Category Archives: Shame

Suicidality

I am not suicidal and I have all the hotlines on speed dial.

But there are guns in the house I live in. They are locked up, and I don’t even know where the safes are. I only have access to a few days’ worth of my meds, and the rest are hidden away until Saturdays when I refill my pill boxes. But other people’s meds are out in the house where I could have access to them. Knives and sharps are not locked up.

All these facts go through my head as I try to convince myself I am in control, and suicide is just a thought.

But it’s not just a thought. It’s also the feeling of wanting death and nothingness and unconsciousness, not just so the pain will stop but also because it seems like the time has come for my life to end. Suicidal feelings are Munch’s “The Scream” – silent, yet horrific, as they tear through the deepest part of you. You are a bottomless pit of dark, dark, dark feelings that spiral down, a corkscrew that drives deeper and deeper into the center of you.

Suicidality includes the impulses to use various items against myself that roll through me like ocean waves, or that jolt me like electricity. The impulses usually include visions of me hurting and killing myself in multiple ways.

I’m ashamed of having these feelings, impulses and thoughts. When I’m not consumed by them. In the moment, they take over and are the only things I experience. Sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, thoughts do not exist, only suicidal thoughts, feelings, and impulses. As these become less intense – and they do! – I begin to feel shame and guilt, as though I want these suicidal experiences.

And then, if I am able to feel something else, I start to feel fear, and anxiety ramps up. So, from being overwhelmed by suicide’s thoughts and feelings, I first feel shame, guilt, fear and anxiety. How awful! And from this head- and feeling-space I then question myself: Who am I, that I seem to be consumed by thoughts of death and of killing myself? Who am I, that I come under suicide’s power and don’t even take in other stimuli? And why do I think/feel constantly that my life will end early, most likely at my own hand too?

Suicidality as I experience it is this horrible, horrible, awful experience that pulses through my every day. Some days the experience is less overwhelming and only lasts a few seconds and then passes. Most days the waves of feelings last for several minutes each hour. How can I keep living this way? Why is there no treatment for suicidality?

Not Just Grieving or Angry

I still have near constant suicidal thoughts as discussed in my last post. I’ve researched some possibilities to carry it out, and come to the same conclusion that my primary method is the best for me, AND I cannot do it because several methods are hidden from me by my family.

So there. I’m safe. Just miserable and wanting to end the misery. And the best way to end the misery seems to be to follow the thoughts’ plan.

My thoughts seem to say “I’m not fleeting. I’m persistent. Do it. Here’s a scenario.” Sometimes this repeats ad nauseum. Sometimes I can look with the self and notice that they are thoughts, and see that they are not coming from the Self. But even when I can create distance in this way, I do not know from whence the thoughts cometh. Arguably, from bipolar. The diseased part of the brain. Yet that is part of me. I can’t yet see bipolar as Other-Than-Me, when it comes from MY brain. How can I even distinguish diseased-brain from me-brain? My cognitive abilities are so hampered, even when my mood is in the middle, neither depressed nor manic. So much of ME is taken up by diseased-brain with all the cognitive jumble and lack of function I live with. It’s amazing I can even drive.

My thoughts also seem to say, “I hate this limping life. This is not the life we signed up for. I expected some good things, such as lasting relationships, an interesting career, and a developing/ed intellectual self. What is this hobbling along day-by-day, hour-by-shuffling-hour business?”

I’m grieving – Still! – the life I had and thought would continue. But it’s more than grief. I’m angry at being robbed of this life, but it’s more than anger. I’ve sat with these emotions and phases Multiple Times. Sometimes, like a few posts ago when I was signing up for college classes, I seem to have accepted, or at least embraced this limping, hobbling life bipolar has left for me, and made some good fortune happen.

When all is said and done, and I’m alone with my bipolar and suicidal thoughts, I Have Not Accepted that this is my life. I think that’s one reason why I want to end it. What else do you see in this mess? Help me.

Around the Cycle Goes

This week has been up and down and around as my mood, or more my thoughts, cycle through various mental phases.

I started the week with the ever popular Xmas delusion I get every year. Fortunately it lasted only several hours on Xmas Eve when I was in and out of touch with reality. My mood was still in the middle but dipping at times on Xmas Eve and Xmas Day.

Then December 26th, I was back! Mood perky and happy and optimistic. Mere fleeting thoughts of suicide (baseline for me to just have a few).

