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.
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