IWantToGoFast
Member
- Aug 2, 2021
- 59
Hello everyone,
It's been a decade now since I fell into depression, and it's been a journey I can tell you that. Not a happy one, but a downhill one with lessons that I can't make heads or tails of, complemented with grief, anger, sadness and occasionally a glimpse of hope in my own opinion triggered by SI. 2013 was a year of change; I was filled with adrenaline, I just decided I wanted to live, then and there sitting in the car. 5 minutes before I was trying to ram into a tree on a English country road, accelerating to 80 - 90 mph and then pulling out at the last minute; it would've been a nice accident, nobody would've known. Like any lost soul, I thought a radical change was in order and what do I do? I head for France, Aubagne, French Foreign Legion. There I felt like I belonged, the days were tough, I wasn't in great physical shape but I passed all physical and medical tests with flying colours. Now there were the psychological / psychiatrical tests and the infamous "Interview" to pass. I was still freshly scarred by the events prior and I failed. I got my discharge letter and it all resumed to two words "Inapte Definitif". I belonged there with the fellas, sharing cigarette buds, always hungry from the intense physical exercises, sharing a meal together in the mess hall, in silence and friendship, simple things, but I felt alive, and now it all came to a stop, 2014.
I'm living life now the wrong way, tons of alcohol, prostitutes more than I can count (no STD thank f***), no drugs though, I always hated them I don't know why. No meaningful connection with anybody, no girlfriend, a few attempts but always stumbled onto the wrong person.
It's 2016 and I'm ready to give up again, searching on the internet how to die painlessly; top of the page Samaritans; I ring them; we talk; I'm told I can get help and in a few days I'm present at my GP (they start me on Citalopram) and from there I'm referred to a psychiatrist and I'm starting a recovery trip. A few weeks pass and I'm talking with this psychiatrist about suicidal ideation, suicide plans etc and she steps out under a pretext, the doors lock, a few minutes later the goons come in, there's no point in fighting back, they take me and now I'm in a psychiatric ward, the Looney Bin, all sorts of people there: some suicidal, some outright crazy, a mixed bucket of model citizens, I'm under Section 2 now. I still remember the screams at night, nobody was hurting them or anything but some were just pure crazy. The second night there I asked for sleeping pills (there is no shortage of meds there you just have to ask). Three nights pass now, and on the fourth day I'm told I'm getting moved to somewhere nicer, and it was nicer, but the staff were really incompetent. Inside I'm a mess. I'm on one to one now, there is always somebody with me, 24/7, no materials for suicide, not many opportunities. The meds started (Carbamazepine, Clonazepam, Venlafaxine, Aripiprazole, Fluoxetine, Duloxetine etc), all in all 7 medication schemes over my 2 year recovery period. Any way lets get back to the story: 2 weeks pass and I'm getting sick of it, there was a female nurse watching me one day, I decided to take a shower, there was no door to the bathroom just a curtain and I pulled it shut; the nurse comes and opens it, I feel really uncomfortable, because I'm quite shy, I pull it shut again and I'm telling her to leave it like that, 20 seconds later she comes back and opens it again, I pull it shut again and then she opens it again; I get mad and I tell her if she wants to come into the shower and observe everything from there, she gets the hint and leaves me alone for 2 minutes to finish my shower. I said to myself there and then, that I'll commit suicide at the first opportunity. They had different childish activities in that place, and one of them was colouring and drawing, they used rubber pens and markers but the pencils were from wood; I'll steal one and stab myself in the neck, I said. The only problem was that we got searched often and there was a chance they'll find it before the deed was done, and I decided to participate in the colouring class just before my consultant psychiatrist weekly meeting. I managed to steal a pencil, and now I'm in front of the psychiatric commission and the first thing he says it's the shower episode that happened days before, and that I shouldn't be rude to staff, they can press charges etc, etc. I interrupt him, I tell him to look into my eyes, I tell him his incompetent and none of them have the slightest clue on how to relate to people, they can all f*** themselves, I get the pencil out, I pause for a second ..., I'm full of fear ... I take a deep breath and an instant later I'm calm as a cucumber, I close my eyes, I feel my jugular pulsating, I aim for that point and strike with all my might. I just feel a sting, and I realise the pencil broke, I open my eyes and I'm looking at it in disbelief, but it's still sharp, all the people in the commission are backed against a wall with terror in their eyes, yelling help, help he's got a knife. The male nurses outside storm the room and try to take me down and get ahold of the pencil, I'm not going down without a fight this time, there's two of them, I kick the first one on the inside of the calf he loses balance, I hit him behind the knee and he goes down flat on the ground(by the way if that person reads