And then on the 27th, OCD thoughts kicked in and all I could tell myself was plans to kill me. All the time. And again I couldn’t talk about it or tell anyone until my NAMI support group meeting that night. Then I could articulate calling the ECT office to see if getting ECT earlier than scheduled might help. And I could note that I really needed to tell my mom about the OCD suicidal thoughts. And I was encouraged to contact my therapist, who did tell me to contact the ECT office and let them decide if I needed one.

You see, my mood was great! Stable, and in the middle. Not depressed. Not hypomanic. I just had obsessive, albeit dangerous, thoughts. I didn’t know if I would get to a point of having intent though.

When I called the ECT office today, the 28th, I thought the thoughts were less obsessive and therefore farther away from any intent. But later in the day they were just as obsessive and I worry about intent showing up. Or if obsession will finally give way to compulsion in OCD. It never has for me, but will there come a day that the pathology progresses?

My mood is still stable, happy, good, in the middle. It’s just my thoughts. I don’t want to kill myself, I just can’t stop holding it out as a possibility. Obsession. I suppose if I was worried enough, it would warrant a hospitalization. But, again, my mood is great! It’s just the obsessive thoughts.

Sigh.

I hate mental illness.

In a Dark Place Again

I’m of two minds again. One part of my mind wants to go on the trip to Chicago next week. I’ve got plans to do some fun things and to catch up with friends. In theory there are other trips I want to go on, and I still wonder about going back to school for a ph.d. some day (next year? ha! like my brain could do that). I’m also thinking about moving back to Chicago again where I’d be happier, as I discussed in my previous post.

But.

I’m in a dark place again thinking about suicide and imagining how I’d do it. My plan is clear, as it always is. So that’s not new. In fact none of this is new. I have sorted all my blog posts into topics for the book I’m writing about living with bipolar. So very often I have written about suicidal thoughts and how they keep after me, nipping at my heels on a constant basis. I have written of wondering if I should go to the hospital and how badly I am suffering in the pit of suicidal depression.

I’m in the pit again. I work the coping skills All.The.Time. I contact people. Now I even have my therapist in the pit with me, saying he will stay until it’s not a pit anymore or until he or I finds a way out that hasn’t been tried before. And he said he would tell me when it’s time to go the hospital. Both of these tactics are different from other providers who always left it up to me and kept telling me to work the skills as though things would be different this time. They never were. I would end up in the hospital as a cry for help instead of following through.

I hate the hospitals here. Nothing to do. Substandard care. Bad food. I miss my hospital in Chicago-area. Being as bad as I am, I would be more likely to go to the hospital in Chicago. Here in TX, I’m desperate to stay out. So much that I might push myself to do it, although I’d just end up in the hospital if I lived.

So morbid.

I’m ashamed of being this bad again. I know in my heart that it’s not something I’ve done. It’s something I live with. The thoughts pound against my skull. When I’m thinking about the trip, I know the suicidal thoughts are lies. But the next minute I’m sinking into despair.

Resistance

I completely resisted therapy today. I almost walked out even. Who know that probing my thought would lead to such resistance! The song in my head – well, the half line from a song – grew more insistent. I wanted to get up and walk out. I had answers in my head that I couldn’t talk myself into saying aloud. I tried to sidle up to my thought and I still couldn’t do it. Good grief! It was just a thought!

I don’t even know exactly what the thought was now. I think it was that I felt resigned that I would go into depression from this slightly depressed place, and that I would be a slave to moods forever. (I want to be manic or at least psychotic, or both. I’m annoyed by this depression. I don’t see stability coming any time soon, if ever.) My therapist had me give a mood, age and gender to the thought. So I decided the thought that I was resigned to being depressed and would be slave to my moods forever was frustrated and pissed off and scared, and that she looked like a 23-year-old me. I couldn’t figure out what she wanted me to say to her. I did figure out – but couldn’t say aloud – that she wanted me to hug her. What’s that about? The song in my head – excuse me, half line of a song – grew more insistent.

My therapist invited me to let whatever thought – including walking out – be accepted and heard so that we weren’t denying her feelings. He asked if the song was a sort of defense mechanism, albeit unconscious. I said maybe, made sense. I still didn’t want to talk.

I wish I could go back and not be resistant. But it was what it was. I’m trying to figure out what so much resistance was about. Part of it was that I didn’t want him to write in his notes about walking out or that I was resistant. What should I care what he writes? Besides, I was trying to mind read, and that doesn’t lead anywhere.

