I wish I had a time machine so I could travel back to before things went wonky. I am not sure when this was but it was a long time ago.
There will (probably) be a post about the events which happened four years ago. For now all that needs to be said is that it was my first suicide attempt. The one that I will never forget and is etched on my memory. The one that was the most serious in every sense of the word. The one that led to a (very) brief hospitalisation and a year later led me into the psychiatric system.
This has all sprung from the fact it is very nearly the fourth anniversary of the event but also because my psychiatrist told me that in the three years he has known me I have come a long way from where I started and that there have been times where I was very ill. No-one (professionally speaking) told me at the time that this was the case, their attitudes told me the opposite- that I was time-wasting and attention seeking. Although I guess there was a couple of times where people were worried- like when a different psychiatrist had all the section paperwork filled out before he even met me just in case I refused to go to hospital and also the second time I was in hospital. They weren’t proper hospitalisations though the longest of the two was five days, I tried so hard to act normal as I hated being there, hated close obs, hated being thought of as “mental”. I was 18, I was young, I was immature, I was sad and desparate but mainly I was terrified. Terrified that I was different, ill, terrified about the future, about life about death. Terrified of everything. No-one cared I was just another adult in the system….I was only 18 and I was scared.
Anyways, that was not the point of this post. I am a terrible one for tangents 
. I found some of the things I wrote in the weeks runing up to the suicide attempt, the things that were written secondary to my detailed plan but weeks before I wrote my notes. My parents confiscated these writings but I had made a copy because I am not stupid and seeing as it’s all about my feelings I feel I have the right to ownership of them. Sadly, only one person reading this will be able to tell how far I’ve come apart from myself. But hopefully by reading them and reading the rest of this blog the length and progress of my journey might become clearer. Although reading this back I do speak a load of shite.
Now for those of you prone to worrying- and I know there are a few- I am NOT feeling like this right now….mostly.a
a
24/11/04
I am sick of being judged
by people who think that they
are worth more than I am
people who haven’t even taken a second
to get to know me
to know how I am feeling
or that I am simply a person as real as them.
I know I have my faults
that no-one is perfect
that perhaps I am less perfect than most
but I try
I really do try to make the things I do right.
Maybe they just don’t understand the way I think
maybe I think and feel in a way that is different
possibly I only think that I think and feel.
If this were the case then it would explain a lot.
Why they think I am not able to think and feel
I just want them to see that I am only human
that I just want to feel normal
that I want to feel real.
a
a
aDec 2004
For a split second I felt wanted, needed, loved
like for once, someone was looking out
looking down on me from up above.
They turned their back and they
looked away.
Everything changed; it went back to
the way it was before
a million miles apart
though touching
a distance impossible to span.
Their sympathy unwanted; now
undeserved.
I brought this on myself
I deserve this hate, this pain
this sinking feeling from not so deep inside.
That split second disappears
normality returns
where is my corner, or that
small part of my mind?
I wish my refuge would return
I need somewhere to hide.
a
aDecember 2004
Why do people assume they know what you are thinking
When I actually don’t know what I’m thinking.
They assume that they are always right
and that things are always simple.
Things are never simple.
So called simple decisions like whether or not to get up or what to have for breakfast are impossible dilemmas. Frequently it is easiest not to eat breakfast or to roll over and continue sleeping.
So what is to happen with those complex decisions? Like whether it is best to live or die- the decisions that go around and around- never disappearing- they are hard – how, what, when, why? Would you know? Even if you are able to answer these ones there is always that question that lingers about. The one that seems to make all the difference…
Am I brave enough?
