Transient suicidal thoughts. Or at least catching myself on every now and again as if to say, what are you doing, you know life is pointless, why the fuck are you smiling? I have nothing to live for, and so any attempt I make at trying to 'live', is met with scorn, with a reminder that I don't deserve any of this, I am not entitled to even try.
Does that make the thoughts transient? If they are always there, just time and again I get distracted and allow myself to relax a bit? They havent gone at all. At least this time, I know what I am doing, and I am not about to fuck it up. I am going to hang from the loft here. This Monday. I want the weekend to allow everyone to have have a chance to do one last thing to make themselves happy. Then all done.
This way as well, it is over in minutes, no chance of rescue, no chance of coming back from it. Can pack stuff, or even donate all to a charity shop or something, although given our record with suicide attempts, maybe just pack it. Or have a decent plan B. Drowning isnt really an option unless we can find somewhere that isnt policed so much by Foyle search and rescue. Again, too much chace of rescue. It needs to be something violent and quick. Don't care about pain. Pain is cathartic. A final punishment. Need to leave a note though saying Daddy should get my body, whatever state it will be in, and not mummy. I don't even know if he will want to bury me.
I didnt see the doctor today. I'm afraid what my plans are will be written all over me. Although, the nurses there are pretty astute, well, kind of, and they haven't picked up on it at all.
Before I go, I am going to tell someone everything. I am going to tell them about my life, about what I have seen and done. The truth about every part of me.
Only then will I be ready to let go, and ashamed enough that someone knows everything that I will have no choice but to delete myself. Someone else will know how dirty I am. What they did and how they hurt me. How I was to weak to let go. How I was too weak to stand up to anything.
Discharge. Finally here. I'm home, have unpacked my toiletries and books, but yet to start on clothes. Too daunting a task, even on post-discharge high!
My medications have been a bit muddled with as PRN's don't follow you out of hospital, but have a stash of chlorpromazine in the kitchen that should see me through until I call the GP, not go see her. I really don't want to see anyone who can put me in hospital, ever again.
I'm glad to be out. I didn't use the support there the way I should have, and that is my fault. I turned what should have been a therapeutic, helpful treatment, into a stay in a building that was frustratingly shit to be in and hating every second of being stuck in there with some of the oddest people I have met in my life. The patients were OK though.
No, the place was understaffed and overestimated in their capabilities. I am sure they are very capable of helping, but this was seriously restricted by time. Due to under-staffing, the time allocated to each patient was minimal, unless in ICU or on 1:1 obs. No time to get to know someone, to do any kind of therapy work see what people were dealing with psychologically.
I was in ICU to begin with, and on 1:1 obs, but at those times, my place of residence was under the covers, ignoring anyone who came near me. I just wanted let home. I suppose I was a bit of a mess at the time, even if I couldn't see it myself.
Now I am out, I don't know where my head is at. The other day I was planning suicide for Monday. Then today, I promised a friend I would go see her in Newcastle on the 5th. I still want to die, actively, not just as a safety net, and have all in order for that, so why did I make plans for 2wks away?
Maybe it is true, maybe I am emotionally unstable. The way I experience it though is everyone inside having different emotions and experiencing them all simultaneously. Or my “personality” is disordered. Singular.
When the plans were being made with Rachel, I was kind of there. “Kind of” being I was there, but not in my body, I saw the sink at the other side of the dorm in the hospital, I heard what was being said, I was “kind of” there. But I was absent at the same time. My body wasn't attached to anything, least of all me. The voice sounded disembodied, even though it was animated. It wasn't me. Or was it?
My “multiplicity” may in fact be a neurological thing. Memory problems caused by blackouts, or something. Voices just being a very active thought process that takes on different intonation and gender. Maybe all this is part of being “emotionally unstable”. The disconnection to things happening around me are maybe some sort of concussed type 'blips' that make me think there is someone else driving my body who isn't me, but in fact, is. But suggesting such physical anomalies would surely give weight to the fact I am factitious?
The first person to suggest that I had dissociative identity disorder was the same doctor that has been struck off for being unfit to practice. That was when I was 15. Since then, diagnosis accumulated have included depression, unipolar, anxiety disorder, post traumatic stress disorder, bulimia, borderline personality disorder, emotionally unstable personality disorder, complex trauma and factitious disorder. The last one was rubber-stamped willy nilly by an A&E doctor after an insulin overdose a few years back. I said I was diabetic, thinking that then this would mean I would not be taken to be suicidal, just clumsy and would be let loose again in no time providing they got my blood sugars stabilised. Obviously, diabetes is a very serious disease and would be on my medical records, and it wasn't. The doctor didn't come back to question why I had lied, hadnt spoken to me about my mental state and assumed that I had got myself into a state by taking insulin so I would get sick for the hell of it. Hence that diagnosis.
I have no idea which of these diagnoses stayed and which remain, whether a new one automatically means the old ones are deleted or if new ones mean the old ones are just disregarded.
All my diagnosis' are all covered by my first ever diagnosis: dissociative identity disorder. Yet that one seems to have fallen by the way side too, or at least it wasn't mentioned at today's discharge meeting, despite the best part of my stay in hospital being a switchy mess and talking 'openly' about my experiences of dissociation.
I used to not care about what the latest label smacked on me was. That was when I was not being forced to engage with services though. It becomes important now, when that is the preconceived idea that whatever professional will have on you, based on your shiny new label. Not everyone is going to delve into your psychiatric history to get a fuller picture, but more importantly, not everyone is going to ask you what you think, which to me is the most important thing. After all, it is you who is wanting help for what you think is wrong, and ultimately, you who will fix that with the guidance of whomsoever you get lumped with courtesy of the NHS.
What am I ranting for, what is it I want?
I want help, but I want help for the problems I am actually dealing with. Not mood instability as I experience pretty consistent and coherent moods, with the exception of when I switch, come around and people tell me that whoever was out was whatever mood then, or when I am overwhelmed with more than one emotional situation due to sharing a fucking body with more than one person. That explains the “emotional instability”. But losing time, hallucinations, a head so loud it could rival Glastonbury at times and not knowing how to cope other than self harming, those are things not explained by emotional instability, but explained by dissociation.
I looked up the criteria. I fit 3 out of the 9 category at a stretch. You have to fit at least 5 for a diagnosis. Hmm...
If I had the right diagnosis, treatment would be focused on the above. But because I am “emotionally unstable”, it will be focused instead on mood regulation. No good to me. I am a pro at switching off or dampening down feelings, and can choose a lot of the time to employ this 'skill' when becoming overwhelmed. Or I get too wound up, get past the tuning out stage and inevitably lose the plot, blank out, switch.
But perhaps the DID diagnosis is still there and this is just an 'alongside' diagnosis and I am being unstable over something silly?
P.S. Should maybe email the link to my blog to psychiatrist? See where I get then...
...on second thoughts, perhaps not.