Some people have bad days. Some people have bad weeks or months. Some even have bad years. And then there are those of us who, for whatever reason, just have bad lives. Where everything that could go wrong, does. This is just my story, a piece of my mind to leave behind.
I've always found ways to numb the pain, or make it go away all together. The sins of my parents left gaping wounds that not even decades of therapy, and psychiatric medications could heal. When I was younger - I'm talking ages 16 to well, I guess up until I gained weight and wouldn't leave the house, I used sex. I slept with more women than I can even remember. I slept with a couple men too (I loved them both...one was a long time friend and the sex sucked because we had no chemistry, and the other was someone who is still in my life because we truly had a bond, and chemistry and friendship- although the sex ended 7 years ago, we are still very close friends), but what I've realized about men is that when I sleep with them it's simply an act of using them physically the way men use women - as sex objects. The way I was always used by the men in my life. I only cared about one (the one I mentioned above), we are still friends, in fact- close friends. We used each other and were both ok with that. Men are useless to me. I don't need them for sex, or sperm, or emotional support, etc. With women I let them use me. I didn't let them touch me, or do anything for me. I paid for everything, and I performed everything. And I NEVER stayed the night. I'm not saying I respected all, or most of them - if they would sleep with me on the first night, or the first week, then no.... why should I? I needed the power to convince them that I was SO good looking that I was worth having sex with. I needed them to let me please them, so I could feel their vulnerability. No doubt this came from my childhood; feeling so incredibly used, neglected and abused. In my 20's I was incapable of loving anyone or letting anyone close to me. I could not be vulnerable in any way. I was verbally abusive, and controlling, and cruel to a lot of people, just as I'd been raised to be - just like my father has always been. I liked to fight. I was arrested when I was 23 for battery and even though jail actually felt safe to me, I knew I didn't want to be there forever, so that's when I decided to get help for my anger, and I continued to see that same therapist for the next 10 years. But little changed. I guess there are people who get over trauma and people who don't. I'm 37 years old and I haven't gotten over anything; I'm generally filled with disgust for people and life. People would never know it. I spend my time helping animals and that is the ONLY thing that gives me any sort of satisfaction. I also try to do advocacy work for Gays and Lesbians, but dogs are what get me up in the morning, and what keep me from taking my life, and most of the time they are what numb my pain... them and pills. I am my mother's daughter. I take pills that are prescribed my by shrink (Did I mention I have debilitating anxiety that causes depersonalization disorder and major depressive disorder? Did I mention it is living hell?). Most of the time they make me sleepy and that's what I like. I want to just sleep through life, even though I cry from the guilt because I feel I should be spending more time with my dogs. I'll take any pills that will help me sleep. Everyday is a struggle.... every day I'm in pain and this did not happen recently. This has been going on for DECADES. Since about the age of 5, life has been a shit fest.
Anyway, back to the pills.... I will take anything that will stop the nightmares from the past, that will stop the anxiety, and the shadow of myself that follows me around behind my left shoulder. I will take anything to sleep. I will take anything to not feel the pain of regret. And I will take anything to FORGET the beautiful past life I had as a 911 Paramedic. When I became unable to work due to physical and mental illness, I became someone else. I stopped being me, literally. Something inside my brain changed permanently. I lost everything. Everything I had worked so fucking hard for. I lost my amazing house (I had to sell it). I lost my independence, and freedom. I lost the ability to do ANYTHING without my Dad looking over my shoulder since I had to move in with my parents. I take pills to numb that too. I miss working so much that the pain nearly strangles me. I can't watch TV b/c if I see an ambulance it brings me one step closer to hanging myself. Right now things are especially bad.... my Jeep has been broken down for months and I don't have the money to fix it, so I've lost the freedom to drive when and where I want. Trying to provide for my dogs and cat (Vet bills and food) and myself on an SS check and pay my Dad rent is nearly impossible and it's killing me. Everything I want is something I can't have. I have 2 pairs of shorts and 3 shirts from Wal-Mart. It's so humiliating when the only thing you can afford is from Wal-Mart.... My glasses are the wrong prescription and have duct tape on them (and have for years) because I can't afford to go to the eye doctor. My teeth are starting to rot because I haven't been able to afford to go to the dentist since I lost my insurance a few years ago. I can't afford the things I NEED, let alone anything I want. I don't get to buy myself anything. And you have people out here speaking so hatefully about poor people as if this is what I wanted, as if this is what I dreamed about... I busted my ass to make a GREAT career for myself, I bought my own house with NO HELP or support from my parents or anyone else. It's NOT my fault I have a mental illness that even with medication I can't always control. It's NOT my fault I can't work anymore.... when I'm on my meds I can't remember things, I can't hold still, I have trouble thinking, and when I'm off my meds it's dangerous - terrifying fear, anxiety, or depression, any one of the three can kill you, or make you kill yourself. So no, I DON'T WANT THIS BULLSHIT LIFE. I DON'T WANT TO BE POOR. It's NOT because I'm lazy and don't want to work.... ALL I want to do is work!! It fucking KILLS me that I'm not working anymore. So think about that the next time you or someone you know is talking shit about people who don't work and receive government assistance. I'd rather be DEAD - you can keep the tiny bit of money they give me each month.
