Uncertainty

I always feel like if I don't belong. It doesn't even matter where I go. I can be hanging out with my family or best friends and I still get a feeling of insecurity. I always feel like if I am a burden on other people. But that's just my mind and it's horrible creation of thoughts. If for one day I could be "normal" I would be happy. It's the same routine every single day. "Same shit, different day" basically sums up the entirety of my existence.

I'm not an alcoholic. I don't have a drug addiction. I do drink. I do smoke pot. But I don't believe that I have a "problem." But I know that when I do drink, I drink a lot. I don't drink during the week, but I do during the weekends. I have no idea how the hell my mood in this changed when I started off writing about my insecurities. Now I feel like if I am at a 12-step program. But anyways....I smoke to ease my mind. I hate my manic side of my Bipolar II depression. But I also hate the depression. It's like I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. .

Next stop Corcoran

To my luck Corcoran is an all male state prison. If I was a man I'd find myself locked up with Manson for some pretty bad stuff. I know I'm not a psychopath, but sometimes I feel like it. Why would my mind let me think of such terrible things? I hate it so much. I never tell anyone these kinds of things because of course they'll flip the fuck out and never want to associate themselves with me. But then again isn't it human instinct to feed off of cruelty? It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, and every (wo)man is out there for to fight for themselves. Why is it so absurd for me to think of these things when horror movie directors think of it all the time and they are deemed "normal." I'm not saying that I'm trying to justify anything, but they are allowed to think freely and then act out what they had stored in their mind. Of course it isn't an "actual" reenactment because that would leave millions dead as of right now from all of the horror/thrasher films out there. I want to use my "creativity" to write a film script, and see it become a big screen hit. But I'm only me. Simple plain Jamie. Nothing is special about me. Nothing cool or interesting. There would be no way that I could even possibly get the opportunity to let that happen. I need to get my "stories" out there. By stories I mean the thoughts in my head. The scenes rush through my thoughts as if I'm watching a movie, but I can see myself in it. I hate that. I absolutely hate that. I don't want to be scared of telling someone about what goes on inside my head because when I bottle everything inside I explode. And the last time I exploded I attempted suicide. I can't keep going through the same cycle over and over. Because sooner or later I'm actually going to succeed. Whether it'll be accidental or premeditated I cannot say. I don't want to "threaten" or "promise" a suicide. I just try to silence my mind in situations where I am going crazy by trying to end my own life so that I won't be burdened with what goes on in my mind. I don't intentionally attempt suicide when I'm going insane in my head. I tend to premeditate my suicide when I am in a deep depression. But I don't want to go that way. And for those of you who know me and are reading this please don't be worried. What I am writing here is basically the innermost workings of my head. I get my emotions out through writing because I can't use my voice to explain how I feel since nobody is willing to listen. And I know I'm not a psychopath. I didn't grow up hurting others or anything. I'm a danger to myself. Everyone knows I"m a danger to myself. But I don't act on my thoughts. I just don't. Well except those that are self mutilation thoughts. Those I used to give into like no other. I have been clean for awhile from cutting because I made a promise to P- but it's so hard when you feel worthless despite having such a strong support system. My brain is completely backwards from what would be the norm. I want to cut sometimes. I want to bleed. I want to know I'm alive. I'm not crazy. I'm just trapped in my body with a bunch of demons. It's a life long war that I'm going to have to fight. It's a constant struggle. And I have no army to help me. All I have is myself.

My Sanctuary

Is it weird that I love to be outside? I know the question comes off really strange, but I've always wondered why I have such a connection with nature. I feel completely at ease and at peace with myself when I can come outside and meditate. I can free my mind from every negative thought and sit there in a state of nothing but a state of being simultaneously. Sounds really weird but it is the truth. I do smoke a lot of cannabis, but in my defense it actually has a calming effect on me. In order to understand the rest of this you need to know a little back history about myself : I suffer from Bipolar II, BPD, PTSD and OCD. Nice quad-diagnosis. I hate being labeled by my "disorder" or "condition." I just want to be normal. And I hate it when someone tells me "well nobody is 'normal'" or "what really is 'normal.'" I shouldn't get mad at getting an answer like that from a rhetorical question, but if you know me then you know what I mean by that. But anyways...I need to be outside for most of the day. I don't care if I just sit in the backyard and do nothing. As long as I can smell the earth, feel the wind, and hear the sounds of nature I am perfectly satisfied. I do feel bad though when P- doesn't want to be outside because it's cold or too hot. I feel like a mean person forcing P- to stay outside with me when he doesn't want to. Because I wouldn't like it if someone made me do something I wouldn't do. But I guess it is what it is. I can't control the biochemical processes that occur up in my head. I'm stuck on stupid for the rest of my life because I won't be able to shake these demons in my mind. They have now become a part of me that I just have to accept. And it sucks.

Back to the Drawing Board

So here I find myself - yet again - as a outpatient of a psychiatric ward. Just what I needed right? But it's not like I don't already know the routine. Handcuffs. Ambulance. Emergency Room. Transfer. Psych Ward. Wash, rinse, repeat. 

As of yesterday (Monday) it has been 2 week since the "incident." And by that I mean the most terrible thing that can happen - attempted suicide. So does that mean it was a success or failure? Nice way to think right? That day is the scariest day of my life thus far. If I wouldn't have called 911, I would have died. According to the doctors and nurses if I would have waited another half an hour or so I would have been long gone. The day in itself is such a blur (which is understandable given the situation). That day I woke up fighting the worse war against the thoughts in my head that I had finally waved my white flag and was ready to do it. I started off with one Seroquil pill, then another, then another, then a whole handful. I felt myself slowly slipping away. I had already fashioned a blade from a disposable razor and had slit my wrists. When the paramedics arrived at the scene I had already become numb and heard sounds as if they were far off in the distance. I remember trying to hide the blood stains from my mom, but it was of no use because right away I was handcuffed and forced to answer questions. How the hell am I supposed to answer all of these questions for the police when I'm already on the verge of dying? At least the ambulance saved me because the EMTs took me away super quick. I felt bad trying to disguise the actual pain that I was feeling inside. Not only was it just the physical pain from the toxins of the medications, but also the emotional pain from the entire thought of the suicide itself. Did I want to die? I know at the moment I wanted to just be liberated of all burdens and finally reside in peace, but right now I realize that it would have been a tragedy to go in such a way. I'm young, and it would be a waste of time if I prevented myself from living to old age and getting to experience the wonders of the world. So much goes through my mind sometimes that I get caught up in the moment and almost blackout in a sense because I am numb from all of the surrounding stimulation. I scared everyone, and the part that still eats at me is that I didn't care that I scared everyone. It sounds terrible, but this attempt was not a slap in the face, nor a tease or anything. It was just a battle of me against myself that I had finally given up on. 

Now that I look back at it all I kind of feel ashamed for what happened. I don't want to seem like a coward from taking my own life. But then again suicide is the ultimate courage tester because you go into the attempt knowing the consequences and possibilities of fatality. 

I promised that I won't ever attempt suicide ever again. I want to stick to my word, but I apologize in advance if anything happens to me because it would not be intentional. Just sometimes I feel so hopeless that I don't know what else to turn to besides my razor blades, alcohol and pills. I'm just sorry for being me sometimes. I don't want to burden others solely because I exist. I know all of these thoughts of mine are probably ridiculous, but those are actual snap shots of what goes inside this ugly head of mine.

I still don't know what to think of it all. It's so very surreal. But I know for a fact that I want to fight this and win so I can keep on living.