this, small chances tough, for what it's worth I'm sorry), I yell "Stay back at the other one", he keeps his distance. I'm looking at the pencil, and I feel calm again, I'm looking at the commission and stab myself again in the neck twice. No effect, the pencil broke again and now it was useless. I stop, and said "I'm all yours now boys, f*** all of you" and tears started flooding from my eyes. (don't try stabbing yourself with pens, pencils etc they don't work). That afternoon I was transferred to a better security ward and hospital, after receiving medical attention for two decent size bruises and a few splinters in the neck. The staff there were better, more professional and compassionate although the place wasn't as clean or as posh as the previous one. By this time my brother finds out about all these things and promises to help me; if I knew then what I know now, that all would be for nothing, I would've tried again then. There I started some sort of more realistic recovery, I got a Section 17 leave, minutes in the day unescorted, I felt human again. I'm on my best behaviour, and I'm out of hospital, two growling months and some days later but I'm out. It's time to fix what can be fixed, so I go private: private psychologist, private psychiatrist, they help a little, expensive tough, savings fly out the window. I start going to Uni and working at the same time, got in debt but I engage with people and it feels good for a while, I think it's worth it. I'm living with my brother and his wife at this time, paying rent doing my chores around the house etc. I started to believe the stories that I heard so many times from psychologists and psychiatrists: that it gets better with time, just hang in there. I didn't realise that my presence in my brother's house was causing friction between them, I mean she wasn't the happiest of bunnies, but I didn't expect it to be that bad, because we never had a fight or anything.
One day out of the blue in late 2019 while I was on my way to work my brother calls me and says: you need to move, (I was thinking the same thing I just needed a month). I said OK, I'll move, I need a month. He said as quick as you can. I said ok, and asked him if he could help me move because I had a smaller car at the time and he had a bigger one so we don't make that many trips, he said yes I'll help. Two days later I find a place (far from ideal, I didn't want to stay with them any anylonger) and get ready to move, a friend of mine comes to help, but my brother doesn't, invoking a bs reason, I don't see him that day. There are no words to express the betrayal that I felt. Anyway things are getting colder between us, he keeps calling and one day pulls me on why I don't call back. I said you stabbed me in the back, I trusted you, I was in a dark place; the only reason why I decided to come out was your promise of help. I said, I always been there for you, to the end, I never helped you half way, and if you started having arguments because of me, you should've told me when they started, the situation could have been managed better, and that was that.
Even now that I'm reflecting back to that situation, I can't make sense of it, what a jerk! my own brother, my own sister in law (jealousy maybe). I think that is why I felt so lonely all the time because I never had somebody truly besides me, be it family or stranger. That thought creeping in, I go on a downward spiral, all my hopes went down the drain and I realise the futility of all I have accomplished thus far. The emptiness got ahold of me, but now it comes with anxiety, anger; December 2020 I planned to ctb but chickened out, and when I say this I mean an intense fear of death mixed with anger. The first months of 2021 until June all contained birthdays of family members, so I didn't want to inflict unnecessary pain. I spent time in meditation trying to forgive my brother, so when I go I won't go angry at least.
Sometimes I think this is my own personal hell, tailored made just for me, that knows exactly which buttons to push to make me suffer and then forbidding me to escape it via SI and fear of death (metaphor). I now understand the screams in my first psychiatric ward, screams born from pain that drove people crazy, I tried to scream my pain away, the same beastly sound I have heard years ago (metaphor).
I hope I'll find that tranquility of mind that hit me before I tried to stab myself in the neck while in the psych ward. That was one of the best feelings I ever had, I was in control, and I was ready to let go. The other day I found my sweet spot practising with partial, I fell unconscious. I put the noose around my neck, trying different positions, and in one position (rope towards the base of the neck, coming up at a shallow angle) I just leaned into it, not a lot of weight and I felt my self slipping, SI kicked in and in an instant I took the noose from around my neck, but as soon as I released it I blacked out for a short period, finding myself on the floor.
I think I'm close to ctb.
The fear of death slowly fades away again.
As I'm nothing now, I felt like leaving something behind in the nothingness of cyberspace. A few bits here and there of what I was.
I think that partial gives me control until the last second, and when death finally smiles on me I want to smile back like I would smile to an old friend.
Such was my journey, and now I hope it ends, because I'm tired of everything.
