Archive for January, 2013

parasuicidal thoughts

January 30, 2013

I am inundated with these every day at the moment. the plans used to be more abstract and almost a comfort but lately they seem so much more real and demanding. They are worst in the afternoon when I try to have a nap and can’t. I get really tired during the day and a couple of hours sleep on the sofa used to be something I looked forward to.

But they are mostly thoughts of attempting suicide and being rescued and hospitalised. My overdose last weekend didn’t result in this. I fell asleep and woke up the next day. My first thought that I was lucky so that must show I don’t want to die.

But I have this urge to increase the seriousness of the attempts and to take more risks and am fairly ambivelent about the possibility of death.

Today I thought about going down to the railway line, drinking some alcohol and taking enough quetiapine to knock me out, then lay next to rather than on the line and wait for someone to notice and come get me. the risk being of course that I’ll get confused and stumble onto the tracks anyway.

Then I thought that perhaps that would be a good thing if it happened. I know I wouldn’t have the guts to do it unless I was able to pass out and go to sleep on the tracks.

I think about going down to the local park and hanging myself and seeing if anyone will notice in time to cut me down and rescuscitate me. Or sitting on the bridge over the river in the middle of the city and falling off and seeing if the police boat finds me in time.

Common theme is of course being rescued. Of putting my life in someone elses hands.

but on top of this is a feeling of inevitability. Of knowing that at sometime in the future, maybe years from now, a suicide attempt will kill me. And of feeling that it’s ok, that I want it to, that it is my fate.

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A BPD translation tool for the Mental Health Professional

January 30, 2013

You say: You have great insightI think: Don’t patronise me!

You say: What do you want us to do for you? I think: I want you to listen and be kind to me and say you care and tell me it’s not fair. I need you to come to my house and help me open my mail and hold my hand whilst I listen to 3 months worth of voicemails, but I can’t possibly tell you that or you’ll think I’m needy so I’ll need to make some stuff up about needing help with setting goals or creating a crisis management plan.

You say: Did you know you can phone in for a repeat prescription to save you coming to the surgery? I think: He hates me. He doesn’t want me here. He wishes I would go away and die. Everybody hates me.

You say: You show no signs of mental illness I think: Why does nobody beleive me anymore? Why are my low moods less real than a depressives? Why did you tell me I was mentally ill for 20 years then suddenly tell me I was just badly behaved? Where do I fit? How do I hope to get better if I’m not sick in the first place? Try spending one day as me and then tell me this isn’t mental illness. What do I have to do to prove to you that I hurt inside? Do I have to cut or overdose again to make you see I’m in pain?

You say: Hospitalisation is no good for you I hear: We don’t care if you kill yourself.

You say: Do you feel like hurting yourself tonight?I think: I don’t know how I’m going to feel 5 minutes from now, but if I say yes you’ll think I’m lying and send me home anyway, and if I say no, you’ll be pleased with me for sticking to the script and letting you off the hook, so I’ll say no and just not let anyone know if I injure myself.

You say: Have you thought of getting a job?I hear: Why are you living off the state. There’s nothing wrong with you and I’m going to say as much for your next ATOS medical.

You say: I’ve had a good read of your notes I think: I may as well go home now.

You say: I feel you’re at low risk of completed suicide I think: Next time I need to do it properly and you will lose your job for not beleiving me. And I know that’s fucked up but I don’t care about risking my life I just want to prove to you that I am serious about not wanting to be here anymore.

You say: This is all just part of your condition. I feel: It’s my fault for being a bad person.

You say: We can offer you some short term helpI feel: You think I’ve manipulated you into doing this. It’s a token gesture. You’re going to dump me like everyone else because you don’t think I’m genuine. You don’t care. Nobody cares. there’s no point in me taking the help because I can’ open up to someone who doesn’t want to hear.

 

 

I might as well just cut and paste from 3 years ago.

January 29, 2013

Because I’m back there again. I don’t usually re-read old diary or blog entries. Why learn from the past when it’s so much more interesting to make lots of fresh new exciting mistakes? But today I came home from a&e and did a google search on CMHT’s and borderlines (more on that later) and up popped my old friends at Crazy Nurse, which in turn led me to this old blog.

So, A&E. In a bpd nutshell: decline, isolation, low moods,shaved head,worried mental friends,  intervention, a&e visit, sent home, overdose, long lovely day of sleep, mental health support line, emergency doctor on phone, narky GP receptionist, forced trip to a&e, bloods, ecg, Dougie Howser MD lookalike, psych consult, tears, home again, upcoming assessment with CMHT (shitting myself) Emmerdale on TV, new hazlenut chunky kitkat (yum), emotionally drained.

anyway that’s my week.

nice to be back. more to follow from tomorrow i promise. hope a few of my old friends are still about xx