Thursday, July 05, 2007

Day

The next piece of writing is from when I was away at Mum's. This is probably the hardest and most personal posting to date. I can feel the panic rise like bile into my throat as I type this meagre introduction.

After that fateful Sunday, some 20 days before the date of the entry below, I decided I wanted to die. For the entire week, I cleaned the house and got my affairs in order, I planned the letters I wanted to write and chose my weapon of choice. I made a plan. I told no one.

Then I think I told someone - I can't remember now, because my Mum was suddenly here. The day she was due to arrive I went to the Mental Centre to ask to be admitted to hospital because I knew I wanted to die. They sent me home. I had self-harmed earlier that day, had gashes up my arms, was crying, and numb and telling the smiling faced woman in front of me I wanted to go to hospital "Now". She handed me a relaxation tape. "I don't have a tape player" I said. She just carried on smiling. "I don't think you really want to die", she said, "But I'll tell your CPN you were here today". "Do you think you'll be OK?" she said. "No", I said. She smiled and ushered me out of the room after giving me a couple of cotton balls and a bowl to clean my arm.

Saturday June 30th

The last 3 weeks have been the hardest yet. It started with a small, seemingly insignificant rejection that spiralled into planning my own suicide.

I wandered from room to room in my flat trying to get my things in order so that when I died or ”they” locked me away in an asylum, everything would be in order and Mum would know where everything was.

The thing that kept me alive until my mum finally came down to get me and hauled me up and out and back to safety was the thought that if I died, she wouldn’t know what in the flat belonged to me and what was in the flat when I moved in.

That single thought halted the goodbye letters and the plan until further notice.

I haven’t been able to write as much as I have done previously because I got too far down into the mire of self-loathing to even try to formulate my babbling thoughts into something coherent. I also couldn’t be bothered because…well, why bother when you just want to be dead? Also this stuff felt too personal to “share” immediately.

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