How is your mood?

I feel like I’m fine, then the nurse comes in and asks me that and I get all teary. My back hurts like a bitch if I move the wrong way, I have this shooting pain right through my butt cheek, so I was on the floor (which badly needs a Swiffer, so, gross) stretching for 40 minutes again, which barely helped. I am sure it’s a “jammed up SI joint” which is what my massage therapist has said in the past so maybe I will have to wait until I can get in for an appointment for a massage or chiro to help.

Anyway, back to the nurse coming in. He is a middle-aged Asian man, and came in to take my vitals and talk to me for a bit. He asked why I was here and “when was the last time I was in the hospital”, which I found interesting – now it’s assumed I’ve been in before, I’m chronic, that I am a Long-Term Mental Case. It is different from the last time I was here ten months ago, and I don’t like it.

So he asked why I was here (what had happened to make the depression worse) and I explained that for one thing I’d been waiting on a pain clinic referral since June and they’d called with an appointment time for next March, so the whole area of Dealing with Migraine is depressing, and then I started crying. Then we briefly went out over the other areas of my life (friends? Work?) and I cried while explaining them, or the lack of them.

I had two friends visit Thursday, then one coming today and one tomorrow, which is good because the weekends here are really dull – everyone is out on passes, there are no groups, etc., so I am actually welcoming the idea of social contact. Being in the hospital is already way more social contact than I ever get at baseline – I get hello and good night from my office mates at work, aaand… I make and am able to follow through on social plans every few months. I went to a movie with one friend in January, and went to another friend’s house in, I’m gonna say, around July? to visit and do some crafts. Otherwise it’s work and migraines. It’s a fucking depressing life.

The hospital only has an ancient migraine medication, which I haven’t taken since the 1990’s, and they keep saying “Maybe someone could bring in some meds from home?” But I don’t want that because all my meds are together in a train case and someone might just bring all of them in instead of picking through them, like I asked for – that’s what happened last time – and then they could take my suicide/overdose stash without my being able to stop them. I don’t want that; if they get me feeling better then fine, but if they don’t I want that option open to me, to be my own choice.


Some options.

So the psychiatrist came to talk to me today, as happens every day, and I was laying (laying? Lying? Never can remember that one) there crying. Nothing too particular, this was just the fourth day of a migraine and I had self-harmed after asking the nurse for ibuprofen and then she forgot after I waited an hour, and I took a shower but it was exhausting, etc. etc.

Now it’s evening and I haven’t met my nurse for the night shift yet. I have been waiting to go get my dinner tray but there is this annoying old broad across the hall who has been yelling at the top of her smoker’s voice to the aides about how she’s shit herself so I want to make sure they are good and done with her before I have anything to do with food. At lunch they took the trays out and put them on the tables but ha! I grabbed mine and ran back to my room with it. I’m not normally socially anxious but I get really in a mood to hide here.

Anyway, the options. They are thinking of trying a new antidepressant that is an antiinflammatory, I will need to look it up -but I am relieved that we are not going with MAOI’s as a first choice. I was getting antsy about all the dietary restrictions. It’s funny how you can think of being dead soon and think of the future (well, the next few weeks) at the same time and as equally plausible, like you are planning for getting takeout or ordering pizza. Weird, but that is how it is.

In the hospital again.

I went to see my psychiatrist and he walked me to the ER after our appointment. I’m not sure how the conversation got to where it was to be honest, it felt like I was trying to tell him I was feeling bad and suddenly it had spiraled out of control. All I can think of is the Penn and Teller show “Cruel Tricks for Dear Friends”, which has a card trick where the reveal depends on you saying that you drew the four of diamonds. Penn sarcastically spells out that it doesn’t matter what card you drew, all you have to do is SAY the four of diamonds, and if that’s too much for you, ask your aunt to take you bowling.

Anyway, my doctor asked if I was safe and I stuttered and stammered and hedged. This is why I refused to play poker in school, even if it was for $20 a night, because I have no bluffing game. I said things like “why don’t I take next week off, and try the new meds at home?” and he said that wasn’t good enough, and said he had to be cautious, and walked me to the ER. I’m not sure if he walked me there instead of calling security because he couldn’t get a hold of anyone on call in his office, or if he was just making it easier for me but it was easier, so I am grateful for that.

What does it mean to be suicidal?

The vacation “didn’t last” the way I hoped it would, in that I don’t feel the same as I did when I was on vacation. I’m sure that’s normal, and it was helpful for me to at least realize that I could feel like myself and that I could have fun. But now I’m feeling crappy again and feeling confused about it.

I feel like I’m pretty clearly still depressed because I still cry on basically a daily basis, and if I’m talking to my psychiatrist about my emotions. It feels like getting out of bed and going to work and just dealing with daily life stuff is a really big job that requires a lot of courage, and that no one can see how hard it is for me.  I’m coming up on four years of singlehood, having had an abusive husband and then I boyfriend who broke his most important promises to me, and who mistreated me during sex. I’m not sure exactly  how to categorize that So I’ll just say that something non-consensual happened.

