I may write a few more posts before I leave, but it depends on what I want to say.
Right now, in this moment, my plan is coming together and I feel relief at last that I'm in control of my own fate. No more empty promises, raising my hopes. No more pain. Everything feels sad, obviously. But it also feels calm, quiet, and subdued. I think my problem was finding the right method and getting hold of what I needed. So I thank everyone here (and of course Stan) for that. It's strange that this is the only place I felt any compassion. Everyone is a stranger yet I know people here only want peace for me. I can't say that for anyone in my life.
I just wanted to say that, if someone - and I mean anyone at all - comes to you expressing suicidal ideation, please don't tell them that they're 'using' the 'issue' of suicide in an 'aggressive way'. Don't tell them they're just making 'threats'. Don't make light of it. It's soul-destroying. Believe me when I say those words can kill. The effect they have on the person is so insidious and pervasive. It will consume their every thought. Every time they consider reaching out, trying someone else who may offer support instead, they'll hear those words.
Those words made me feel like the most worthless person in the world. They made me feel like a fool, and they came from a psychiatrist. When will they learn that their words hold meaning, and no matter how 'sensitive' I am, stop being so cruel.
My 22nd birthday is on February 11th. I won't be seeing it. There aren't enough happy endings to go round. Then again, nothing about my life resembles a 'story'. There's no direction or purpose to it. I've just fumbled my way through, oblivious and lost, hurting so much. I'm not saying I've had the most brutal life - far from it. But it's been enough to grind me down.
There have been a few occasions where I've tried to say how I feel to someone. But as soon as I get the sense that they want to reason with me, argue against my rationale or push back, I stop myself. I'm not looking for a discussion. I just want to show that I've thought about it. It's not impulsive. It makes sense.
To anyone else who is hurting, I believe you, and I don't think for one second that your expression of your pain, verbal or otherwise, is part of any manipulation or game. And I'm so sorry if that accusation has been levelled against you. I'm sorry that your cry for help was so brutally silenced.
I was made to feel like, and even told, that the reason I was saying I want to kill myself is because I wanted to use it against professionals and the NHS trust I was at. I don't need to tell all of you that my wanting to die has nothing to do with 'punishing' them, when in reality I'm acutely aware that, alive or dead, it really makes no difference.
I wasn't sure whether or not to name places or people, but the plus side of the NHS mental health services and their general lack of attentiveness is that it will never be discovered.
I just want to say that, despite what Dr Jonathan Bindman wrote about me, I wasn't seeking retribution, or using suicide as a weapon. His words haunted me every day. And every person I saw after him was just a continuation of his ridicule. It doesn't matter if one person is nice after that, or even two. Everything he said about me, he said it as if he was speaking universally held beliefs about me. And I can't shake that feeling.
It's been even worse lately. I can't sleep. I'm so tired but I can't sleep. I hate this world and I hate every inch of me. I don't think I'll ever have the words to describe what trying to exist is like, not necessarily because it's so hard, but because it's just incomprehensible to me. I just want to scream and shout.
I think I even scare myself by how much I change in front of people. But it just happens. I go into autopilot mode. I need to get dressed but the decisions overwhelm me. When I come round to it I think intensely about it. What clothes will make me look respectable so that they help me? Is this jumper likeable? Does the colour coordination give the misleading impression that I'm not unravelling? What they see as functioning is desperation. I'm shouting: 'PLEASE HELP. PRETTY PLEASE.' But then they say they can only go off of what you say. Which is strange because they rid an awful lot in to how you dress. And when I have said in the past 'I want to kill myself' I got told I was weaponising the issue. The reality is, friends, that there are some types of people whose pain is more believable, more important. It's a hard pill to swallow. But whilst your world is imploding, the real one keeps on spinning and it won't wait.
But I've accepted that and I'm freeing myself. The words on this screen don't do my experiences justice, they can't ever accurately reflect what I'm feeling, but it's all I have left. It's the only record that there will be, entirely in my own words, not professionals, not family, not strangers. My own words. And nobody can take that away.
I think I wrote a previous post saying goodbye when I had a dip. This time is different. I don't have the energy to explain how or why. But that's the point. I was hysterical and restless before. Now I feel nothing. My thoughts are so clear. Even though I've decided on the SN method, and I'm waiting for the delivery, I can't stop picturing myself jumping in front of a train, slitting my wrists. I keep having these vivid dreams of falling and being impaled. It's cartoonish and surreal like a Wes Anderson film…strange. But it's also deeply unpleasant.
My head has become an cesspit and I can't make it stop. I don't often feel out of control of my own mind, but I find myself slapping my head repeatedly in frustration. Where is the relief? Where is the respite? It's not fucking coming. And I'm such a stupid, stupid person for thinking it ever was.
I just want people to know that I get it now. I've always had this feeling that I'm eternally damned. Like I did something wrong that everybody else knows about but I don't. I don't mean it in a self-pitying way. I mean it quite literally.
This is another thing. I say what I mean, but people (and as an Autistic person I think neurotypical people are most like this) see your sincerity as insincere. How can I ever be heard or believed like that? When I'm upfront about my feelings, the forwardness of it makes them disbelieve you. They think you should be stumbling all over your words if you really feel a certain way. I can't communicate in this world. However hard I try I'm never on the same page as people and it's so lonely.
