Obsession

Triggering, I guess. Just like the rest of this blog.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I am obsessed with my own death. I eye up buildings and balconies wondering if they are high enough to provide a fatal drop. I keep looking at the fire escape on one of my university buildings and wondering if I could make it to the top before someone spotted me. The pills are still in my cupboard, the sheer volume of them is daunting though. I bought anti-emetics. I wrote down what times I’d need to take them in order to stop me puking the lethal ones up.

There’s no single event that is making me feel like this, it’s a chronic thing, not an acute crisis. I feel like the walking dead, it feels weird that I can walk about campus and talk about next year even when I half expect not to be here. When I’ve discussed these things with the crisis team in the past, they asked what stopped me from doing it. I told them I didn’t want to hurt my family but I’m not really sure if that’s true. Maybe it’s hugely selfish of me, to put them through that pain to end my own but when was the last time I did something purely for myself? Don’t I deserve to have my way for once? Do I owe them a lifetime of suffering?

It is futile seeking help for this, I know there are only a few outcomes. 1: The same thing as before, they ask me the same old shit and can’t comprehend how I feel and what it’s like to live like this and I end up with intrusive busybodies coming to my house for a few days. 2: They lock me up, that’d cause my family as much pain as if I did it and I don’t think I could take it. 3: They increase my meds and continue the status quo. I don’t think they really believe I am serious because I don’t cut myself and I haven’t taken any pills as far as they know. How can I sum up my entire life’s experience and answer the question “Why do you want to kill yourself?” I’ve written thousands of words on this blog, probably enough to fill a small book and that doesn’t even tell the full story. How can I, with my limited vocal expressive capabilities even start to explain it all?

Don’t read if you don’t want to hear about suicide

As for what is really stopping me, I don’t really know. I feel like I owe people an explanation but I don’t think I can do it justice. I have written a suicide note for my family but it doesn’t tell the full story. I don’t think I want them to know just how pathetic I really am. What about the few people I could vaguely call friends? I don’t want to leave them wondering but I don’t want them to know what a miserable excuse for a human I am. Should my secrets die with me, only visible to those few who read this site? 

I notice on the news whenever someone dies prematurely, family and friends always describe them as full of life and “everyone liked him/her”. I don’t suppose it’d be much of a surprise to people if I went through with it. You could say “Well I always expected it to be honest, he never smiled and barely said a word to anyone. Nobody liked him or will even notice he’s gone”. You might think I’m exaggerating, but I’m really not. I’ve been here a week without people knowing I’d even come back one time. What a great loss to humanity I would be, a loner who does nothing but drain away the resources of everyone around him, emotional and material. A waste of opportunity, a waste of space and energy.

Alcohol and the worst day of my life

Alcohol and I have a fraught history, but not in the way most people have. I remember back in the year 2000 when we came back to school after Christmas and the New Year (of course it was a special one). I was 14 (and 350-something days) then and it’s one of the first times I remember getting the feeling that I still experience to this day. One of being a child in an adults world, of being socially undeveloped. All my friends had stories of how they got drunk and had such a wonderful time, it seemed everyone did that except me. At that time, drinking seemed to me to be something that adults did, not me. Of course, legally that was true but it’s rare to find people who don’t drink before they’re 18 these days. I don’t know why it didn’t seem appealing to me, I was never one to go out of my way to “rebel” against authority so it had no illicit lure to me.

After that, they became more and more fascinated and obsessed with drinking and how much they could handle. I don’t think I ever made a conscious decision not to drink, I just never started. That was around the time I found myself increasingly wanting to get away from the people I once called friends. The ones who made me feel worthless and shit every day. This was another avenue for them to attack me with. By the time it came to get our GCSE results, they’d planned a piss-up celebration and I engaged my best avoidance tactics to make sure I managed to get in and out of school without bumping into any of them, take the phone off the hook and hide upstairs in case they came round to try and drag me out.

Even when I was old enough to legally drink, I still didn’t really want to. I’m not sure why, I think was afraid of losing control and letting my guard down, the guard which however weak, still defended me slightly from what I (sometimes rightly) perceived as threats. I couldn’t let myself be known and crushed, back then I just wanted to be invisible. I began to loathe the thought of it, mostly because I associated it with those people, those so-called friends attacking me and laughing at me for not joining them at the pub. I don’t know whether they knew how much they hurt me, I doubt they did.