I know it sounds selfish to say that I want someone, and it’s true that I  want someone to care about me, to take care of me, but that’s not just it. I want someone to love too. I want someone with a deep voice who I can listen to while they’re talking, whose hair I can stroke, who I can make happy in bed.

A few ketamine treatments ago one of the nurses tried to explain to me that we are attracted to people with positive good energy, people who are enthusiastic about life, at Cetera. I get that, and when I have been out on first dates I’ve made every effort to be sociable and enthusiastic. I’ve let the guy do most of the talking, and given them an old if they wanted to cut the date short, saying “are you  OK for time? I know it’s a workday tomorrow, so if you have to get up early…” And without exception they said they were OK and talked to me for another hour, but then didn’t want a second date.

I could guess what’s wrong with me and what they don’t like. I could be too fat, too smart, not stylish enough or pretty enough, or whatever.  That’s a useless game to play. There are plenty of women out there who are less attractive than I am who nonetheless have partners. And I can’t change myself into something that I’m not and expect to have a successful relationship.

So, I’m single. I can’t help that things that even nuns and prisoners have community and that the solitude I have is too much to bear. I always thought that if I were widowed I would be able to bear it, because I would have known that my husband loved me. As it is, he didn’t and he left me when I got depressed.

I don’t want to live like this. It hurts, it literally hurts to be alive. I literally have Hardik. I feel like there’s an 18 black hole in the centre of my chest and a lump in my throat and tears prickling behind my eyes. Every day. I can see going for days or weeks and maybe a few months. Not longer.

So I’ve made a plan. I had tried stopping my medication in May, and got some pretty serious withdrawal facts so gave up and started taking it again. Now I’m cutting back on the two antidepressants gradually. I feel like the medication has been keeping me  away from my desire to die artificially, and I want to meet it clearly face-to-face. My thought is that I can’t kill myself now, I’m just not in that headspace to overcome that and strength of self-preservation and carry through with the violence it would take to be successful. If my mood drops without the medication, then I’ll be able to.

So there in lies the contradiction of it all. I can’t commit suicide now, but am I suicidal because I’m making the plans  to allow my mood to decrease to where I really am suicidal and able to execute it?

Promise to the boss.

So after  deciding to go forward with some music last night I was really excited.  Then today came, and I don’t know what it was. For one thing, I thought that I had sickleave but I don’t.  So I can use my vacation time, or make up the time, or go unpaid.  Both of which obviously increase the stress of what I thought was coming up to be a good week off where I could catch up on some stuff and rest and re-gather myself to make it through the end of August.

The secretary called into the office when I was all worked up about this, and I started like crying and doing the sobbing gasps practically right away.  Awesome. It took a LOT of concealer and Visine to make me look normal again.  Then I had a meeting at the end of the day with my boss and some other project members, so I let him know I’d like to meet with him afterward briefly.

He offered to meet with me before, because he probably just read my request as my wanting a couple minutes of his time, and I said I preferred to wait till after the meeting. And then as usual, I teared up and choked up and was on the verge of crying and told him that I could either talk to him or I could stop myself from crying but I couldn’t do both.  So I started to cry and explain the problem with the sick time to him. He was really great about it, and flexible, and willing to just work it out so that I could do whatever I needed to do. He said actually that maybe I should just go home now and not even bother coming in the next day if I didn’t feel up to it. He asked me if I was going to be all right and I was like “yeah, in the immediate future, i’ll be fine.”

Then he asked me if he could establish a safety contract with me.  As in, can I promise him that I wouldn’t kill myself in whatever period of time. I exclaimed, “I have a shrink for that!” He responded, “you have a concerned boss, too.”  And seemed pretty serious about it and so I said fine how long do you want to have it for and he suggested the end of the year and I totally let out a big hee haw guffaw, like let’s not get carried away here. So he asked what I would be comfortable with and I said I could guarantee until a week from Monday, when I was scheduled to reappear at work.  And now I am super tired, so this will need a sequel.


Chester Bennington hung himself.

God damn depression. Fucking hell.

That’s the lead singer from Linkin Park, if you didn’t recognize the name.

I just listened to “Leave out all the rest” today:

I dreamed I was missing
You were so scared
But no one would listen
Cause no one else cared
After my dreaming
I woke with this fear
What am I leaving
When I’m done here?
So, if you’re asking me, I want you to know

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I’ve done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
And don’t resent me
And when you’re feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

Don’t be afraid
I’ve taken my beating
I’ve shared what I’ve made
I’m strong on the surface
Not all the way through
I’ve never been perfect
But neither have you
So, if you’re asking me, I want you to know

When my time comes
Forget the wrong that I’ve done
Help me leave behind some reasons to be missed
And don’t resent me
And when you’re feeling empty
Keep me in your memory
Leave out all the rest
Leave out all the rest

All the hurt inside you’ve learned to hide so well
Someone else can come and save me from myself
I can’t be who you are

Missing the smallest things.

I’m so fucking lonely. I left work early, by an hour and a half, because there was a thunderstorm coming and I just couldn’t think.

I told my psychiatrist that it’s been hard to shower, which is always kind of a little sign for me that shit is hitting the bricks, and that it’s hard to concentrate at work.

