Suicide is taking over my head again.

Yeah, I was doing better today and then this evening hit and I am drained. Drained and tired. I do feel weak, and I wonder which one of the pantheon is currently fucking with my life. It’s very strange- I’m tired, physically pretty exhausted, but I know that mentally I am on fire.

I self harmed in a small way two days ago. I took a pencil sharpener blade to my ankle. 8 fucking months of recovery down the drain, and although the cuts are in no way deep, they are definitely there. Real. Solid. Unlike me.

Why am I doing this loop of feeling again? I am permanently stuck here, these cycling thoughts trotting through my head in relentless torrents. Then, of course, there are the voices of the dark passenger, which is demanding I kill myself in May.

I have a puppy to look after. She is nearly six months old. I have J, who is stressed out but still with me and planning to see me in August. I have a family that loves me, I have friends that are proving they care by talking about the voices with me (thanks, Mr Robot. You’re a star,) and I have my gran and uncle from down south coming to visit soon. I have things planned for the future- a massage course in May (huh, fucking irony) and I want to get back to America as soon as I can.

Problem is, on evenings like this, every fucking one of these things is nothing to the dark passenger and its voices will shred each one to pieces. I am seriously worried that I am going to do something awful soon. I don’t want to end up in hospital again, where they tell you that they can’t help you and then shove a self-help leaflet at you or drugs that give you crippling headaches down your throat. Then they accuse you of being the reason your ex abused you, telling you that you will never get better, giving you a bullshit, outdated, chauvinistic “diagnosis” of BPD (remember, folks, it is PTSD misdiagnosed and should not even exist) and shove you into the “fucked-up crazy bitch” pile.

Next comes the promises of help. Ah, what, you mean the help I have been denied for A MOTHERFUCKING YEAR?! Try that on for size. I have fucking PTSD and it took you A FUCKING YEAR to diagnose this shit when I had been suspecting it back when I started this blog?!!

Then what about the Promazine? Yeah, that shit you told me was supposed to be a sedative? Balls, it’s a strong antipsychotic that would turn me into a fucking zombie. Worse, a zombie with a godawful headache cause of the stupid fucking Citalopram… No more drugs for me, thanks. I have stopped taking the Citalopram and I never even cashed in the prescription for the Promazine. No way. Stop trying to sedate me. I wanted help, not sedation.

The problem is that now I think it’s too late. I am really stuck in the PTSD patterns of waiting for the next blow and feeling unreal and detached. I permanently look for him in the street. I sleep and I dream of him. I try and pull myself up time and again and it all goes to shit because I can’t do it, because when I asked for help LAST FUCKING MAY I never got it. I have been waiting and waiting and basically now I am unfixable, and the voices are aware of that and love to let me know that I am broken forever.

I hate the way I think at the moment. I miss the me I was when I was with J in America. I loved the feeling of freedom from my PTSD bullshit.

Now I just have a life that I can’t control. I am broken and limping on towards a finish line that doesn’t exist, tattered heart and lungs rotting and dripping from my open chest cavity to the ground. I don’t have a choice.

I probably will die in May. It’s looking likely that I will do it. I tied a fucking ligature round my neck the other day. I am tired of life.

I am sorry I am throwing you away, J. I can’t tell you how I feel because programming and the dark passenger gag me, shutting my mouth so tight I can only let out the blandest of sentences. I am a wreck, and I wish I wasn’t, so then maybe I could care for you better. I can’t even say those three words because my ex fucked them up for me. How could I have loved my ex when he manipulated me into it? How could he have loved me if he raped me?

The answer is he never did, and the other sad fact of this is that I should tell you, J, how much I do L word you. I do. I have since I saw your face in Florida for the first time. Problem is, I am broken and I am breaking more, and one day I will collapse.

Apparently that day will come in May.

I don’t want to die, but how can I live with all this shit stacked against me? PTSD is a demon.


8 comments on “Suicide is taking over my head again.

  1. This was so hard to read, but I’m glad you wrote it. PTSD IS a demon, indeed. My month is August. Shit, maybe it’s July (?). In any case, I don’t want yours to be May, or any month for that matter. But it isn’t about me or what I want. Still, I can’t help but wish there was something I could do. I can say this much – I also “fell off the wagon” and self harmed, maybe a month ago now… I can’t keep time to save my life. It felt like all the therapy and medication and diagnoses I’d received were all for nothing and the some of the scars I made are going to last years and years. However, I have to hold on to that tiny string of hope because I too have a dog, Daisy. And I read things like this and think of how someone like you – a stranger to me – how my heart would break if I suddenly never saw an update again, never read another word. I know I’m not a loved one and I really don’t mean to annoy – I just have to say it. Because even if it’s hard to believe, I genuinely do care. And I don’t even LIKE people. Still, I do care. Because you’re one of those people that have the intelligence this world desperately needs and would be that much wore worthless without. My voices rarely cease. It’s not that I’m trying to belittle that in any way, please believe me. My words aren’t coming to me as they should right now as I’m on day four of a migraine, but I mean them as scattered as they are. I FINALLY just stopped dreaming about the guy who stole my virginity, finally stopped fantasizing about torturing him…ha. Finally stopped thinking about it every second of every day (not that I don’t think about it). I do believe you can get to a point where the voices are distant – even if they don’t stop, they can become more distant. Muffled at best. And I know that isn’t ideal but it’s something and right now maybe something is enough (?). I’m going to stop here because I don’t want to push. Just know that there are people out there who see you, read you, and care. ❤

    • I think I have read your amazing comment at least six or seven times. Thank you thank you thank you. Publishing that cut through some of the emotional steel walls I have put up, and it just simply touched me. I wondered if you felt like that about me, what does everyone I know think? What would those I know say about me struggling with suicide? I’m doing a little better at the minute, but thank you for writing what you did. Chances are I’ll read it another six times today. xxx

      • I meant every word, as poorly worded as it may have been. I couldn’t sleep last night and ended up writing with you as inspiration. It’s the one called Reverie. I know that seems highly unusual but I honestly don’t care if it’s unusual. I was worried and I care. I think we have home through some similar trauma and it’s easier for us to tell others they are worth it than to tell ourselves that. After I read what I wrote for you, I was like “wow, I would never write that for myself”. I spent about 90% of my life suicidal, so I also know what it’s like to not feel like we are going to get better or even worth the effort. But there’s that tiny bit of something I hold onto, and I know it’s because of people like you that I do – because every time I get to where I don’t want to go on, I read something like your post and it breaks my heart and fills me with such worry that life springs into me again somehow, just hoping a brilliant mind won’t leave this world. Please stay strong and stay with us. ❤️

      • Thank you so so much for writing that poem. I am having another hard day today- voices, derealisation, all of it, plus the crippling depression. I needed to read what you wrote- it will probably get read again and again today when I need to remember that this too shall pass. At least I hope it does. xxx

  2. sarahkreece says:

    It’s not too late! And falling off the wagon doesn’t send the months of restraint and learning new approaches down the drain, it doesn’t. I’ve had severe PTSD and recovered. It’s like a prison when it’s bad but it does get better. X

    • Thank you so much- today was a better day, but it was great to read what you wrote. It was a tiny amount of scratches but I felt like I had let myself down. Just praying that this week continues to be better xx

  3. manyofus1980 says:

    You must stay alive. You gotta. Don’t let the voices and PTSD win out. You are strong. All the things you listed? You have to do them. Just hold on a little longer. I’m just sorry your going through all this shit. Its so unfair. And I’m sorry for what your X did too. XXX

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