I wish I liked alcohol, or weed... unfortunately I hate both. And I refuse to try any other drugs because I'm afraid I would get addicted and leave my dogs or do some crazy shit that people do on the seriously illicit drugs. So for now, it's pills, and sleep, and my dogs.... and writing.
I just hope I never accidentally OD because I don't know what would happen to my dogs. That's why I constantly think about finding a way to take us all out together.... they can't go to a shelter, they have special needs, they can't stay with my parents (I'd rather them be put down before that happens because my father is physically abusive to anyone weaker or smaller than him) so there is no where for them to go... and THAT is something I can't handle. I have control over SO LITTLE in my life. I want control over the fate of my dogs, but there's only one way to get it......
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Monday, May 11, 2015
Mental Illness
I don't want to live anymore. Why is that such a difficult concept for people to understand? This is MY life. It has always been MY life and it will ALWAYS be MY life. I have always believed that our lives are our own, and if an adult chooses to die because of chronic pain, or any reason really, then that's their choice. A lot of people disagree, but who cares? It's YOUR life. Obviously, I don't advocate suicide for the hell of it, or to escape responsibility.... but when you live every singe day of your life in pain - agonizing, excruciating pain - what's the point? And I believe this should be contemplated over YEARS, and well planned out, not done in a moment of despair...but still, this is YOUR life. However, if you have ANY mental illness, don't be a selfish asshole and have kids. Just don't. I'm getting off track...
I don't care how anyone feels about it, I'm not writing this as some political statement, I'm writing it to help me stay alive and express myself in a healthy way and also to have something to leave behind so that someone, somehow could maybe understand me - even if only in a small way.
So back to my original statement.
I want to die every day of my life. Not "end my pain," like so many people LOVE to say, but actually die. Cease to live. Even on the "good" days. Even when I feel happy - the way happy feels to me now. It's not the way it used to feel. I see things that should make me FEEL happiness, but they don't. Things that used to make me feel happy, just don't anymore. It's the strangest feeling... I see a beautiful sunset, and I KNOW that should make me feel something....I can even recognize that it would be described as beautiful; but it just reminds me that I've lived another day doing nothing, contributing nothing, and trying to escape the memories that haunt me. I see flowers, or sunny days and I remember how much I used to LOVE going for a long drive in my Jeep, listening to loud music and smelling the fresh summer air.... that used to make me feel so alive, and now it makes me feel nothing. I am not joking, or embellishing when I say that although I can feel some level of happiness when I laugh at or look at my dogs, it's nothing like it used to be. Something in my brain has disconnected, and it began when I left Wishard because I was unable to work(I was an inner city 911 Paramedic) anymore. Even though I built my LIFE around that career, and it completely and totally devastated EVERY part of me when I lost it, I can admit to myself that I probably couldn't hold on much longer. After the tragedy of my childhood, and adolescence...and the awful, unbelievable things I had to see and cope with as a Paramedic, it all just combined to make a reality that was too much for me to routinely deal with. I dealt with it for almost 15 years, but it caught up to me. I tried many different medications to help me cope with the PTSD, the depression, the insomnia, etc.... they don't work. Not when reality is SO brutal and relentless. When I took my medications I couldn't think clearly, I couldn't hold my hands steady, I couldn't remember things that I KNEW. And when I didn't take my meds I was right back in the circle of the hell. And the devastation and horrors that I saw... that ONLY emergency personnel see, are enough to make even the most sane individual swallow a bullet. Not a day goes by that my heart doesn't ache at the loss of that job. I will NEVER get over not being a Paramedic anymore. I will never forget my truck, Medic 201. Or the bastard supervisor who knew I was bipolar and struggling but who taunted the hell out of me EVERY shift possible. Scott Campbell, I cared about you,and I KNOW (and YOU know!) that you cared about me... a lot... and that made what you did SO much worse. I see your face everywhere in the crowds I try to avoid or on TV shows and it breaks my heart all over again. How could you? What was underneath all of that? I have my suspicions, but I know know the truth. And I guess I never will. And that hurts like hell too.