So now I’m supposed to put a hash mark down every time I don’t feel depressed. Just to see that I’m not depressed ALL the time, I guess. I can see through the assignments…

Broke Lady of Leisure

I can’t find anywhere to volunteer that floats my boat, so to speak. One I’m still waiting for the background check. The rest? Who knows. I RSVP’d to another postcard-writing event for one of the political candidates I’m supporting. I have a blood drive to attend next weekend.

Not a whole lot to do except Wait, and Self-Improvement. So I’m basically a Lady of Leisure right now. I read. I watch HBO shows I’ve recorded or funny late night  shows the day after they aired. I watch streaming shows like Orange Is the New Black’s new season. I read a lot more. I exercise. I go to spiritual direction, NAMI, and my therapist. Oh, and I have no money to spend, so it’s not like I’m at Starbucks (my ONLY local coffee place in 15 miles, WTF Texas!) or going shopping or ordering up meals from GrubHub to try some new places.

I guess I’m taking care of bipolar by self-improvement? The days run together though. I try to get outside the house everyday, but a day like today is a fail. I watched shows and read all day, except for the hour I exercised and took a shower. Oh, boy! The highlight of my day tomorrow is the color and cut at my new salon – waaaay cheaper than my last salon. I suppose that would be the highlight for most women though. Getting a fresh ‘do is always good self-care.

I would have thought spending my time in meaningful pursuits was a better way to use my time as a disabled person than simply doing things for myself. My mood is stable again, thank goodness! It would be a good time to make the world a better place, I thought. Instead I’m stymied in that department. So I’m stuck with leisure, and I’m making the best of it by exercising my brain with challenging subjects to read – nonfiction and controversial-contemporary fiction. And appointments that give insight to my current struggles.

I’m trying not to be bored – another reason to volunteer. But good grief! Without money to spend, I’m not liking the lady of leisure lifestyle very much. And even with money, how could I be so selfish as to spend so much on me? I’m a little ashamed that I have so much free time and not a lot worthwhile to say I did with the time. I know I can’t hold a job. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to hold volunteer jobs and failed miserably too. It’s hard when my moods have been so variable and hospitalizations have been so frequent. I hate calling in to say I can’t be there just because of a mental health reason that crops up more than a cold or flu might.

How I spend my time troubles me. That so much depends on my mood troubles me more.

 

Reflections #12

Almost there! Just today and tomorrow in the quest to see what I’m thinking in this either very full, racing brain, or a very-empty-until-I-put-in-a-prompt brain.

My mood is still stable, thank goodness. I’m loving my new cocktail! I’m actually happy most of the time. I’m pretty sure that one of my meds is overkill though. I hope the next psychiatrist nixes it.

I drove on a lot of unfamiliar roads today to get my parents’ cat to an imaging center for a radioactive thyroid scan. The scan is a precursor to next week’s radioactive treatment to cure hyperthyroidism. He doesn’t take the medicine well, chasing him all over just to rub his ear for 10 seconds, twice a day, even with a reward of fresh baked chicken each time. So my family is paying a lot to get the treatment. He’s old at 14, but in ok health. Might have an inflamed bowel that is causing his vomiting instead of the thyroid. Treatment for that??? You guessed it! Daily medicine. Sigh. I hate being recruited to help grab him, since my family can’t give my cat another hoot. And that cat doesn’t like me anyway.

I finally called again at the refugee agency where I want to volunteer. I had to leave another message. I hope this time I get a call back.

I did some art therapy today. This time it was a picture of my inner and outer life. My inner life is full of desire and want – a busy life, meaningful activities, a relationship. My outer life is like calm waters – a calm demeanor, the appearance of nothing going on – compared to the large, rough waves of my inner life. I think it’s an accurate depiction. How do you draw desire though? I tried.

I finished Ta-Nehisi Coates’ Between the World And Me. Very excellent book. So much about how black people’s bodies are so vulnerable because of people who like to think of themselves as white’s culture that is built on the bodies of black Americans – ghettos, redlined housing districts, police brutality, just to name a few. I knew about this, and Coates explained in a clear way. This racist’s eyes are more open again. How can I help change the culture?

The Handmaid’s Tale is also finished, with a good cliffhanger at the end. I won’t spoil the ending in case you are watching it. The last episode dropped today, and now there won’t be any until when? Anybody know? Is it a summer series?