I hesitated about writing this part because it’s to do with my family, but it affected me so severely I think I have the right to discuss it. My mum is normally a fairly quiet, inoffensive person but when she drinks, she acts foolishly. The first time I remember her dragging us into it was when her boyfriend first came to meet us at our house, she ended up arguing with him and shutting herself in her room, leaving him with us at 10pm downstairs not knowing what happened. She imagines things or reads too much into things and gets mad about them. The worst time of all was on her birthday in 2004. Her boyfriend had come to stay the night (he lived quite far away from us) and they had both had some wine with dinner. Later on my mum got angry with him because she said that he was looking at my sister. It’s worth mentioning at this time she was 16 and he was in no way interested in her like that, my mum is insanely insecure and jealous. She freaked out and started hitting him and threw a vase at him. My sister and I were in a complete state of shock, we’d never, ever experienced anything like this before. I can’t ever remember my mum and dad even arguing with raised voices, let alone physical violence. She was trying to hit him and he tried to hold her away and we just didn’t know what to do. My sister and I ran outside in tears and in the panic we decided to call the police because the amount of screaming and smashing made us seriously think that one of them could get injured or worse. They came round eventually but the argument had calmed down by that point, her bf was sitting in his car – he couldn’t drive home because he’d been drinking. The policeman told us that when he went into the house, my mum offered him a piece of cake, that’s how drunk she was.

When we dared to return, my mum yelled and screamed at my sister for calling the police, but what else could we do? When she is drunk like that, I honestly think she could end up killing someone. She stormed off upstairs, packed a bag and walked out saying that she was going to move out and live with her sister. I was seeing my life fall apart in front of my eyes. I had no idea what I was going to do, I’d been hoping to get things back on track after dropping out of uni because of yet-to-be diagnosed anxiety earlier in the year but it seemed everything was exploding right in front of me. I sat at the outside table and cried more than I ever have before. I wept like I was mourning the death of a loved one and I was shaking in full panic attack mode. Above everything else I wanted to comfort my sister, she was only a child and no child should be subjected to that, blamed for that outburst of idiocy. My memory is hazy after that but I remember waking up in my bed with my clothes on from the previous night. When I dared to venture downstairs, my mother and her boyfriend were sitting there like nothing had happened, like it was some hideous nightmare I had. They were opening her presents and playing at happy families but I could never look at her the same again.

I can never forgive her for what she did to my sister. Although she is very resilient (far more than me) I think it hurt her badly too. We haven’t spoken about it much since, except with knowing glances whenever my mum has a glass of wine. My mum hugged me and said “I’m sorry” but that didn’t really cut it. I don’t think our relationship has been the same since. I used to trust her absolutely, she was someone I always loved and never hurt me but that was the worst day of my life and she scarred me forever.

In the following 2 weeks, I had the strangest sensation I have ever experienced. I felt like I wasn’t quite there and I was kind of on autopilot. Words came out of my mouth and I walked around but it wasn’t me who was in control. I later learned that this is called depersonalisation and is a recognised psychological symptom of anxiety. We were planning to go on holiday the following week and it did happen, though I feel like I wasn’t really there for it. Luckily she refrained from drinking for the week. After we came back, it wasn’t long before they broke up, unsurprisingly. Ironically (well it’s not really irony, I know but I can’t think of the right word) it was the day I was starting college after being out of education since my acrimonious departure from university, so when I needed the most support, my mum was off work crying her eyes out because she’d been dumped. Marvellous.

Since then, I’ve never felt the desire to get drunk. I never want to behave like she did and still does (although to a much lesser extent thankfully). I used to kid myself and pretend I was above it all and I’d think to myself that people were sad if they needed to be drunk to have a good time. Of course now I’m the ultimate example of someone who has a chemical dependancy in order to even be capable of going out of the house. I never made my holier than thou attitude public, in case you think that is one of the reasons for my unpopularity by the way.

I’ll leave it here for now because this post is almost essay length already and it’s nearly 3am. I hope you enjoy this insight into the fucked up world that is my life.

Quick Update

Exam done and dusted. It wasn’t too bad, barely finished in time though! Proper post coming later.

Exam Stress

I was never one of those people who worried too much about exams. It was probably one of the only times when I was calmer than those around me. At school, I did fairly well and I felt in control when I was about to sit an exam. Looking back, I think it was a twisted desire for validation that I almost liked exams and tests. Objective proof that I was good at something.

Unfortunately, I have not been in education for a while and I have an exam coming up tomorrow afternoon which has been causing me much more anxiety than I had before. It’s not even that important, I need 12% to pass the module which should be easily achievable and even if I fail, I could still conceivably pass the year. The first year doesn’t count towards your final degree classification anyway so what am I worried about?

To be honest, finding the right place where I need to be, getting to my seat and not falling over or having my desk collapse (which people used to do on purpose at school, I guess some folks just love attention) that is causing me the most stress. I just want to get in there and get it done.

In another way, I’m kind of apprehensive because once I’ve done this, I’ll have finished my first year at university. It seems like 5 minutes ago when I was agonising about starting and the first year is less than 24 hours away from completion now. I don’t really want to go back for the summer, I like having my own room and the freedom to come and go as I please at any time of the night or whatever. I like being close to the town and not stuck between the motorway and some farms. I like not having to put on a front or be told off for shutting myself away.