I've been to therapy, I've been to 12-step meetings, I've been to group therapy, I've taken (and do take) psych meds to manage my symptoms. Writing, TV, and my dogs are my ONLY escapes from reality, I'm too poor to afford anything else as a hobby.... and sleep. But that doesn't come easy. And when it comes it's plagued by nightmares. Scary, horrible nightmares, so I do everythin gpossible NOT to sleep until my brain has no choice. And then I wake up in a panic, nearly all the time. It's so awful, I feel that I can't even explain it properly.
I sit in my bed everyday, all day. I do not care about anything but my dogs (well, and my parents, but that's an entirely different blog because they don't know how to care about me; prisoners have been treated with more dignity and respect). I do not want to go out. I have virtually NO desire to have contact with the world, or people other than on-line. I don't understand people, and I don't relate to anyone. I never really have looking back. I've always been "weird." Since I was just a little girl, I preferred to play alone in my room, avoiding most people. I have literally never fit in. I've always been unique, I've always had a profound sense (irrational almost) of empahty, and being an introvert I want to connect with people....I can't stand small talk, or bullshit. My dogs keep me going, but I wonder every day how much longer I can last. But each day I make the decision to put them before my pain. And I keep breathing.
But it hurts.
Every single day.
Everything hurts.
Everyone thinks they have the solution. Go here, do this, try this, take this pill, and this pill, go to this group, give it time, find a hobby, make a friend, take a walk, check yourself into an in-patient psych hospital to get "real" heal. I'VE TRIED IT ALL. Don't tell me that when I finally say goodbye that it's because I gave up "too easily." BULLSHIT. I've been fighting like hell for decades now. Literally. DECADES. Your pain... the pain ANYONE feels from losing me does NOT trump my me pain. Fuck you if you actually believe that.
I've taken every psych drug known to man, I seen therapists and MANY psychiatrists (MDs), I've been to groups, online and in real life, I've been hospitalized multiple times. I've done everything anyone ever suggested. EVER. Sometimes people, even professionals, need to admit that there is no hope. I'm so sick of this "Life is precious" attitude. No! Sometimes life is just painful and it's OK to try everything you can try and then decide that enough is enough. *I'm NOT advocating suicide, so don't be an asshole and mince my words. I'M TALKING ABOUT MY LIFE. Not yours.
The ONLY cure for mental illness.... the kind that is debilitating, is death. And until you know the suffering that I know, don't you dare fucking sit in judgement of me.
I don't care how anyone feels about it, I'm not writing this as some political statement, I'm writing it to help me stay alive and express myself in a healthy way and also to have something to leave behind so that someone, somehow could maybe understand me - even if only in a small way.
So back to my original statement.
I want to die every day of my life. Not "end my pain," like so many people LOVE to say, but actually die. Cease to live. Even on the "good" days. Even when I feel happy - the way happy feels to me now. It's not the way it used to feel. I see things that should make me FEEL happiness, but they don't. Things that used to make me feel happy, just don't anymore. It's the strangest feeling... I see a beautiful sunset, and I KNOW that should make me feel something....I can even recognize that it would be described as beautiful; but it just reminds me that I've lived another day doing nothing, contributing nothing, and trying to escape the memories that haunt me. I see flowers, or sunny days and I remember how much I used to LOVE going for a long drive in my Jeep, listening to loud music and smelling the fresh summer air.... that used to make me feel so alive, and now it makes me feel nothing. I am not joking, or embellishing when I say that although I can feel some level of happiness when I laugh at or look at my dogs, it's nothing like it used to be. Something in my brain has disconnected, and it began when I left Wishard because I was unable to work(I was an inner city 911 Paramedic) anymore. Even though I built my LIFE around that career, and it completely and totally devastated EVERY part of me when I lost it, I can admit to myself that I probably couldn't hold on much longer. After the tragedy of my childhood, and adolescence...and the awful, unbelievable things I had to see and cope with as a Paramedic, it all just combined to make a reality that was too much for me to routinely deal with. I dealt with it for almost 15 years, but it caught up to me. I tried many different medications to help me cope with the PTSD, the depression, the insomnia, etc.... they don't work. Not when reality is SO brutal and relentless. When I took my medications I couldn't think clearly, I couldn't hold my hands steady, I couldn't remember things that I KNEW. And when I didn't take my meds I was right back in the circle of the hell. And the devastation and horrors that I saw... that ONLY emergency personnel see, are enough to make even the most sane individual swallow a bullet. Not a day goes by that my heart doesn't ache at the loss of that job. I will NEVER get over not being a Paramedic anymore. I will never forget my truck, Medic 201. Or the bastard supervisor who knew I was bipolar and struggling but who taunted the hell out of me EVERY shift possible. Scott Campbell, I cared about you,and I KNOW (and YOU know!) that you cared about me... a lot... and that made what you did SO much worse. I see your face everywhere in the crowds I try to avoid or on TV shows and it breaks my heart all over again. How could you? What was underneath all of that? I have my suspicions, but I know know the truth. And I guess I never will. And that hurts like hell too.