He is on vacation for the next two weeks, as is my family, so it would be the perfect fucking time to commit suicide except that I’m not suicidal. I don’t think I have anything to live for, but I’m not in the headspace where I can just off myself.

I didn’t take my meds last night or this morning, and I’m so tempted to just stop taking them until I feel shitty enough to do it, but I’m pretty sure that would lead to withdrawal symptoms and totally stopping functioning at work faster than I would actually arrive at the end game, and then I just will have fucked everything up.

I’m basically waiting until this winter, when I really think that I’m going to get depressed again, and I’m going to get depressed enough to do it. Certainly lonely enough to do it.

It’s now been 3 1/2 years since I’ve had a significant other. Or anything beyond a first and last quick coffee date with a handshake or a quick A-frame hug at the end. I’ve booked a professional cuddler for four months from now, if I actually managed to make a trip 4 months from now. It’s barely 4 months since I got out of the hospital, and I can’t imagine another four full months until I have something to look forward to. And then after those two days, then what?

I imagine what kind of conversations people in the other apartments in my building are having. Just “hi, how was your day?” Or asking by text if they could pick up milk on the way home from work. Or just sitting on the couch and cuddling. I miss that so badly it’s making me tear up to think about it.

My entire human contact is going to work in the morning, and I say good morning, and my officemates say how are you and I say fine, how are you? And they say fine. And then at the end of the day they pack up their stuff and say see you tomorrow, and I say OK, have a good night! And then I come home. Alone. To an empty house. An empty couch. An empty bed.

There’s no real reason to have hopes that that will change. All of my Facebook friends and acquaintances and people at work too, who had broken up with or divorced their partners have found new partners now. Like, solid new partners and have been married for years, or moved in together, or are buying a house together. I literally don’t know anyone who’s been alone for four years by choice.

If there something about me that makes me unattractive or unlikable, I can’t change it now. I see women who are fatter than me, poorer than me, less educated than me, it doesn’t matter.

I mean, I have the occasional coffee or a phone date or Skype date with an old friend where I actually feel like a human, and somebody recognizes that I exist, but then on the day-to-day I just feel, I don’t know, like I’d be better off dead.

So then I come around to how I don’t want to live another four months like this. I certainly can’t live another four decades like this. So if I’m sad enough to think about stopping taking my medication so that I can be sad enough to actually do it, does that mean I am actually suicidal even though I’m not suicidal enough to commit suicide?

Migraine & suicide risk. article about suicide risk

After following the groups for two years, researchers discovered that participants with Migraine and severe, non-Migraine headaches had a 4 times greater risk of attempting suicide than the subjects without Migraine or headache. The level of pain played a role in attempted suicide as well – study subjects with a higher level of Migraine and non-Migraine pain were at greater risk for attempted suicide. In fact, each time the pain intensity scale went up by one point, the risk of attempted suicide went up by 17%.

I… fuck… fucking weather… steroids

I have straight up had a migraine since last Wednesday. I should’ve gone into work over the weekend to make up time, but I just hang onto the bed and close my eyes. Today I took a steroid, which is supposed to be the last resort of last resort, and I managed to make it through the day but I still felt like crap, and I took a Gravol because I felt so nauseous it made my heart race for like five hours.

I cried on the bus on the way home, and then I cried on the walk home, and then I cried for like two hours when I got home, and I was working on trying to find another car but I would’ve had to have my dad cosign for me and it’s just not worth the stress…  and it’s not even so much the stress of having to deal with my dad as it is the stress of getting into a loan for years and years. I haven’t managed to keep a job for more than three years since I graduated, and I’m at 2 1/2 years for this job now,  and I feel like I’m hanging on by the skin of my teeth, not to mention that my boss told me to be discharged and get back to work or he couldn’t keep my job open for me just two short months ago.  So I pretty much feel like I’m gonna lose my job again in six months, or a year, and then I’ll be on unemployment and looking for a job again, and I’ll manage to scrape through until I kill myself,  but I’m seeing  repossession or desperation in the future.

So I guess I’ll just basically never have a car again, because it’s probably not realistic to want to save enough money to just buy one with cash. I had a car 20 years and four months ago, when I first moved to the city. So now I’m moving backwards. As soon as my lease is up here, I’m going to look for somewhere smaller to move  and my life will just shrink around me until I’m an old maid in a boarding house room with nothing and no one. I actually hope to God that I have the courage to kill myself before it comes to that point.

Depeche Mode is OK with my suicide, I think.

Some excerpts from their brilliant, painful lyrics:



You’re calling, and you’re falling
And there’s nowhere left to run
And you’re weeping, and not sleeping
And you’re begging for your gun

You’re dead inside, you’re numb
You’re hollow, and shallow
Your empty life is done

Pull the trigger
Pull the trigger
(Hey scum, hey scum)
Pull the trigger
(Hey scum, hey scum)
Pull the trigger


No More (This is the Last Time)

This is the last time
I’ll say goodbye
The last time
Then we won’t have to lie
The last time
(All the memories, all our pain)
This is the last time
(All the memories, all our pain)
The last time