which were unnervingly inexpensive compared to here – but I purposely left them behind places so I would only smoke like 2 or maybe 3…which I guess means they were sorta, kinda way more expensive than they are here cause I wasn’t getting my money’s worth. I’m not real worried about it. What I am worried about is that I made my husband promise not to let my buy any more cigarettes but I very frequently want one. Like right now would be one of those times. I just feel like smoking a lot, which is generally indicative of: a) I’m drunk b) I’m anxious or c) I don’t know what to do with my hands right that sec. Thanks to all the weed in my life, I can have orgasms again and my husband has been out of the house a lot the last few evenings which are the only times I watch porn ’cause we don’t like the same kind of porn so “c” is not really a problem. (Trying super hard not to think too much about that last sentence, ’cause it’s just depressing.) So I’m sitting here puffing on my e-cig. I am unwashed and I do not look cool.
So, here’s something that’s fucked up an terrifying and one of the gifts you get when you come from a line of mildly inbred Italian hill people: my grandma died because her lungs shut down. She never smoked in her life and she never let my grandpa smoke in the house. She was rarely sedentary and spent a lot of time outdoors. She ate really well. She took care of herself. But she got a cold or something sometime this past spring and it triggered an autoimmune response that resulted in her lungs overproducing heavy mucus and basically strangling her from the inside out. The reason this is so scary to me is because so many people in my family are carriers of autoimmune disorders, including my mom who’s a type 1 diabetic. There’s actually this freaky subset of couplings among my grandma’s cousins wherein the children of those couples have a 1 in 4 chance of developing an autoimmune disease. 4 kids came out of that batch, one got diabetes, one got MS and one got scleroderma. I wanna say the 4th one is safe, but my grandma probably thought she was too until a fucking cold turned her lungs into rocks at 89, which is exactly my point: this shit could happen to me too. And, as with my grandma, I might not know until I have 2 weeks left to live. So from now on, I’m gonna be massively paranoid every time I get the sniffles ’cause they may be my last. Or something. I’m not a doctor. I could be wrong about all this. Paranoia is part of how I grieve.
I’ve been subject to this weird glut of deaths in the last 8 years and the thing we all keep telling each other is that there’s no right or wrong way to grieve. It doesn’t matter how well I understand this concept or how threadbare that platitude has become by this point, I always think I’m fucking it up. My grandma lived a good life. She was happy and virtuous by her own measure. Unlike me, she was a person of faith, so she probably felt a brand of comfort and homecoming in her last days that I’ll never know. She was industrious, humble, sweet and nurturing. She always put herself last. When relatives came to the hospital to say their last goodbyes, they’d say, “I’m gonna pray for you.” My grandma would respond, “No, I’ll pray for you.” And she did. When she died, she was the most beautiful person at her funeral. She was buried in the dress she wore to my wedding. She was stunning.
I’m bothered that I’ve been able to keep as much together as I have, which isn’t to say I’ve been keeping it 100% together, obviously, as evidenced by the panic attacks and low motivation and nicotine cravings. But I still feel like I’m not giving my grandma the reverence she deserves. I asked my therapist what’s the weeping equivalent of a standing ovation. She said she didn’t know. But I hope I figure that one out because my grandma earned it.
-LB
Tagged: acceptance, alcohol, anxiety, atheism, California, commerce, death, depression, grief, hospice, marijuana, masturbation, meds, MMA, music, panic attack, sadness, smoking, therapy 
3 Days, 3 Quotes Challenge: Day One
Thanks to Chris for the nomination.
Simple rules: Quote a day for three days, brief explanation, nominate three others. Since rebellion is in my bone marrow…I challenge ANYONE to take it on.
I think it’s self explanatory as Marilyn Monroe had mental demons of her own and no amount of beauty, fame, success could fix that. There are some *idgets* who think the quote is some sort of excuse to be an asshole and blame people who won’t put up with it. This is indicative of their ignorance.
For me, it just means…I’m a beautiful mess and you’re not worthy of the good things you like about me if you can’t accept and handle that it comes with a plethora of flaws you don’t like.
Sleep Is For The Dead
Last night. When I was gonna go to bed early and recharge. Ha! Cryptified at 7 p.m. with spawn in tow. Ninety minutes later, even though I said she could sleep with my in hopes she’d sleep through…She was still bouncing off walls. I warned her she’d be going to her own bed…And by nine p.m. I hit my wall and sent her to her own bed. Which resulted in screaming bawling I WANT MY MOMMY, I CAN’T BREATHE…Now, I let her cry as a baby and toddler (after the doctor told me I HAD to or nothing would change). But now…It’s hard because I live in terror some well meaning (read:asshole) will hear a screaming child and report me to child protective services. I was just so frustrated because she’d had multiple warnings and I was tired..So I let her scream. I even shut her door to punctuate “mommy is not backing down.”
