Suicide. Thinking about it isn’t even strange to me anymore, it is just a normal part of life. Want to know what is strange? Going an hour without thinking about killing myself. That happened once, I’m not exactly sure when but I know it happened. I’m sure there used to be a time before I was depressed that I didn’t think about suicide but I have no memories of what that felt like. I’m sure it felt good but I have no idea.
TRIGGER WARNING: There is a lot of talk about suicide. I talk about suicide on my blog a lot without including a trigger warning but I imagine this could easily trigger someone. Please don’t read if you feel like you could be triggered by talk of suicide.
Some people in my maths class were talking about suicide, it was a very strange conversation. I think most “intelligent” people lack the ability to have normal conversations, but then that makes me question how they are so intelligent. One of them said their preferred method of suicide would be to jump out of a window, that’s when I realised how stupid they actually were. Jump out of a window? I think they were also referring to the window they were standing next to, which would have probably broke their legs at most if they jumped out. Idiot. The other person said they would shoot themselves in the head. I wouldn’t trust this person to do that, I don’t think they even know how a gun works. How would they also get a gun? Gun suicide is not very common in the UK compared to America, and I wonder how a working-class teenage girl would get a gun.
Anyway, at one point I was ready to jump out and scream the best way to do it. Recently the idea of carbon monoxide suicide has come to the front of my mind. Easy, painless, you just fall asleep while it happens. How could these people not consider it? I sat silent because telling everyone I am the master of suicide plans (despite being alive?) is not the kind of thing you should say at college. Yeah, if you survive carbon monoxide suicide you will possibly have permanent brain damage but my brain already feels dead…
Tomorrow I get to go to my counsellor and tell them I hate them, I never want to talk to them again and that the medication I’m on is not working. In fact my suicidal thoughts are getting worse again. At least this medication hasn’t made me do anything stupid (yet). I overdosed on Propranolol (worst idea ever – it did almost nothing except upset my stomach and make me feel dizzy a bit) and the Fluoxetine made me so suicidal I had to go hospital. Sertraline seems to be the medication that does nothing, and I’ve been on it for almost seven weeks.
I doubt I will say those things to my counsellor, but if I could do anything it would be much worse. I have a very interesting memory of sitting in the room with my counsellor once thinking about picking up the stapler and violently bashing them repeatedly with it until I could walk out the room without a stupid comment from them (I’m sure we all get these thoughts, right?). That is one of the things I could think about while smiling. But I know that is a stupid idea now… I’m not sure how easy it is to commit suicide while in prison.
I’ve asked to speak to my friend before I go counselling tomorrow. Yeah, that friend who was my friend one month but then fell out with me, then we became friends again but fell out, and now we talk! That friend. I blame myself for our failed friendship but I guess the job of my new counsellor would be to convince me otherwise. They have agreed to talk to me for a few minutes before I leave to go counselling. I haven’t yet decided whether to cry in front of them (something I am yet to do), beg for their eternal forgiveness (but I don’t know what for yet) or to tell them they have been a bad friend to me and they need to get their act together. Actually, I will probably just say I really need someone to help me get through this, which falls somewhere between begging and telling them they have been a bad friend. Closer to begging. A lot closer to begging. I’ll probably cry. I have about 16 hours to think this over. Well.
What if this talk goes wrong? And my counselling? And that stats test tomorrow? And talking to that girl at college? Yeah, they will all go wrong. At least I have cutting. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone but I love it, I want to keep cutting all to myself. Don’t cut guys! I can cut though. I love watching the blood run out of my veins, I love the pain that I get, I love knowing that no one cares about me and I don’t either. I’m not bothered by scarring, so what. My mind is already mentally scarred by the emotional neglect I’ve received for 17 years. Even if someone loved and cared about me, the damage to my mind has already been done. I’m a failed person. Should I celebrate? Do I get a little badge for it? No, I just get scars and a face full of tears.
P.S. The featured image is old, I’ve been cutting more again…