There was a day this week during which every moment I wasn’t directly focused on other people I was fantasizing about killing myself or having my head bashed in with a cudgel. The good news is that the day is not today.
It was rather frightening, though. And so unaccountably weird.
Why am I even mentioning this? It’s the simple reality of the situation, but that doesn’t mean that it’s appropriate or useful to share. I don’t think I’m writing about these increasing mental health issues because I want people to pity me or make much of me. It’s okay to need attention when you’re in crisis, but I’m not asking for any. The thought of alarming anyone with this upsets me. Even worse is the thought of eliciting an awkward “Ummm why are you telling me this?” response. Honestly, I have been dealing with this almost entirely on my own so far, and successfully1. But now that it seems to be getting so much worse, I’m forcing myself to write about it rather than keeping my head down and making jokes about dildos. Reasons:
- This is as much of a diary as I have. While I realize other people read it, and I do try to limit myself in certain ways because of that, if I think about that too much I won’t write anything here. This is where I tend to go to be honest about my feelings. Even and especially the unpleasant ones.
- When I get too secretive about my inner life– good, bad, or neutral– I always, always withdraw from the people in my life and feel isolated, which is not a productive way to manage self-destructive thoughts. I don’t expect anyone specific to read my blog, nor for anyone to react in any specific way. But at least I’m being honest at all, anywhere.
- What’s going on is very weird for me. I don’t understand it, or why it’s suddenly gotten so bad. I am almost certain it’s related to a bombardier-beetle-like combination of chronic illness and hormonal weirdness. It’s also gotten worse as the days have gotten shorter in my part of the world, which could a coincidence or not. Anyway, I don’t hear much about people having out-of-the-blue suicidal ideations for a huge chunk out of the month because their lady hormones are acting up. People don’t walk around saying “Hey, so I’m on my period and I suddenly want to kill myself. You know how that goes!” And that makes me feel like this is a fairly singular experience, but maybe it isn’t. Maybe someone will google “PMS suicide” or similar and find this and feel a little less alone.
I don’t have any use for problems I can’t fix, so I’ve been tackling this issue as a project. I found two months’ worth of birth control pills left over from before Laramy got his vasectomy, and they are miraculously not expired. This is not a long-term solution for moderating my hormonal issues, but it could potentially buy me some time. I also bought a sunlamp just in case winter SAD is a factor. Today is the second day I’ve used it.
I am going to make sure next month is not this bad or die trying. Er… bad choice of words. But yeah.
- Because look at how I’m all still alive and stuff! [↩]