I know he wants me to die.  I will not and cannot disobey.  My real person is already dead.  Gone with my sun.  I will try to kill him first, though.  Failure means retaliation. M/D/S/S.  No.  To kill him first is mandatory.

.22 not big enough.  .45 or bigger.  SHOW yourself.  You can’t track me.  I will become smoke. Ha.  Smoke is untrackable.  Eat your own.

Blue will be with me.  Not white – sisters, leave me alone.  Your sun  is not mine and never was.

I need my fingers back.  Will you help me?  It doesn’t matter really.  Right, Blue?

You never listen, you only pretend and make it up.  Lies and liars.  I don’t care anymore.

When he is dead, i can leave.  Insulin or instant death?  Will get both and TELL NO ONE.  Patience, my friend.  Do it right.  You know what could happen if he finds out or you fail.




I’m falling again.  I wish my T would call me back, ask me to come in and see her.  I want to tell her about my “life”, my hand, my despair.  I am sad, alone, fragmented, lost, tettering on the edge of self-destruction.  AGAIN.

Will i …..

What will i do?  Make a suicide attempt.  Can i do something “reasonable” like – call my T, call a suicide hotline, call my shrink, agree to meds, therapy, hospitalization.  Can i agree to try? Can i be honest?

Or will i just wait and see where i land?





…. where T stands for therapeutic intervention.  I was admitted to a locked psychiatric unit (certified in the ER,  then commited by a judge) in Sept. 2011.  I spent about a month in there before figuring out what they wanted me to say and playing their game.   It was fairly horrible as all my admissions have been, but i’m still having daily flashbacks, wishing bad things would happen to some of them and feeling trapped and neglected.

Now, 3 months later, i mentally figure out what those poor people are doing (or are expected to be doing) every time i look at a clock.

8:15am – just marching back “single file” from breakfast

11:15am – “line up for lunch”

8pm -“evening meds”

10pm “go to bed”


My mind just does it.  I try not to, but it happens.

” Get up and leave your bedroom, come out here”.  I thought i could rest here.  Asking every time to have the bathroom unlocked.  Fucking hell,  there isn’t much in here to use  (there is SOMETHING, but i’m not telling.)  “Leave me alone”, i plead.  “Come out or we’re coming in”.

The “O crap, someone is losing it alarm.  Horrible, ear splitting shrillness.  “Shut it off NOW”.  I was in a Walmart or something recently and the door/shoplifter alarm went off and BAM – immediately back there, shaking, heart racing, near tears, i need to run away.  Staff running in and standing in menacing groups, nurses with handfuls of loaded syringes, yelling “calm down” – yea right.  Why can’t they wear pagers?

I spent probably 10 days never being allowed to go into my room , to lie down, to get away from the craziness,  the noise.  Forced out of bed @ 7:15 am, forced to sit in the common area, unable to get away from people  – until 10pm, then “go to bed”  Shear torture.  For a while, every night when fucking 10pm would finally come, they would drag my mattress into the common area, placed it on the floor between the chairs, and expect me to sleep.  If i wasn’t sleeping before (and i wasn’t), i sure couldn’t sleep there.  Some mornings @ 6am i would open my eyes to find a fellow inmate sitting a foot away from me waiting for the TV to get turned on.

If i happened to be in with the doctor when mealtime came – they didn’t always remember to bring back anything for me to eat. It felt more like punishment to me, not therapy.

Some of the staff were OK, decent people – might even talk to you rather than sit there and do -what? -i don’t know.  I hated the male evening shift  nurses; pompous, indifferent pricks.  I hate to say it but the R.N.s were, as a rule, useless twats (i used to be an R.N.).  If i was assigned to a nurse for a shift, i would rarely see or speak with them.  One of the R.N.s told a roommate of mine (an elderly, depressed, hypertensive lady who refused most nourishment and all her meds) that she “better sit up and take your blood pressure medicine because i don’t want you stroking out on my shift”.   Cunt.  The old lady politely refused (so would i have).  The mental health workers, as a group, at least tried.

The unit shrink – argh- a story for another day.

I gave them a D- on my release survey.  Hospital = torture, not treatment.

I know i’m wingeing on, but why can’t i stop thinking about all of it?  I want to forget it.





Self harm

I’m not really sure why i self harm.  I remember the first time i took scalpel to skin, it was 25 years ago.  I was feeling neglected and lonely and i wanted some attention.  I made a minor cut on my wrist, asked my roommate (a surgical assistant) to stitch it up and didn’t do it again until recently.

I’ve read about the various reasons people cut, in particular, and don’t quite understand my reason(s).  I don’t like the sharp pain it causes, in fact, if i have marcaine handy (a local anesthetic), i’ll numb everything up before i cut.  I don’t tell or show anyone fresh cuts, even though they will occasionally, inadvertently be seen by medical personnel handling me for some other reason.  So i don’t think it’s about attention-seeking.  If i’m honest, i think i do it more when i’m stressed or sad, so maybe it’s a form of punishment.  I do like to watch the blood flow. There is a beauty and serenity to it.

