Writing for a living is never what you think. My fiction gets called too intense and my nonfiction not intense enough. Anyone can do it. I spend my time writing for others and it pays the bills. It helps because I don’t have to leave the house to do it. Sometimes it is difficult to get started especially when you are dealing with depression and other aspects of life and mental illness.
Its easy even if you don’t know how. There are a lot of companies and services that will help you get started. You won’t make a fortune but it does pay the bills.
For those who are still around and like my previous posts, I will eventually get back to writing regularly. It is just life is hard and as usual it never lets up.
I know the depression has been bad lately but… I am currently in one of the most beautiful places on the earth (or at least I think so) and I wake up sad. I wake up wanting to die or not wake up at all. If I could right now I would take a million drugs just for this to stop. I should be happy, excited, hopeful, something other than overwhelmingly sad. Why do I feel like this? Yes, I know the technical of why and it is not why me. I would rather it be me than anyone else. I wouldn’t ask anyone to feel like this on a regular basis.
I have no reason to feel this way. My job is fine, money is tight but okay, I am on vacation, my truck is being fixed – my insurance may go up but okay, it can’t go up by that much. I am not particularly lonely. There is no reason for me to wake up like this.
Yeah unoriginal title for a fairly unoriginal post.
It amazes me that there are two reactions to a famous person killing themselves. It was a tragedy and we didn’t know.
Yes, loss of a valued life is always a tragedy and no you never can no. If someone feels suicidal, they won’t wear a sign, they won’t tell you hey you I’m going to kill myself today! Why? Because you will try to stop them, you will spout platitudes and simpering cliches, and they might be okay for a few days but they know that the anxiety and depression WILL come back. There is no cure for it, there is no way to make it go completely away.
Sorry, I get a bit soap boxy about this. I am a firm believer in the right to die. I am the firm believer that people have the right to decide when and how they die. I am a firm believer that if your pain has surpassed your ability to cope, you should have the right to say enough.
I happen to live in a country where this is illegal. They lock you up in the worst way possible for trying and not succeeding or for seeking help when you are trying NOT to kill yourself but feel you need someone to talk to about it. You get into trouble for seeking help when you think you might kill yourself. Tell me if that’s not backwards. Personally since my last experience with mental health I prefer just to find someone yummy and well if you don’t know read my other posts.
This is actually not what this post started out as but it was what it became… As a complete aside I would like to share the cutest thing that I have seen in a long time. It is by the Oatmeal and I highly recommend you check them out. Yes, this is a rare promo and link…
So I am single, older, and not rich. I have no children. People wonder why I am two steps from suicide on any given day. Well here it is, I took care of my father as he got old and eventually couldn’t do things for himself. I am currently taking care of my mother as she gets old and can do less for herself. What do you honestly think will happen to me when I get old and can no longer do things for myself?
I will end up in an institution because I can’t take care of myself, laying on a mat on the ground because I can no longer stand and am a fall risk, force fed canned, pureed food for the rest of my miserable life, listening to the screams of patients who are at least fortunate enough to have lost their minds. Or is the horror more real to them because they are crazy. This is the reality of what happens to the people who no one wants and my whole life no one has wanted me, I am not deluding myself enough to think my death will be any better.
Ordinarily I at least post a picture but if you don’t know what goes on in low income nursing homes…
Look up pressure sores, elder abuse, and nursing home abuse and switch to images.
This is not your ordinary anti-suicide message. It will not contain things like you shouldn’t do it because your family will miss you or it’s not the answer because in fact suicide sometimes is the only answer. It is the single best thing you can do for yourself under some circumstances. Now that I have said that I ask people to keep in mind that a boyfriend breaking up with you, a bad day, the loss of a friend, or bullying ARE NOT good reasons for killing yourself. No offense to those who think it is but get over yourself. These are things that will pass and you are probably better for.
