Where I’m At

Suicidal? Prove it!

This is the challenge thrust forward from the *cough* mental health professionals who are supposed to be supporting me.

No, no of course they don’t actually say that. No. It’s just that ultimately that’s what they do say adds up to…we can’t really do anything until you actually try and kill yourself. And I find myself wondering what is a girl to do?

This bad spell is horrendous/evil/unbearable. I can barely move. I wake up in the morning devastated. In fact I cried this morning oh no, please, not again, I can’t take it, I can’t. I just want this to end. One way or another. Please, please I really can’t take it.I’ve reached out to Nora (but we are doing something! You start DBT in 4 weeks); I tried the Crisis Team (well, if you’ve got plans for tomorrow then there’s not really anything we can do to help); all of it a waste-of-fucking-time. Help me now. Please please help me now. I’ve been waiting since December please please help me. 

My husband rang the crisis team the other night to ask for help – he’s scared for his wife’s safety. They did…precisely…nothing. Didn’t even speak to me. 

I rang the Samaritans to help me cope. It did help a little but I’m in such a bad place it can’t help much. 

Please help me please help me please help me.

There is only one message I have but I must be saying it wrong because nothing is happening. 

I’m currently staying safe with a mixture of willpower and not being alone. I cannot be alone as I will be unsafe. 

I can’t care for my children. I can barely stand with exhaustion but I do manage a shower every couple of days so, according to the hcp, that’s tickety fucking-boo. 

I don’t want to eat. I am still eating though with my family so that’s another tick in the ‘she’s fine’ box. But I’m not fine. Is this fine?

Lying on busy roads, hanging, wrist slitting, and pills – these are the things that occupy my mind. I can’t make it stop. I can’t fight. I’m too tired. Illness, you win. 

I can’t stand being around normality and being expected to just fit in. It makes me feel worse. I become further isolated as I feel so separate and different from the normal world. I meekly plod along when really I should be screaming for help like I’m on fire. What’s the point though? There is no point. If there is anything which I know to be pointless it is asking for help. 

So what can I do? Well, very little but I do have options. I’ve started self-medicating with tramadol. I’m a medicinal chemist and I know I shouldn’t but I’m literally at the point of A. Suicide attempt or B. Self-medication. If the NHS won’t help me and even private has long waiting lists then I really do not see what other choice I have. 

The tramadol worked a treat the other night. I felt peaceful. It was beautiful. Absolute pain relief. I only have 5 days supply though. I’m using it sparingly but what then? It’s left over from my ectopic operation a few years back. But when it’s gone…what then? You see if I have to choose between being a functional drug addict and being a non-functional depressive then I choose the former. Coming from me with my hatred and fear of addiction that’s really saying something. I guess it’s saying help me help me help me. 

I’m currently stuck in hell and the rest of the world is just walking on by. That’s where I’m at.

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