The SLC wrote back to me and I have to pay the full fees again next year 🙁 This means I need a job, and it brings back the fear and disheartening feelings of 2007/8 when I was out of work for long periods and was rejected time and time again. I can’t take the pressure of the real world. I’m not in crisis, this is just how I am. I don’t think I am adequately equipped to handle living as an independent human being, I can’t hack it.

Since I last posted, I’ve had some minor “triumphs” regarding my SA and could probably tick a few more items off the list of “things I’ve never done” but I feel unfulfilled and flat. It gives me no pleasure or sense of achievement. I remember reading somewhere that people with similar problems to mine see their lives as a series of lucky escapes when things go right and I can’t help but feel that is exactly what I feel.

Logically then, I should realise that maybe I am wrong. However I can’t accept this. Someone told me that they liked me as a friend and that I should stop beating myself up about things but still I cannot accept that they like me. The thing is, I don’t believe they are lying either. It’s a horrible form of cognitive dissonance and it’s highly unsettling. I can’t reconcile those two beliefs.

I’m too tired now but I want to write a proper post about things. Maybe tomorrow.

Will I Always Be Like This?

Due to the extremely long time it takes to get a GP appointment at university and the fact that the crisis team psych would only write me 2 weeks worth of AD script at a time, I had to miss a dose of Seroxat on Friday night. I felt extremely disoriented and not entirely with it on Saturday morning, it was like I was on autopilot. Words came out of my mouth but I had no control, my attention span was like a 2 year olds.

It occurred to me that I am essentially unable to function without these drugs now. My psychiatrist said I had become psychologically dependent on Effexor, I’m not sure how he worked that one out since I hated the stuff but I’m sure he knows what he’s talking about… In any case, I am a mess without them. I hate this feeling, that I am broken and only pharmaceuticals can hold me together and stop me from becoming a complete disaster. They’ve kept me from going over the edge so far but I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.

I know it’s bad, but I’ve been overdoing it with the zopiclone. It takes me ages to get to sleep without it and then its only a few hours. I hate walking around in a daze and then feeling like I’m going to pass out at about 4pm when it catches up with me.

The end of the university year is coming up, I have to go in and demonstrate the website that I made on Tuesday and I have an exam at the end of the month but after that I have done until September (assuming I don’t fail any modules). You might expect that I should be happy about this, pleased that I have finally achieved something worthwhile. Certainly if you read my posts a year ago, I am in a better position than I was back then, but I don’t feel anything

I was talking to an online friend who I’ve met a couple of times the other day and they wondered why I can’t ever be pleased with myself of congratulate myself for doing things that are challenging and that I wanted to achieve. I just can’t do it, but I can’t explain it properly either. I don’t think it’s logical to congratulate myself for doing something 99.999% of the population can do without blinking an eyelid, it’s dumb. I don’t pat myself on the back for getting out of bed in the morning, why should I deserve plaudits for being able to talk to someone?

Various mental health people and folks I’ve spoken to online say that I shouldn’t compare myself to others so much and that it’s pointless. To me that makes no sense though. In life, you are always compared to others. People can’t judge you in a vacuum, they can only get a sense of what you are like compared to other people. In any situation, social or otherwise, you are always being compared to others so why shouldn’t I worry about that?

I don’t walk around with a sign saying that I have a mental illness, nobody knows that walking into a room full of people makes me shake with fear or that I’ve seriously considered taking my own life on numerous occasions this year alone. They take it for granted that people can do those things, normal things easily. I have to strain and push myself to even be considered at the baseline of what a functional human can do, there’s no way I’m ever going to be a worthwhile friend, employee or anything else.

I’m sick and tired of being me. I hate myself because I am self centred, pathetic, utterly repulsive and probably manipulative even though I don’t mean to be. I don’t know whether to call it a day after I finish uni for the year. I don’t have much else to look forward too. I’d honestly rather die young and not know what a pathetic and miserable old man I’d become if I didn’t take things into my own hands.

It seems no matter what happens, I can’t be satisfied. I’ve had probably 3 days this year where I was briefly happy but within a day or even hours, I was already deconstructing what happened and discovering reasons to be sad again. It’s hard putting on a front for so long when you just want to die. I think that’s one reason I dislike being at home just lately, I have to put on a happy face and not let my mum know what’s going on in my head. She wants to help but cannot possibly understand or maybe she just doesn’t want to accept that her son (and by extension, she) isn’t perfect.

Previous post

I decided maybe I shouldn’t have made that public. If you really want to read it and you know me, get in touch and I’ll give you the password.

Update

I’m feeling a little less desperate now, I think worrying about a social thing over the weekend pushed me over the edge :S Sorry for being so self centred again.

Also I had to disable comments on both my “Pages” (if you know WordPress) because they were getting 50 spam comments a day.