
Shades of Grey
Student
- Jun 17, 2020
- 183
I've posted before about trying to stick it out until my ancient cat dies to avoid disrupting what is left of his time here. (It's coming.) I reached the point where I couldn't do it anymore. Had a relative drive up for distraction purposes. It didn't work. I just kept waiting for them to go to sleep so I could end it. Knew it would traumatize this person to find me dead in the garage the next morning, so I drove to the ER instead.
I've been in a psychiatric hospital for almost a week now, and have realized without question that it is time for all of this to end. That I can't keep putting it off for others. My birthday is approaching in a couple of weeks. While I've always liked the idea of halving the number of anniversaries others have to contend with, I'm not even sure I have it in me to wait that long.
I am surrounded by all of these wonderful people who still have it in them to try, and I just don't see the point. At all. I don't want to start over. Fuck my dead career that I gave up everything for, my irretrievably broken brain, every door that I've ever closed. They ask me what I want, and the only thing that comes to mind is euthanasia. Because ultimately, that's what this is. Literally the only thing I want is for someone to tell me that they know that I tried; and that after all these decades, all these failed treatments, it's finally okay to stop.
This is psychiatric cancer, and it is terminal. No amount of mindfulness, meditation, snapping rubber bands, or squeezing fucking ice is going to do a damn thing about an inoperable face-eating tumor... and it's not going to fix this either. It just isn't. But unlike the face-eating tumor, nobody seems willing to acknowledge this elephant in the room. That not everybody gets "better". That "better" is a relative term; that what might be a tenable existence for you may not be for me (and vice versa).
I think it is barbaric that we don't offer people humane options when medicine fails, largely because it may offend someone's religious sensibilities that I do not share. I'm glad that when his time comes, my cat's departure will be quick, painless, definitive, and humane. I hate that mine may take the better part of a day, and if I am interrupted or it should otherwise fail, leave me permanently damaged, burdensome, and unable to finish the job.
I have actively wanted to die almost every single day for twenty years. At this point, it feels so incredibly fucking patronizing and dismissive to have to listen to the same fucking platitudes about this being "the depression talking". At what point does the etiology cease to matter?
Just rambling, I guess... all the stuff I can't share here if I ever want to get out.
I've been in a psychiatric hospital for almost a week now, and have realized without question that it is time for all of this to end. That I can't keep putting it off for others. My birthday is approaching in a couple of weeks. While I've always liked the idea of halving the number of anniversaries others have to contend with, I'm not even sure I have it in me to wait that long.
I am surrounded by all of these wonderful people who still have it in them to try, and I just don't see the point. At all. I don't want to start over. Fuck my dead career that I gave up everything for, my irretrievably broken brain, every door that I've ever closed. They ask me what I want, and the only thing that comes to mind is euthanasia. Because ultimately, that's what this is. Literally the only thing I want is for someone to tell me that they know that I tried; and that after all these decades, all these failed treatments, it's finally okay to stop.
This is psychiatric cancer, and it is terminal. No amount of mindfulness, meditation, snapping rubber bands, or squeezing fucking ice is going to do a damn thing about an inoperable face-eating tumor... and it's not going to fix this either. It just isn't. But unlike the face-eating tumor, nobody seems willing to acknowledge this elephant in the room. That not everybody gets "better". That "better" is a relative term; that what might be a tenable existence for you may not be for me (and vice versa).
I think it is barbaric that we don't offer people humane options when medicine fails, largely because it may offend someone's religious sensibilities that I do not share. I'm glad that when his time comes, my cat's departure will be quick, painless, definitive, and humane. I hate that mine may take the better part of a day, and if I am interrupted or it should otherwise fail, leave me permanently damaged, burdensome, and unable to finish the job.
I have actively wanted to die almost every single day for twenty years. At this point, it feels so incredibly fucking patronizing and dismissive to have to listen to the same fucking platitudes about this being "the depression talking". At what point does the etiology cease to matter?
Just rambling, I guess... all the stuff I can't share here if I ever want to get out.