She was still screaming and sobbing an hour later, sounding like a cast member on some horror flick. I turned my show up. And it was hard not to cave because I read so many horror stories about parents who take the tough love approach and end up embroiled in some child protective service nightmare. I am TERRIFIED because I’ve known people it’s happened to based on someone’s blatant vengeful lie or a kid who was told no and went and claimed her dad “touched her”. But to my credit…I let her cry it out and fell asleep shortly after. Only to wake not an hour later and panic, wondering if she hyperventilated to death or choked on her own tears.
Back to sleep. Wake at 11:30. Sleep. Wake at 12:15. Sleep. Wake at 1:30. Ten minutes later she wants in my bed. Then she starts babbling. Finally she goes to sleep. And wakes me at 2:45 talking in her sleep again. Sleep some more. Clock reads 4 a.m. Then 5:30 a.m. Then 6:10. She’s frolicking by 8. I lay there another hour, awake, while she watches my show and plays with the cats. And I drag my ass out of bed, feeling just as exhausted as I did before I slept.
How this doesn’t concern my doctor is beyond me. I guess it’s because I won’t take their coma drugs and they can’t be bothered to figure out something that would help me sleep without making me non functional. Three years of this shit. I miss sleep. I miss sleeping through the whole night. It’s my scumbag brain’s idea of humor. Back before I had a kid, I literally could not sleep for days at a time and HAD to take handfuls of sleeping coma pills. Now I could use the insomnia to keep up and I am tapped out. Ha ha ha ha.
I made the mistake of checking my bank balance and I guess tomorrow is a government holiday so the money went into day. I said, we have money, and now my kid is planning how to spend it all (on herself) and won’t get off my ankle with her vampire sharp teeth. GRRR. I don’t want to do the dish but if everything’s gonna be closed tomorrow, I have no choice. Plus, I still need to take R’s credit card back with the FexEx receipt and he’ll probably want me to fetch stuff then demand to know why that desktop computer of his friend’s isn’t finished. Truthfully, I haven’t even brought it in yet. I am gonna have to disconnect one of mine for a power cord, then all the peripherals, and without a copy of XP, I can’t do fuck all. I sure as hell am NOT downgrading it to Windows 98, it wouldn’t even recognize high speed internet. I despise when he asks me to do shit like this. Laptops I don’t mind so much. But when it involves disconnecting my shit then connect it then reconnecting it and trying to focus when child chihuahua is attached to my ankle…Grrr.
She already has me stressed out, jebus. I so wish I had a sitter other than my mom so I could get a break. I need a break, considering I don’t even get a break at night even to sleep. I bitch too much, yes, blah blah blah. Doesn’t change my exhaustion.
So…time to put my death mask on (or my happy face which still resembles a “die screaming” mask) and face the dish. Ugh. Not even a pack of smokes cheers me up. It’s not so much mood, it’s just…Yeah. Tired. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, unless the spawn digs me up and reanimates me so she can talk to me some more.
Ha, then I literally will be eating dirt, muhahaha.
My PMAD (Perinatal Mood & Anxiety Disorder) Gets No Respect! Part One
Happy Thursday, my friends! In the wake of the recent Marianne Williamson “just pray and meditate and love postpartum depression away” sh*tstorm, I’d like to share this post with you again. When I published it seven months ago, I tagged it incorrectly and it didn’t reach many people. I want this information out there…more now than ever … Continue reading My PMAD (Perinatal Mood & Anxiety Disorder) Gets No Respect! Part One 
Funeral Day
Got the news yesterday that a extended family member had died–I was so frustrated with my mother in that I had to read it on Facebook first and then call her for the information. He was my uncle by second marriage to an aunt we lost years ago to cancer, my daddy’s oldest sister. Since then he had married my mother’s former sister-in-law, whose first husband had been my mom’s brother. So he was stepfather to four of my cousins on my mom’s side as well as one cousin on my dad’s side. (I know that sounds weird but it really isn’t–everybody is kin to everybody where I come from, one way or another.)
I’m not really sad in that he was 82 years old and had lived a good life. He had been sick with fluid on his heart for about a month, and he just finally gave out. I do feel sorry for his wife in that this is the second husband that she’s buried and that can’t feel good. ANd my cousins for losing another father figure. But they’re all grown now and weren’t when their father died so it’s not quite the tragedy that was. But Bob and I are going to the funeral this afternoon.
