More self-loathing

February 8, 2007 at 12:47 am 3 comments

When you’re depressed, your values get reversed. A good day isn’t one you’ve particularly enjoyed, or where you got a lot done, it’s one where you didn’t think about killing yourself much, or where you managed to do more than nothing at all. You take your victories where you find them and try not to be unhappy that you don’t get to choose what to be victorious about any more.

Last night I dreamed I was to be employed as a stunt double on a hospital-based TV show. Only my chest would be shown. Even in my dream I worried about the scars on my arms.

I’ve changed my mind about death recently. I used to be concerned about the how. I wanted something painless. I have two ideas, the aesthetic ideal and the practical solution. Aesthetically, I would like to insert needles into my veins, tape them down and watch the blood flow out of me. I have needles, as it happens, but they’re of a high gauge and I suspect that blood pressure would not be enough for me to lose much blood. I know where to get higher gauge needles. It could be done, one in each arm.

(The reason I have needles isn’t for injecting anything. I have the needles, but no syringes. And no use for them at the moment, actually.)

The practical solution is hanging myself. But I live in a flat. There’s a conspicuous lack of exposed beams. I’m sure I could rig up something over a door, though. More and more these days I just want an exit. I see no future for myself. The only futures I’ve ever seen appear to have been the product of over-ambitious delusion. The people who tell you that you won’t always feel like this are liars. I always have, with a few short breaks. For over a decade now.

When you start to wonder what the girls in the pornography you look at were thinking about when the photographs were being taken, it may be time to stop.

I’ve given this world twenty five years. Isn’t that enough? What I want is for there not to be a tomorrow. The world is a beautiful place sometimes, but I want no part of it. You can have it, those who want it. It’s yours to save or destroy as you see fit. You can have the relationships and the career paths and the retirement funds and the first dates in restaurants. You can have the meals in the candlelight under a blanket when the power’s gone out. You can have the Sunday recovery brunch in your favourite city pub after the Saturday night you half-remember through the remnants of a hangover. You can have the iPods, the SatNavs, the yearly subscriptions to lifestyle magazines. You can have the grandchildren and the hand-made cards from nephews and nieces.

Just let me go. I wasn’t very good at living in this world anyway. I don’t care how I go. And I’ll try your medications, whatever SSRI’s they want to give me, the melatonin I want to try for my sleep, the mood-stabilisers they might prescribe after my reaction to the sertraline. I’ll swallow it down with a smile and deal with the side-effects. I’ll do your cognitive behavioural therapy or whatever. Because once I’ve done that, I can go with a clear conscience that, fuck you all, I tried. It gives me license to go ahead and follow the directions I’ve penciled into the script. Exit stage right.

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Drugs Codeine

3 Comments Add your own

  • 1. journeyswalk  |  February 8, 2007 at 9:08 pm

    This is a majorly intense post. Just want you to know that you are heard.

    stay alive!

    -a traveler

  • 2. katm  |  February 10, 2007 at 6:40 am

    “When you’re depressed, your values get reversed. A good day isn’t one you’ve particularly enjoyed, or where you got a lot done, it’s one where you didn’t think about killing yourself much, or where you managed to do more than nothing at all. You take your victories where you find them and try not to be unhappy that you don’t get to choose what to be victorious about any more.”

    Yup. That just about sums things up.

    After having two reasonably good days, I’m back down in the pit. And I could care less if I live or if I die. Both seem like too much work right now, so I guess I’ll stick with the status quo.

    I thought about getting majorly drunk, but I’d just end up sick tomorrow with a headache and a hangover. So why bother.

    Eh.

  • […] enthusiasts through the ages have done and wait for the next morning’s hangover? Believe me, motivation for self-annihilation is never stronger than in the throes of a truly epic sherry hangover. Not that I would know […]

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Hi, I'm James. I'm a 26 year old guy from England with bipolar disorder (currently well controlled). I also have a circadian rhythm sleep disorder (not so well controlled). This blog has charted my journey from mental illness, through diagnosis and, recently, into recovery. It's not always easy, but then, what is?

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As of 12th September 2008 it has been forty five weeks since I quit smoking. So in another seven weeks it'll have been a whole year.

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