Be gentle with yourselves and others.
Right now, in this moment, my plan is coming together and I feel relief at last that I'm in control of my own fate. No more empty promises, raising my hopes. No more pain. Everything feels sad, obviously. But it also feels calm, quiet, and subdued. I think my problem was finding the right method and getting hold of what I needed. So I thank everyone here (and of course Stan) for that. It's strange that this is the only place I felt any compassion. Everyone is a stranger yet I know people here only want peace for me. I can't say that for anyone in my life.
I just wanted to say that, if someone - and I mean anyone at all - comes to you expressing suicidal ideation, please don't tell them that they're 'using' the 'issue' of suicide in an 'aggressive way'. Don't tell them they're just making 'threats'. Don't make light of it. It's soul-destroying. Believe me when I say those words can kill. The effect they have on the person is so insidious and pervasive. It will consume their every thought. Every time they consider reaching out, trying someone else who may offer support instead, they'll hear those words.
Those words made me feel like the most worthless person in the world. They made me feel like a fool, and they came from a psychiatrist. When will they learn that their words hold meaning, and no matter how 'sensitive' I am, stop being so cruel.
My 22nd birthday is on February 11th. I won't be seeing it. There aren't enough happy endings to go round. Then again, nothing about my life resembles a 'story'. There's no direction or purpose to it. I've just fumbled my way through, oblivious and lost, hurting so much. I'm not saying I've had the most brutal life - far from it. But it's been enough to grind me down.
There have been a few occasions where I've tried to say how I feel to someone. But as soon as I get the sense that they want to reason with me, argue against my rationale or push back, I stop myself. I'm not looking for a discussion. I just want to show that I've thought about it. It's not impulsive. It makes sense.
To anyone else who is hurting, I believe you, and I don't think for one second that your expression of your pain, verbal or otherwise, is part of any manipulation or game. And I'm so sorry if that accusation has been levelled against you. I'm sorry that your cry for help was so brutally silenced.
I was made to feel like, and even told, that the reason I was saying I want to kill myself is because I wanted to use it against professionals and the NHS trust I was at. I don't need to tell all of you that my wanting to die has nothing to do with 'punishing' them, when in reality I'm acutely aware that, alive or dead, it really makes no difference.
I wasn't sure whether or not to name places or people, but the plus side of the NHS mental health services and their general lack of attentiveness is that it will never be discovered.
I just want to say that, despite what Dr Jonathan Bindman wrote about me, I wasn't seeking retribution, or using suicide as a weapon. His words haunted me every day. And every person I saw after him was just a continuation of his ridicule. It doesn't matter if one person is nice after that, or even two. Everything he said about me, he said it as if he was speaking universally held beliefs about me. And I can't shake that feeling.
It's been even worse lately. I can't sleep. I'm so tired but I can't sleep. I hate this world and I hate every inch of me. I don't think I'll ever have the words to describe what trying to exist is like, not necessarily because it's so hard, but because it's just incomprehensible to me. I just want to scream and shout.
I think I even scare myself by how much I change in front of people. But it just happens. I go into autopilot mode. I need to get dressed but the decisions overwhelm me. When I come round to it I think intensely about it. What clothes will make me look respectable so that they help me? Is this jumper likeable? Does the colour coordination give the misleading impression that I'm not unravelling? What they see as functioning is desperation. I'm shouting: 'PLEASE HELP. PRETTY PLEASE.' But then they say they can only go off of what you say. Which is strange because they rid an awful lot in to how you dress. And when I have said in the past 'I want to kill myself' I got told I was weaponising the issue. The reality is, friends, that there are some types of people whose pain is more believable, more important. It's a hard pill to swallow. But whilst your world is imploding, the real one keeps on spinning and it won't wait.
But I've accepted that and I'm freeing myself. The words on this screen don't do my experiences justice, they can't ever accurately reflect what I'm feeling, but it's all I have left. It's the only record that there will be, entirely in my own words, not professionals, not family, not strangers. My own words. And nobody can take that away.
I think I wrote a previous post saying goodbye when I had a dip. This time is different. I don't have the energy to explain how or why. But that's the point. I was hysterical and restless before. Now I feel nothing. My thoughts are so clear. Even though I've decided on the SN method, and I'm waiting for the delivery, I can't stop picturing myself jumping in front of a train, slitting my wrists. I keep having these vivid dreams of falling and being impaled. It's cartoonish and surreal like a Wes Anderson film…strange. But it's also deeply unpleasant.
My head has become an cesspit and I can't make it stop. I don't often feel out of control of my own mind, but I find myself slapping my head repeatedly in frustration. Where is the relief? Where is the respite? It's not fucking coming. And I'm such a stupid, stupid person for thinking it ever was.
I just want people to know that I get it now. I've always had this feeling that I'm eternally damned. Like I did something wrong that everybody else knows about but I don't. I don't mean it in a self-pitying way. I mean it quite literally.
This is another thing. I say what I mean, but people (and as an Autistic person I think neurotypical people are most like this) see your sincerity as insincere. How can I ever be heard or believed like that? When I'm upfront about my feelings, the forwardness of it makes them disbelieve you. They think you should be stumbling all over your words if you really feel a certain way. I can't communicate in this world. However hard I try I'm never on the same page as people and it's so lonely.
Be gentle with yourselves and others.