I'll attach a few heirlooms of my journey, and my noose design, almost zero friction.
It's been a decade now since I fell into depression, and it's been a journey I can tell you that. Not a happy one, but a downhill one with lessons that I can't make heads or tails of, complemented with grief, anger, sadness and occasionally a glimpse of hope in my own opinion triggered by SI. 2013 was a year of change; I was filled with adrenaline, I just decided I wanted to live, then and there sitting in the car. 5 minutes before I was trying to ram into a tree on a English country road, accelerating to 80 - 90 mph and then pulling out at the last minute; it would've been a nice accident, nobody would've known. Like any lost soul, I thought a radical change was in order and what do I do? I head for France, Aubagne, French Foreign Legion. There I felt like I belonged, the days were tough, I wasn't in great physical shape but I passed all physical and medical tests with flying colours. Now there were the psychological / psychiatrical tests and the infamous "Interview" to pass. I was still freshly scarred by the events prior and I failed. I got my discharge letter and it all resumed to two words "Inapte Definitif". I belonged there with the fellas, sharing cigarette buds, always hungry from the intense physical exercises, sharing a meal together in the mess hall, in silence and friendship, simple things, but I felt alive, and now it all came to a stop, 2014.
I'm living life now the wrong way, tons of alcohol, prostitutes more than I can count (no STD thank f***), no drugs though, I always hated them I don't know why. No meaningful connection with anybody, no girlfriend, a few attempts but always stumbled onto the wrong person.
It's 2016 and I'm ready to give up again, searching on the internet how to die painlessly; top of the page Samaritans; I ring them; we talk; I'm told I can get help and in a few days I'm present at my GP (they start me on Citalopram) and from there I'm referred to a psychiatrist and I'm starting a recovery trip. A few weeks pass and I'm talking with this psychiatrist about suicidal ideation, suicide plans etc and she steps out under a pretext, the doors lock, a few minutes later the goons come in, there's no point in fighting back, they take me and now I'm in a psychiatric ward, the Looney Bin, all sorts of people there: some suicidal, some outright crazy, a mixed bucket of model citizens, I'm under Section 2 now. I still remember the screams at night, nobody was hurting them or anything but some were just pure crazy. The second night there I asked for sleeping pills (there is no shortage of meds there you just have to ask). Three nights pass now, and on the fourth day I'm told I'm getting moved to somewhere nicer, and it was nicer, but the staff were really incompetent. Inside I'm a mess. I'm on one to one now, there is always somebody with me, 24/7, no materials for suicide, not many opportunities. The meds started (Carbamazepine, Clonazepam, Venlafaxine, Aripiprazole, Fluoxetine, Duloxetine etc), all in all 7 medication schemes over my 2 year recovery period. Any way lets get back to the story: 2 weeks pass and I'm getting sick of it, there was a female nurse watching me one day, I decided to take a shower, there was no door to the bathroom just a curtain and I pulled it shut; the nurse comes and opens it, I feel really uncomfortable, because I'm quite shy, I pull it shut again and I'm telling her to leave it like that, 20 seconds later she comes back and opens it again, I pull it shut again and then she opens it again; I get mad and I tell her if she wants to come into the shower and observe everything from there, she gets the hint and leaves me alone for 2 minutes to finish my shower. I said to myself there and then, that I'll commit suicide at the first opportunity. They had different childish activities in that place, and one of them was colouring and drawing, they used rubber pens and markers but the pencils were from wood; I'll steal one and stab myself in the neck, I said. The only problem was that we got searched often and there was a chance they'll find it before the deed was done, and I decided to participate in the colouring class just before my consultant psychiatrist weekly meeting. I managed to steal a pencil, and now I'm in front of the psychiatric commission and the first thing he says it's the shower episode that happened days before, and that I shouldn't be rude to staff, they can press charges etc, etc. I interrupt him, I tell him to look into my eyes, I tell him his incompetent and none of them have the slightest clue on how to relate to people, they can all f*** themselves, I get the pencil out, I pause for a second ..., I'm full of fear ... I take a deep breath and an instant later I'm calm as a cucumber, I close my eyes, I feel my jugular pulsating, I aim for that point and strike with all my might. I just feel a sting, and I realise the pencil broke, I open my eyes and I'm looking at it in disbelief, but it's still sharp, all the people in the commission are backed against a wall with terror in their eyes, yelling help, help he's got a knife. The male nurses outside storm the room and try to take me down and get ahold of the pencil, I'm not going down without a fight this time, there's two of them, I kick the first one on the inside of the calf he loses balance, I hit him behind the knee and he goes down flat on the ground(by the way if that person reads this, small chances tough, for