I’ve engaged in other forms of self harm. Most people do, i think.  For me, once i get the urge or make the decision to proceed, i always do.  I once told my therapist that i’ve been trying to kill myself my whole life.  This seemed to interest her for some reason, but on reflection i think it’s true.  I have been reckless about climbing trees, being around large animals, riding my motorcycle.  I took up sky diving and scuba diving.  I abuse RX and non-RX drugs.  I’ve taken intentional overdoses and never told anyone. Just always pushing the edge.

Anyway, just thinking.  Doc.

Rainy day thinking?

I’ve just looked up the LD50 of hydrocodone(H) and acetaminophen (A)(Tylenol).  Best i can find is probably > 150-200 mgs H and > 10-15 gms A.  At least it would be close, in a single dose.  With my current supply that would amount to  15 to 20 tablets. That doesn’t seem right, maybe double it to be sure.  I have a refill for 120 tablets available now.  But who can swallow that many?  Even 40 without puking.  I remember reading somewhere about taking an anti-emetic prior to the main course.  Something like diphenhydramine or ranitidine.

Not sure why i’m calculating today.  I have never wanted to take an overdose and fail. Besides the obvious FAILURE, there would/could be the resuscitation efforts/procedures to endure.  Really best to avoid those that include gastric lavage, charcoal, and acetyl-cysteine(Mucomyst)=nasty stuff.  Which is why i prefer (have used) insulin. Obviously a fail as well, but i learned so much.  But i don’t currently have insulin.  I have vicodin.

Something is wrong.  I am here again.




More delay.

I fucking knew it.  Saw my orthopedic doctor this morning.  I told him about the persistant numbness of my right hand and my concern that the longer it persists the more likely it will become permanent.  It’s been 5 weeks or so since the onset.  “Hmm, you must have really whacked it”, he opined.  That may be, but what are we going to do about it?  “Let’s do another week of prednisone and get an EMG”.

“What are you expecting to find with an EMG?” i asked.

“Who knows.”

We’re going to find out that the median nerve is unhappy, that’s what.  We need to fix it NOW.  Sooo –  i’ve made the appt. for an EMG in 10 days(earliest i could get), and a recheck to discuss it with him 2 days later.  In the meantime, prednisone, continued OT and more waiting.


Personal representative

I am grateful that my claim for social security disability based on my “mental illness” was processed and approved on the first try.  Really, all the work was done by a law firm specializing in disability law.  My psychotherapist had helpfully given me a website on which to make the application and i filled everything out as requested.  I, however, stupidly thought it was the US gov’t. social security website – you know – it had an “official” appearance.  When i told my shrink about it he just looked at me strangely and said softly (don’t upset the crazy) “it’s an ad” (you moron) and i felt duped.  I’ve always taken care of myself and am (used to be) quite capable of sorting out various information requests, run a business, do my taxes etc.  But i had already signed the agreement to allow this firm to handle my case and pay them 25% of the first payment(if any).  I think i remember filling some papers out, providing names and numbers of doctors etc. and then waiting.  I applied in spring 2011 and got the award letter from social sec. in Sept. 2011.  Fairly painless actually.  And in the end i really didn’t begrudge them their fee.

What actually got my panties in a twist was being told that it “has been determined”  that i am incapable of handling my affairs/money  and that social security WOULD NOT release the funds to me directly, i needed a personal representative – “someone you trust”- to receive the checks and pay all my bills.  FUCK ME.  Where the hell did this come from?  No one has ever asked me if i need help paying bills or if i was behind or confused -( no, no, and no.)  Did someone just assume i am incompetent because of my diagnosis?  I am insulted.  Granted, i have burned through my savings acct. since being unemployed for the  last year and a half, so i didn’t stand at the social sec. office window and have a hissy fit(like i wanted).  I just stomped off.

Luckily for me, my sister agreed to be my personal rep. and the appropriate documentation and a separate, sort-of-joint bank acct.  was opened.  Like i said, i am(and probably should be) grateful that i was “awarded” social sec.(SS) benefits. I suspect there are many, many deserving people who have not.  BUT, i am still having trouble accepting this arrangement.  According to SS, i am not ALLOWED to have direct access to the(my) funds and my sister must pay all my bills by check(which i have to hand deliver to her semi-monthly – she lives 1 hour away).  Once i asked the bank in question what the balance in the acct. was and was informed i did not have the authority to request(receive) that infomation.  Fuckers.   So now, i don’t have more than a ballpark idea about my financial staus.  If i need money for something that is not a bill, i have to ask for cash, tell my sister what i want it for(not her fault – she has to acct. for all the funds per SS) and arrange to pick it up.

Luckily, i was making a fairly decent salary when i became disabled(lost my job) and my monthly check could, with restraint on my part, cover most of my expenses.  I have, though, just recently refinanced my home which will reduce my payments by $450.00 and help me afford the increased Cobra premium for health insurance. Now my insurance costs me more than my mortgage(this is fucked up!)  I’ll rant about this later.

I saw my occupational therapist today and was reassessed re: ROM(range of motion), strength and sensation in my right hand/fingers. As is obvious to me, my strength and ROM has improved in the last month, however there hasn’t been ANY improvement in the numbness caused the nerve impingement in my wrist.  We both think it has had enough time to improve and that reoperation is the best course of action.  I see my ortho. doc. in the morning and i’ll see what he thinks.

G’night, Doc.