It seems only fair that I should follow up my “worst manic moment ever” story with a story about my worst moment of depression. That is something I simply cannot do. I’ve simply lost count of the times that I have been suicidal. I have bipolar II which is mild to moderate bouts of mania alternating with moderate to severe episodes of depression.Even well medicated I spend most of my time on the depressed end of the spectrum, usually somewhere in the mild to normal zone. I can narrow down the number of actual suicide attempts, but just to take you to the brink of death with me would not be helpful for either of us. I want to talk about what psychiatrists call suicidal ideation or suicidal thoughts. If you ask a depressed person how they are doing they will most likely say “OK”, even if they clearly aren’t. From my own experiences, recorded in journals, let me show you a window into the disturbed mind of the suicidal soul.
August 3, 2008
I am going to kill myself. It’s just a matter of time, means, location. I can’t do it right now because my apartment is a mess. I don’t want my body found here surrounded by junk.. Maybe it would be better if my body was never found. I’ve done everything else in life half-assed. I’m going to get this right. I’m going to think this through, plan it down to the last detail. I am going to be in control, for the first time and the last time in my life. There are decisions to be made, which is ironic. I’m terrible at making decisions. I change my mind so easily, and nothing is more final than death. Or is it? I can’t even decide that. I don’t know what I believe anymore. My faith used to be my ultimate protection. I believed in God, God created life, only God can take away life, etc. And most importantly, if I take my own life, I’ll go straight to hell, right? But is that really true? Would God really do that? Is there a Hell to go to? A Heaven? Is there even a God listening to me or have I been talking to myself all these years and calling it prayer? Ugh. I’m already in Hell.
WAYS TO KILL MYSELF
DRUGS this would be the simplest since I have plenty, but I’m not sure it’s enough. They’re stingy with samples at the clinic and I’d hate to end up taking only enough to make me sick or a vegetable. Too bad I don’t like to drink. Alcohol could certainly speed things along.
Lately I’ve been thinking of more violent ways to kill myself, I think because I feel like I should be punished. It’s strange that even though I hate myself and feel I deserve pain and suffering, I’ve never gotten into cutting myself like some girls do. I have dreams, images of it, but I can’t bear the thought of it. Does that mean that deep down , I really want to live? Why, then, does it seem acceptable to me to endure seconds or minutes I might experience if I jump off of a building or in front of a train? Even though I’ve considered these things, so far I’ve been too chicken to take such drastic action. I believe one can be passively suicidal and that’s where I’m at. I’m too scared to do it myself, but I have a definite death wish. Ideally, I would like to die in some manner that I could not be blamed for. I find myself jealous of other people’s cancer diagnosis. How sick is that??? Or when I hear of someone killed in an accident, I think, why couldn’t it have been me.If I die in an accident , from a disease, or at the hands of another, my family and friends will grieve for me and remember the good things about me, and they would accept it and in time, move on.They might be able to believe it was God’s will or that it was my time to go or whatever. If I kill myself, they will be heartbroken and will despise me forever. Will I know, when I’m gone whether they love or despise me or whether they ever did? I need a plan. I need to decide when and where and how. I need to clean house, put what’s left of my life in order. I don’t want to leave a mess behind. I need to find homes for the girls. I’ve heard of people killing themselves and killing their pets too but I couldn’t do that. They don’t deserve that. They can bring joy and comfort to someone else, like they have to me…if only it was enough. Do I have enough insurance to pay for a funeral? Imagining a funeral brings up a whole lot of other problems. Maybe it would be best if I just went missing and my body was never found. Would that be more or less cruel to my mother? Not to have a body to bury. But if I die here, someone has to find me here. Someone, most likely, from work. Which shift, which officers? Which dispatchers would be working? How can I possibly think of doing that to them? I don’t show up to work one day and I don’t answer my phone. How long do they wait before they come over, force entry? How could I do that to my friends? Who would notify my mother, my mother who loves me more than life. My father, my sweet father. My brother and his wife. My nieces and nephew. The rest of my family, friends. Who would post on my Facebook? I think about each of these people. Imagine every individual reaction. Force myself to imagine the misery caused by ME. All because I couldn’t hold on another day. Couldn’t find something to laugh at. Something to be grateful for. Something to get out of bed for. Something to live for. But there they were, all along.
I may kill myself one day. But it won’t be today. Not as long as I have people to love and people who love me. Not as long as I can find something to laugh at. Something to be grateful for. Something to get out of bed for. Something to live for. And maybe it’s just the Prozac talking, but I think there will always be something. 🙂
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
1 (800) 273-8255 US only