Some of you will be reading this after my tweets that alerted some kind souls to the fact that I was unstable again. It also scared them, for which I am sorry.
Why have I chose to write this now? Because I am on the high that detachs me from sanity. A mental high that composes silly horoscopes and tweets mad jokes and sometimes gets me into arguments on Twitter.
I don't believe that I have a suicide trigger point. The ideations often come after a period of being 'high': as relatively high as I can be. I am lugubrious by nature, an agelast. I am rarely drunk, if ever at all, when I plan to die. Which is odd for someone who battles against alcoholism. It, the idea, seems to occur by itself; the thought that I need, want to, have to, leave this life just happens.
Like it did recently:
I started to tweet that things were shitty and that things were getting hard in our lives. We, my wife and I, had just been with an Aunty a s she died in the last week, a day after our wedding anniversary in fact. Then we received notification of our mortgage arrears in the post. Then the job rejections hit my wife's email Inbox. This was no different, apart from witnessing a death, from any other of our previous shitty weeks.
So what made me go and plan, ideate, a suicide?
My brain went blank. It always goes blank. There is no thought of "I am going to kill myself.". None whatsoever. I reach a low point in my high; not by affective disorder. It is as though my body gives up on things and life. There is no conscious thought of suicide. The thought of my death, my suicide, ideates as time passes.
I tweeted some seemingly distressing messages that had people concerned.
I said 'Bye' and switched off the machine at this point. This might seem that I am creating a drama for the sake of it, for the sake of attention. I wasn't.
Without saying a word to my wife I dressed, went out of the house, walked to woods behind our house and planned my death.
It was as if my brain was on auto pilot.
'How do I do it?' I usually ask myself:
Paracetamol is too slow and painful.
Anti depressants are made to be tolerated by the body in such high doses that they don't kill you. Make you sleepy, yes. Rarely do they kill you. I know I've tried it a few times.
I've also walked down a motorway in the hope of being hit; that resulted in being sworn at by a lorry driver and a lift off the M40 by him. He knew what I was trying to do. Why do I meet these people at the 'wrong' time?
I've stood by a canal teetering on the bank a few times when we lived in West Drayton. On one occassion a passerby said "I know what you're gonna do..." and stood with me, talking to me and persuading me to step back. The other times? It took me hours of persuading myself to move away from the bank. Teetering precariously.
I have favoured hanging mostly in the past. That first attempt resulted in a passerby interrupting me throwing a rope over a tree. That resulted in one of a few stays in a 'hospital', shall we say. My second, recent, plan involved throwing myself out of our study window with a rope attached to the desk as a weight. I took some lofepramine to numb the pain of it all and duly fell asleep.
However this time I saw an opportunity. A kindly farmer had made a fence out of lengths of hawser ( a steel 'rope') it had beautifully made off ends, I appreciate things like those, that would accommodate the fashioning of a noose. But the rope was attached to a series fence posts. I knew that the fence concealed, in fact protected against a steep drop off the footpath. Perfect.
I had looked at wrapping barbed wire around my neck but couldn't work out a way of effectively using it. I looked at trees to throw the wire over, planned how to do it, measured it, it wouldn't work.
So I traced the metal rope along each post 'til I found the end on the run of rope. I could thread that end through the made off loop. It was then that I realised that the fence posts could not pass through the loop. So I started to unpick the rope from their staples. I pushed and ripped at each post willing it to break free from the post. Would it fuck? Fuck it, it wouldn't. It made me cry in frustration.
I stood crying and swigging water from a bottle as a family passed by with the comment from the Dad of, "He's drunk..."
So what stops me?
I am not sure. In the last case frustration, in the other cases intervention by others. I don't have a sudden remorse or fear of dying or a guilt of leaving others behind. I am never really sure what stops me.
I don't think that I will ever lose the feeling of not wanting to be here.
I often ask myself why am I so crap at this?