what it's worth I'm sorry), I yell "Stay back at the other one", he keeps his distance. I'm looking at the pencil, and I feel calm again, I'm looking at the commission and stab myself again in the neck twice. No effect, the pencil broke again and now it was useless. I stop, and said "I'm all yours now boys, f*** all of you" and tears started flooding from my eyes. (don't try stabbing yourself with pens, pencils etc they don't work). That afternoon I was transferred to a better security ward and hospital, after receiving medical attention for two decent size bruises and a few splinters in the neck. The staff there were better, more professional and compassionate although the place wasn't as clean or as posh as the previous one. By this time my brother finds out about all these things and promises to help me; if I knew then what I know now, that all would be for nothing, I would've tried again then. There I started some sort of more realistic recovery, I got a Section 17 leave, minutes in the day unescorted, I felt human again. I'm on my best behaviour, and I'm out of hospital, two growling months and some days later but I'm out. It's time to fix what can be fixed, so I go private: private psychologist, private psychiatrist, they help a little, expensive tough, savings fly out the window. I start going to Uni and working at the same time, got in debt but I engage with people and it feels good for a while, I think it's worth it. I'm living with my brother and his wife at this time, paying rent doing my chores around the house etc. I started to believe the stories that I heard so many times from psychologists and psychiatrists: that it gets better with time, just hang in there. I didn't realise that my presence in my brother's house was causing friction between them, I mean she wasn't the happiest of bunnies, but I didn't expect it to be that bad, because we never had a fight or anything.
One day out of the blue in late 2019 while I was on my way to work my brother calls me and says: you need to move, (I was thinking the same thing I just needed a month). I said OK, I'll move, I need a month. He said as quick as you can. I said ok, and asked him if he could help me move because I had a smaller car at the time and he had a bigger one so we don't make that many trips, he said yes I'll help. Two days later I find a place (far from ideal, I didn't want to stay with them any anylonger) and get ready to move, a friend of mine comes to help, but my brother doesn't, invoking a bs reason, I don't see him that day. There are no words to express the betrayal that I felt. Anyway things are getting colder between us, he keeps calling and one day pulls me on why I don't call back. I said you stabbed me in the back, I trusted you, I was in a dark place; the only reason why I decided to come out was your promise of help. I said, I always been there for you, to the end, I never helped you half way, and if you started having arguments because of me, you should've told me when they started, the situation could have been managed better, and that was that.
Even now that I'm reflecting back to that situation, I can't make sense of it, what a jerk! my own brother, my own sister in law (jealousy maybe). I think that is why I felt so lonely all the time because I never had somebody truly besides me, be it family or stranger. That thought creeping in, I go on a downward spiral, all my hopes went down the drain and I realise the futility of all I have accomplished thus far. The emptiness got ahold of me, but now it comes with anxiety, anger; December 2020 I planned to ctb but chickened out, and when I say this I mean an intense fear of death mixed with anger. The first months of 2021 until June all contained birthdays of family members, so I didn't want to inflict unnecessary pain. I spent time in meditation trying to forgive my brother, so when I go I won't go angry at least.
Sometimes I think this is my own personal hell, tailored made just for me, that knows exactly which buttons to push to make me suffer and then forbidding me to escape it via SI and fear of death (metaphor). I now understand the screams in my first psychiatric ward, screams born from pain that drove people crazy, I tried to scream my pain away, the same beastly sound I have heard years ago (metaphor).
I hope I'll find that tranquility of mind that hit me before I tried to stab myself in the neck while in the psych ward. That was one of the best feelings I ever had, I was in control, and I was ready to let go. The other day I found my sweet spot practising with partial, I fell unconscious. I put the noose around my neck, trying different positions, and in one position (rope towards the base of the neck, coming up at a shallow angle) I just leaned into it, not a lot of weight and I felt my self slipping, SI kicked in and in an instant I took the noose from around my neck, but as soon as I released it I blacked out for a short period, finding myself on the floor.
I think I'm close to ctb.
The fear of death slowly fades away again.
As I'm nothing now, I felt like leaving something behind in the nothingness of cyberspace. A few bits here and there of what I was.
I think that partial gives me control until the last second, and when death finally smiles on me I want to smile back like I would smile to an old friend.
Such was my journey, and now I hope it ends, because I'm tired of everything.
I'll attach a few heirlooms of my journey, and my noose design, almost zero friction.