I know the church they’re having it at but it’s been so long since I lived there I had forgotten how to get to it. So I had to hunt up directions on the computer through MapQuest, which were different from the ones Daddy gave me. So we’ll go with what Daddy said instead–it’s far enough back in the country that MapQuest may not know what it’s talking about :).
So that is the agenda for today. I do hope to see my cousins and all for at least a bit–I don’t get up there often enough to do that. SO pray that we have speedy travel and aren’t late. Thanks to all for your prayers for my family.
Posted in Read Along
suicide ain’t painless
I’m going to write very frankly about death and suicide. I think I should clarify firstly, that I am not threatening or even thinking of killing myself. I am thinking about stuff intellectually, not emotionally. At all. The reason for the lengthy disclaimer/trigger warning, is that it might cause pain to certain people who read this blog and a different sort of distress to others. Primarily though, I don’t want to wound people who have lost loved ones to suicide. There are a few of you who read my blog, please look after your hearts, you’ve got your own road to walk, and it needs to lead to your own healing.
Holy fuck, I do pomposity at the drop of a hat, but I’m sincere about what I said.
Also, I’d love a discussion in the comments, but not of the noooo don’t do it kind. Because I’m not going to do it,but I do need to say it.
‘You talk as though I’ve had an amputation.’
‘I think you have. I think someone has cut out your heart.’
I looked at her and my eyes were clear.
‘That’s not how the story ends.’
Stop.
(Jeanette Winterson, The Powerbook)
the involuntary muscle
I say it all the time; I feel dead inside. Last time it happened, I thought about it properly, it’s actually bollocks on a ton of levels. First off, it’s an unsubstantiated stretch of the imagination, but we could let it slide for the sake of poetic justice I guess. Secondly, surely death is the end and absence of feeling and feelings? Let’s not get into a conversation about emotions and the afterlife, ain’t nobipolar got time fo’ dat. Moving swiftly along… Thirdly! Unless someone has antisocial personality disorder (the muggles* call them psychopaths and don’t understand the word ‘disorder’ at all), then they have empathy, which implies emotion, which implies life, not death.
You feel me? Okay, okay, white people shouldn’t talk that way, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist it.
So I’m not dead inside till I’m dead outside too. I’m not telling anyone else how to describe what they feel, this is me just getting all CBT on my own ass and, I might add, without a therapist in the room. Look at me, here I am all alive and stuff. You’d think it’d be the onset of joie de vivre, but c’mon, this is me. (Fuck that, I’m just aiming at verbal accuracy and a logical thought experiment.)
But
But
But
yagharek aka me
The broader reason is my lifelong (I wish I was joking, and I do see the irony) wish to stop being alive (maybe in another episode I’ll explore the differences between wanting to be dead and wanting to stop living, I think it might be a semantic necessity). Yup, I said it, I do not want to be alive, and it was ever thus. It wasn’t always thus, however, not constant. I’ve had plenty of joy in my life and ascribing most of it to various manic depressive elements doesn’t make the joy less joyous. The point here is that it’s always been and still is, my default, my baseline and my conclusion for the big, big, big majority of my existence.
Now is not the time to screech, rend clothes and make anguished calls to the emergency services, remember that I’m well aware of the difference between suicidal ideation and intention. Also, a death wish is not necessary about suicide, right? (This post isn’t going to deal with that though.) Also, I’ve tested the whole ‘life is fragile, I shall off myself’ theory and let me tell you, life is not very fragile at all, with a very, very few exceptions, suicide attempts come with pain and violence rather than harps and angels. I’m not going near the concept of the harm done to those left behind right now, that’s a whole other discussion and the people who know best, are the survivors themselves.
Let me tell you why, despite genuinely wishing the world would stop so I can get off, I am absolutely not a suicide risk. I reassure people (psychiatrists) rather flippantly, that I’ve made a promise to my dog that I won’t do anything while she’s alive. That’s genuine too, and it helps me get through shit, but of course there’s more to it. I’d shatter nextofkin’s heart and I will do my utmost to avoid that. Two important reasons that I take very seriously. I’d hurt more hearts than that, but 99.9% of the people I love are at least a thousand kilometres away, which, practically speaking, would leave me alone at any dangerous junctures. There’s also that whole life is fragile thing. Once you’ve opened a vein or two, swallowed too many pills and then sat on a cliff over the sea (yes, on one day and one after the other), the perfect storm needed to make it happen again might or might not happen and attempts might or might not fail (using the word succeed in relation to suicide is so very fucking insensitive to those left behind in agony after a suicide). My perfect storm would have to be absolute certainty in my heart and mind (let’s not get into the ‘of sound mind’ concept right now), the death of my dog, a way for it not to hurt nextofkin, and access to one of the few surefire DIY methods. Those are tricky ducks to herd into a row.