I firmly believe that one day the plan, the ideation will come together and I will leave this life.
Why have I chose to write this now? Because I am on the high that detachs me from sanity. A mental high that composes silly horoscopes and tweets mad jokes and sometimes gets me into arguments on Twitter.
I don't believe that I have a suicide trigger point. The ideations often come after a period of being 'high': as relatively high as I can be. I am lugubrious by nature, an agelast. I am rarely drunk, if ever at all, when I plan to die. Which is odd for someone who battles against alcoholism. It, the idea, seems to occur by itself; the thought that I need, want to, have to, leave this life just happens.
Like it did recently:
I started to tweet that things were shitty and that things were getting hard in our lives. We, my wife and I, had just been with an Aunty a s she died in the last week, a day after our wedding anniversary in fact. Then we received notification of our mortgage arrears in the post. Then the job rejections hit my wife's email Inbox. This was no different, apart from witnessing a death, from any other of our previous shitty weeks.
So what made me go and plan, ideate, a suicide?
My brain went blank. It always goes blank. There is no thought of "I am going to kill myself.". None whatsoever. I reach a low point in my high; not by affective disorder. It is as though my body gives up on things and life. There is no conscious thought of suicide. The thought of my death, my suicide, ideates as time passes.
I tweeted some seemingly distressing messages that had people concerned.
I said 'Bye' and switched off the machine at this point. This might seem that I am creating a drama for the sake of it, for the sake of attention. I wasn't.
Without saying a word to my wife I dressed, went out of the house, walked to woods behind our house and planned my death.
It was as if my brain was on auto pilot.
'How do I do it?' I usually ask myself:
Paracetamol is too slow and painful.
Anti depressants are made to be tolerated by the body in such high doses that they don't kill you. Make you sleepy, yes. Rarely do they kill you. I know I've tried it a few times.
I've also walked down a motorway in the hope of being hit; that resulted in being sworn at by a lorry driver and a lift off the M40 by him. He knew what I was trying to do. Why do I meet these people at the 'wrong' time?
I've stood by a canal teetering on the bank a few times when we lived in West Drayton. On one occassion a passerby said "I know what you're gonna do..." and stood with me, talking to me and persuading me to step back. The other times? It took me hours of persuading myself to move away from the bank. Teetering precariously.
I have favoured hanging mostly in the past. That first attempt resulted in a passerby interrupting me throwing a rope over a tree. That resulted in one of a few stays in a 'hospital', shall we say. My second, recent, plan involved throwing myself out of our study window with a rope attached to the desk as a weight. I took some lofepramine to numb the pain of it all and duly fell asleep.
However this time I saw an opportunity. A kindly farmer had made a fence out of lengths of hawser ( a steel 'rope') it had beautifully made off ends, I appreciate things like those, that would accommodate the fashioning of a noose. But the rope was attached to a series fence posts. I knew that the fence concealed, in fact protected against a steep drop off the footpath. Perfect.
I had looked at wrapping barbed wire around my neck but couldn't work out a way of effectively using it. I looked at trees to throw the wire over, planned how to do it, measured it, it wouldn't work.
So I traced the metal rope along each post 'til I found the end on the run of rope. I could thread that end through the made off loop. It was then that I realised that the fence posts could not pass through the loop. So I started to unpick the rope from their staples. I pushed and ripped at each post willing it to break free from the post. Would it fuck? Fuck it, it wouldn't. It made me cry in frustration.
I stood crying and swigging water from a bottle as a family passed by with the comment from the Dad of, "He's drunk..."
So what stops me?
I am not sure. In the last case frustration, in the other cases intervention by others. I don't have a sudden remorse or fear of dying or a guilt of leaving others behind. I am never really sure what stops me.
I don't think that I will ever lose the feeling of not wanting to be here.
I often ask myself why am I so crap at this?
I firmly believe that one day the plan, the ideation will come together and I will leave this life.
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