I've been to therapy, I've been to 12-step meetings, I've been to group therapy, I've taken (and do take) psych meds to manage my symptoms. Writing, TV, and my dogs are my ONLY escapes from reality, I'm too poor to afford anything else as a hobby.... and sleep. But that doesn't come easy. And when it comes it's plagued by nightmares. Scary, horrible nightmares, so I do everythin gpossible NOT to sleep until my brain has no choice. And then I wake up in a panic, nearly all the time. It's so awful, I feel that I can't even explain it properly.
I sit in my bed everyday, all day. I do not care about anything but my dogs (well, and my parents, but that's an entirely different blog because they don't know how to care about me; prisoners have been treated with more dignity and respect). I do not want to go out. I have virtually NO desire to have contact with the world, or people other than on-line. I don't understand people, and I don't relate to anyone. I never really have looking back. I've always been "weird." Since I was just a little girl, I preferred to play alone in my room, avoiding most people. I have literally never fit in. I've always been unique, I've always had a profound sense (irrational almost) of empahty, and being an introvert I want to connect with people....I can't stand small talk, or bullshit. My dogs keep me going, but I wonder every day how much longer I can last. But each day I make the decision to put them before my pain. And I keep breathing.
But it hurts.
Every single day.
Everything hurts.
Everyone thinks they have the solution. Go here, do this, try this, take this pill, and this pill, go to this group, give it time, find a hobby, make a friend, take a walk, check yourself into an in-patient psych hospital to get "real" heal. I'VE TRIED IT ALL. Don't tell me that when I finally say goodbye that it's because I gave up "too easily." BULLSHIT. I've been fighting like hell for decades now. Literally. DECADES. Your pain... the pain ANYONE feels from losing me does NOT trump my me pain. Fuck you if you actually believe that.
I've taken every psych drug known to man, I seen therapists and MANY psychiatrists (MDs), I've been to groups, online and in real life, I've been hospitalized multiple times. I've done everything anyone ever suggested. EVER. Sometimes people, even professionals, need to admit that there is no hope. I'm so sick of this "Life is precious" attitude. No! Sometimes life is just painful and it's OK to try everything you can try and then decide that enough is enough. *I'm NOT advocating suicide, so don't be an asshole and mince my words. I'M TALKING ABOUT MY LIFE. Not yours.
The ONLY cure for mental illness.... the kind that is debilitating, is death. And until you know the suffering that I know, don't you dare fucking sit in judgement of me.
Thursday, May 7, 2015
The beginning of the end.
It's April 7, 2015 and I have decided to start this blog to document my life, current and past, as I've lived it; through my eyes, my interpretations, and no one else's. The reason behind it is simple. This will ultimately turn into a suicide note, but due to the fact that my suicide is many years off, I'm choosing to refer to it as a suicide novel. I have wanted to seriously (meaning it hasn't been a fleeting thought or a means of escape from one painful event) end my life for about 4 years now, but due to commitments I made and refuse to abandon, I will continue living in pain until those commitments no longer exist. At that time, I plan to leave the address to this blog for anyone close to me who would like to read it and understand me and the choices I made and the things I endured. Also, one of the biggest reasons is that I feel no one has ever truly known me. Some of that is their fault and some is mine because in the more recent past I decided to close myself off emotionally from people. I feel it's safer for me because I honestly believe that if I suffered one more huge loss or heartache, I simply couldn't go on and that's a risk I cannot take. I have priorities and staying alive is NUMBER ONE in order to fulfill my commitments (which I'll discuss in a future blog).
I'm 37 years old, and I believe that as long as no illness or accident takes my life sooner, I have about 8-10 years left before I can carry out my plan. It's a gut-wrenching reality seeing as how every day is a struggle, but I feel like if I focus on my "reasons to live" and keep up with this blog it will help me pass the time.
I'm going to end this blog before I get into any details because it was meant solely as an introduction and a to give my readers a sort of "what you can expect."
Until next time....Fin
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