There is only one reason you should consider suicide an option – suicide is an option when the pain that you are in be it physical or mental exceeds your ability to cope with it. Now what that level is no one can tell you. Only you know that point, I promise I will get to more on that in another post but for now I will step down off this soap box and hop up on the one that I intended.
It amazes me that suicide is illegal in the United States. People who contemplate it are treated to at least a two day stay in a place where I wouldn’t house a mass murder, watched by people who don’t care, and treated as if they are subhuman. This is unless of course they are lucky enough to have insurance that covers mental health, which for the most part in the US it doesn’t even the good plans.
You are warehoused for 72 hours while someone who doesn’t know you, your circumstance, or what brought you to consider suicide in the first place supposedly evaluates you, your life, and judges you. If that weren’t enough in that 72 hours you are likely to lose your job and some of your friends all while someone you don’t know is trying to decide whether or not you are really contemplating killing yourself. Which if you were not when someone put you in there you will be when you get out.
So the simple answer as to why you shouldn’t attempt suicide is because if you fail your life will become infinitely worse than it was before the attempt. The fact that you want to die doesn’t factor into it at that point and people start making decisions for you. These people making the decisions have no idea what you are feeling or why you are at the point of wanting to die. Tell me there is something right about this situation. I have been searching for years for an answer to that question.
How does this help a person who is suicidally depressed?
This is one of those nights where every fiber in my body is vibrating and I can think of nothing more fun than sinking to my knees in front of the nearest stranger. Filthy bathrooms in worn out clubs that look almost magical at night but sad and tired during the day. This is the time that I personify dangerous behaviors and need to take my energy, anger, and hatred out doing something fun and yes sucking a stranger off in a random bathroom is fun. It’s power and don’t let anyone ever tell you it isn’t. The way girl or guy looks at you when they know you are in control and that you are making them feel like indescribable incandescent pleasure in such a objectionable place.
There are some things that cannot be replaced by a safe, sane, alternative.
Tonight is one of those nights where the nightmares are real and they just won’t stop. Where if I could bring myself to touch someone I might just want that contact. Not even the person I am currently staying with sees that I flinch away when they get too close, I haven’t looked in a mirror for years, and I don’t seem to sleep anymore. I know after seven days my fingernails will get brittle, my skin and hair will dull, and my body will begin to break down. I look at this clinically because I can no longer feel anything – the well meaning ones took care of that.
I realize in a detached way that there is something like broken glass inside me, churning around as I move. I am almost afraid that when I cough beautiful red will stain my lips and I will know that the glass is real and not something I imagined. It will bubble up and spill over looking for all the world like an over filled glass. Pouring down in the restless tide desperate to overtake ground. Just as real as the red that pours out of a thousand tiny cuts so carefully hidden from the world. Its stunning in its own way and there are people who can see that for the tragically beautiful sight it is. The same way someone looks after everything else is done and the only thing left that they can do is cry because of its loss. There is purity in that sight unlike anything that people normally feel or witness. Just as there is purity in inflicting and receiving pain.
No one notices that the nightmares leave me screaming or that my heart beats too hard against the razor shoved carelessly and deep within it. I am surprised no one hears me break, slowly, so slowly over time.
I am waiting for the hallucinations to start. A nifty side effect that even the most hardcore drug addict would envy if they weren’t so real and so inescapable. Then they will come with their solutions, their quaint notions, and their tired cliches. Eventually they will say every thing will be alright except that it never is because they can’t see what I see. They don’t know what I know.
The blackouts have already started… some long purged defense mechanism gone haywire. Making me forget entire blocks of time because it can’t protect me from itself so it tries to protect me from everything else, even the things I don’t need protection from. Now I can’t even escape into my own world, I can just watch from afar wondering what the architects have planned.
It won’t let me rest. The cycle has gone one long enough for me to be wary of closing my eyes wondering what I will see when I do. I see it but I can’t feel it anymore and I can’t decide which is worse.