The nurses here like to point out that there must be some part of me that is hopeful, because I didn’t have to tell my psychiatrist anything, for example.
I am sure they are right – an idea that fills me with loathing. I heard that a guy in jail ripped his own throat out with his fingers. Now that is commitment! That is courage! That’s a big old pair of brass balls, is what that is.
And then there’s me.
I really feel like the reason I didn’t ghost on my psychiatrist in November is because I wanted to leave (die, if you are new here) knowing I had done my best. That thought gave me a sort of peace.
Now as to why I blurted out too much in my last appointment, I am truly uncertain. I had already told him everything else about the plan in the previous two months; how I’d found a suicide hotline that believes the client’s choice is paramount. So although they would try to talk you out of it, if you truly wanted for them just to stay on the phone with you so you don’t have to die alone, they would do that without calling emergency services; how I’d bought a bunch of booze (to lower inhibitions and make it easier), how I’d paid for an automated suicide note delivery service; how I’d researched my method and gotten the equipment, how I wasn’t going to kill myself over Christmas so as “not to be an asshole.”
So during the last appointment he confirmed that all those details were unchanged, and then asked the question that was my undoing: “When are you planning on doing it?”
“Sunday”, I replied, because I was counting on not showing up at work ever again and the suicide note service to be redundant systems for ensuring my body was found in a reasonable time, for the cat’s benefit at least.
“Why Sunday?” he asked, and I said “Because I said I wouldn’t be an asshole and do it before Christmas, and now it’s not before Christmas anymore.”
I think it’s clear by now that
I suck at thinking on my feet. I honestly thought that he would say “I’d like you to give it some more time; I want to see if Pill X will work,” and I’d say “okey dokey,” and leave with the prescription for Pill X, and that would be that.
Instead he said “I think we’re going to have to admit you,” and I shrieked “WHAT?? No!!” and then he picked up the phone and called security.
I don’t remember exactly what I said to my boss when I called him from the ER, although I probably didn’t distinguish myself. I remember him saying “Please don’t do anything to harm yourself”, which I thought was remarkably kind.
I am sure that if I had been home last Sunday I would have tried to kill myself.
I don’t actually know if I will/would try if they gave me a day pass for tomorrow. I mean, it’s going to be hard to go back to my house whenever I have to do it because everything is there; booze and mixer chilling in the fridge; suicide/stay in the phone so you don’t die alone number at the ready, etc.
I’ve actually emailed the shelter that I got the cat from, asking if they could help with a temporary foster placement. I had two objectives; one was that he wouldn’t be lonely while I am in here, and another that when I got out I could just do it whenever without having to worry about him.
I don’t know. I just feel so confused, like I don’t know which way is up anymore.
The nurses have really been tightening the screws here about going to groups, saying stuff like “You’re here; try to make the most of it.” I looked at the calendar tonight and saw there were 22 days left on my admissions certificate. 22 days!! And I’ve only been here 9!
And what I’m most scared of is that they’ll get me topped up somehow, and that I’ll go back to the world and my shitty life like a sucker, and be here again in six months or a year or two years and that the biggest thing I’ll regret is not having done it last Sunday.