Suicide as a carefully researched and thought out option comforts me. Of course it does. I’ve survived a decade of abuse I don’t want to talk about, more stuff I don’t want to talk about and I have C-PTSD and one of the worst possible combinations of bipolar features on the menu. Those factors, plus losses and living alone and a whole heap more that I’m not going to talk about do not predispose me to adore life. Karma doesn’t work, equilibrium doesn’t exist and mindfulness can kiss my sorry ass. This is a logical paragraph, bristling with evidence, explaining why I value that comfort. I’m exhausted by my past and wary of my future and I have good reason to be. I handle the rough times better knowing that there’s a way out.
I know too, that all of it could change, in a heartbeat or a decade – and I do have a decade to spare.
You feel me?
When I write this way, I like my mind.
word.
*muggles™ was used to signify people who aren’t mentally ill, but I’ve updated it – a friend reminded me that there are good muggles. And indeed there are. Muggles™ now refers to neurotypical people who don’t understand, don’t give a shit, who cause shit for the rest of us and generally piss me right off. We don’t need a word for the formerly-known-as-good-muggles, they’re human, just like us. Please update all records and letterheads. I thank you and formally apologise to the people previously consigned to muggledom. Obviously there will be a TRC and restitution** will be made.
**restitution in this case, is a promise as empty as the head of Barbie™.
It’s alright ma (I’m only bleeding)
Darkness at the break of noon
Shadows even the silver spoon
The handmade blade, the child’s balloon
Eclipses both the sun and moon
To understand you know too soon
There is no sense in trying
Pointed threats, they bluff with scorn
Suicide remarks are torn
From the fool’s gold mouthpiece the hollow horn
Plays wasted words, proves to warn
That he not busy being born is busy dying
Temptation’s page flies out the door
You follow, find yourself at war
Watch waterfalls of pity roar
You feel to moan but unlike before
You discover that you’d just be one more
Person crying
So don’t fear if you hear
A foreign sound to your ear
It’s alright, Ma, I’m only sighing
As some warn victory, some downfall
Private reasons great or small
Can be seen in the eyes of those that call
To make all that should be killed to crawl
While others say don’t hate nothing at all
Except hatred
Disillusioned words like bullets bark
As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh-colored Christs that glow in the dark
It’s easy to see without looking too far
That not much is really sacred
While preachers preach of evil fates
Teachers teach that knowledge waits
Can lead to hundred-dollar plates
Goodness hides behind its gates
But even the president of the United States
Sometimes must have to stand naked
An’ though the rules of the road have been lodged
It’s only people’s games that you got to dodge
And it’s alright, Ma, I can make it
Advertising signs they con
You into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you
You lose yourself, you reappear
You suddenly find you got nothing to fear
Alone you stand with nobody near
When a trembling distant voice, unclear
Startles your sleeping ears to hear
That somebody thinks they really found you
A question in your nerves is lit
Yet you know there is no answer fit
To satisfy, insure you not to quit
To keep it in your mind and not forget
That it is not he or she or them or it
That you belong to
Although the masters make the rules
For the wise men and the fools
I got nothing, Ma, to live up to
For them that must obey authority
That they do not respect in any degree
Who despise their jobs, their destinies
Speak jealously of them that are free
Cultivate their flowers to be
Nothing more than something they invest in
While some on principles baptized
To strict party platform ties
Social clubs in drag disguise
Outsiders they can freely criticize
Tell nothing except who to idolize
And then say God bless him
While one who sings with his tongue on fire
Gargles in the rat race choir
Bent out of shape from society’s pliers
Cares not to come up any higher
But rather get you down in the hole
That he’s in
But I mean no harm nor put fault
On anyone that lives in a vault
But it’s alright, Ma, if I can’t please him
Old lady judges watch people in pairs
Limited in sex, they dare
To push fake morals, insult and stare
While money doesn’t talk, it swears
Obscenity, who really cares
Propaganda, all is phony
While them that defend what they cannot see
With a killer’s pride, security
It blows the minds most bitterly
For them that think death’s honesty
Won’t fall upon them naturally
Life sometimes must get lonely
My eyes collide head-on with stuffed
Graveyards, false gods, I scuff
At pettiness which plays so rough
Walk upside-down inside handcuffs
Kick my legs to crash it off
Say okay, I have had enough, what else can you show me?
And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They’d probably put my head in a guillotine
But it’s alright, Ma, it’s life, and life only
