All Change?

6 12 2011

You know what, I’ve reached the age I have and I’ve never dyed my hair. I’ve not got a tattoo either. These two marks of the individual I’ve never done. So why am I sat here waiting for the dye in my hair to cure? Better question might be; why am I still here?

You see, as things stand, I was absolutely certain I was going to die by a specific date. Nothing could stop it so I allowed friends etc to do their thing because I didn’t want them feeling guilty etc. Not their fault I was going to kill myself so I wanted to, in my own way, show them inevitability. It even got to the point where I was detained at a local facility under a Section 2. As an aside, much hilarity ensued as one of the doctors sent to assess me was talking about replacement of fluid as a metaphor, which would have been ok if I wasn’t genned up on dilution etc and demolished the metaphor.

Within 24 hours I was sat in front of a psychiatrist I’d seen before, and one I don’t really have any respect for. Ok, this isn’t unusual but I swear there are good doctors out there (one of the sectioning docs was alright), I just don’t seem to get on well with the ones I’ve met so far. Maybe we’re as arrogant as each other and that causes issues.

Anyway, meeting with doctor didn’t go well because I had the attitude that I didn’t care. Why? Because I didn’t, I genuinely didn’t give a shit. There was nothing they could do to stop me.

So, meeting left, offer of referral to psychologist hanging in the air, constant obs ceased, I was left to do what I wanted. What did I do? I went to my room, I sat down, I got back up and retrieved one of the razor blades I’d smuggled in, I sat down and removed the wrapper from the blade. I put the blade down, picked up one of my notepads (I tend to write alot) and wrote out my suicide note.

In case you’re wondering, the first line read “When all is said and done, I’d rather have done this elsewhere.”

Notepad and pen on the table, open to the page I’d just written on, sat in the gloom, blade in my right hand, pressed against the designated point of flesh on my left wrist. And…


I couldn’t do it. When it came down to it, I was overwhelmed by anxiety and I wimped out of it.

This was a major blow to my psyche. There I was, with the date approaching fast, and I couldn’t do anything to avoid it. So I went into a kind of zombie/automaton mode, getting up, walking aimlessly enough to end up coliding with walls etc. Sitting back down on the bed and staring into nothingness. Even now, nearly a week after, I can’t help feeling so incredibly pissed off with myself.

But that’s the thing, it’s nearly a week after, the date has come and gone, yet I’m still here. What’s changed? I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s going on, why I’m still alive, what was so significant about that date. It all escapes me, partly on purpose, partly because I don’t understand it. On purpose is happening because I’ve avoided thinking about the date I was trying to avoid, or any connotation involved with it. Ask me my age and I will not tell you, that’s the level of avoidance. I cannot even think going past that date without getting upset about it.

It’s pretty fucked up, I know, makes no real sense either, but that’s the way it is.

So what now? Has anything changed? Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t know if this time next year I’ll be going through the exact same thing. I don’t know if any of it will be resolved at any point. All I know at this time is that the only thing to change at the moment is that my hair has gone from being dark brown to a very dark blue. Looks alright too. No sign of a tattoo though




2 responses

7 12 2011

For what it’s worth, I’m really glad and relieved that you’re still here. I just hope you’ll feel even a little better soonest. x

9 12 2011

Thank you for your kind words. I was going to say I wish I felt the same way but I couldn’t with any conviction. I’m here, I hate that fact, and it doesn’t appear to be getting any better at all. Not nice but it’s the truth of the matter

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