The Suicide Hotline

 On this blog over the last 5 years or so that I've been writing it, I've been extremely open on the topic of mental health and overall pretty open about my life, preferences...and well, pretty much everything. This blog has been a difficult one for me to write. It's taken me about two weeks to be able to sit down and get things out. I almost have some level of shame talking about this. I don't know why; I go to therapy. I take medication. I've discussed both openly on this platform for the longest time, not to mention I've posted blogs that reference previous suicide attempts, suicidal ideation and suicidal thoughts. Anyway, here it goes. 

LATE APRIL 2021 
I don't know what month it is. It just feels cold. Then warm. Repeat. I'm trapped in a life that I don't want. The repetitive and often compulsive thoughts are weighing me down. I don't want to count my steps. I don't want to count every box that I shelve. I don't want to calculate every stock associates rate of work based on cartons per hour and what I'm observing. I feel worn down my this job. I'm well overworked. I have a planned holiday in a few weeks time, but it feels like an eternity away. And I know that deep down inside a small break away from my job is not going to solve anything. If anything, when I come back it's going to be worse. Things won't be done properly. Things will be left. I'm still going to have to fix things, it's just going to take a lot more time. 
The sense of isolation that I feel is sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach. I want to curl up in my bed and cry. I try so hard to be nice to be a friend to everyone, even if I don't like them and still I'm lonely. This loneliness has been with me throughout my entire life always in different varying degrees. It feels like I'm never being heard despite screaming that I am not okay. Despite what I say, I act certain ways so people will know that I'm not right so that they will reach out in one way or another. It doesn't matter how I feel. 

I thought that I'd be in a better place by now. I thought that I would finally be loved and treated in the way that I deserve. After all, why not? I work hard. I help others. I try to do good. It's not enough. It's really not enough. I'm not enough. I can't live like this. I don't want to live like this. I want to die tonight. I don't want to be here anymore. All I do is take up space. I'm disgusting. A poor excuse for a human being. I don't know why I even bother doing therapy. I'm not getting any better. This is almost the worst I've ever felt. I'm inhaling and exhaling, listening to the time pass. I'm running laps, racing against myself, mucus running down the back of my throat as tears drip from my bottom eyelashes. Why did I have to be made this way? Why did I have to be born defective like this? 
I haven't cried this hard in the longest time. I almost can't breathe. Thankfully I'm home alone so I don't have to pretend to be okay. I don't have to keep silent. I don't have to keep the pain inside anymore than I usually do. I don't know how I've managed to keep all this inside me for this long. I take a fresh razor blade out of the bag, remove the small piece of cardboard wrapped around the blade (safety first, right??) and press it against my wrist. The cool is almost calming. Like it knows that it will make everything alright. And it will be. With any luck, I won't be waking up. There will be no waking before the first cracks of morning light. 
No one around me has any idea the amount of pressure I'm under. I have so much going on inside. I can't continue going to work and being abused either. I've been told to just get over it, to keep it moving, but I can't. Not when personal attacks are being made against me. How am I supposed to laugh off an associate telling others that I take "crazy pills" and that I'm crazy. Under any decent management, the piece of shit should have been fired. This isn't the first incident with him. This is the motherless fuck that threw the chair into the wall, repeatedly doesn't listen and is wholly rude and disrespectful to me. I've reached an ultimatum. Its either me or him. The boss can pick. A lazy piece of shit or a dedicated part of the management team who works his ass off. I know just what will happen with this. I'll be told that I can just quit. He'll keep the sack of shit because I know I'm really not wanted there. 
I don't know what will happen with what I'm about to swallow. I might wake up. I might not. I'm already stoned, so that's lowered my inhibitions. The tingle of a very berry moijito is still on my lips. Is this really the way I want to go? I can't think of a better idea right now. I know hanging is off limits for me. I tried to break my neck before and the not breathing fear, that normal impulse to continue to breathe freaks me out. That twitching before you die. No thank you. I'd rather die from self-inflicted wounds, overdose, gun shot wound to the head or being hit by a bus. Nothing feels okay. 
With each pill I take, the smile is melting off my face. Everyting feels so far away. I'm not getting as tired as I want to be. I want all of this to just go away. I'm torn. I want to die. Yes. I want to die. No. I want the pain to stop. Yes. Just make it stop. I clutch my head and collapse onto the bed wailing. I don't know what I want anymore. I'm so alone. There is no one I can ring to help me. My insides feel like they're on fire. I can't do emergency services. They won't listen. They'll section me. I'll lose my job. I'll lose my house. All sorts of panic and pressure start to fill me. I feel like I'm going to be sick. 
I need to talk to someone. I need to express what's going on inside me. I type suicide into the Google bar and look for resources. Something I've never done before. I can't talk. I don't want to risk my brother or sister coming home and hearing me on the phone. I'm too ashamed to have them see me like this. Or worse Pookie will get involved; she'll make it 100 times worse with her screaming and views on mental health. No one is online. Even if they were, would they listen to me? Let's just see what this text line is about. If I don't get a response, well at least I tried. 
It takes a few minutes before a woman replies to me. She gives me her name and asks if I'm in crisis at the moment. I'm in a crisis, but I don't want emergency services here. I need to play it cool, I'm walking on shakey ground. I tell her that I'm having suicidal thoughts but that I'm not acivetly going to hurt myself. (HA) Now, I can see how some people might see this as counter productive. You're reaching out but not going to be 100% honest? If you were in the same position, with a similar history of trauma and neglect, would you be quick to open up? No, I didn't think so. 
I manage to get out a little bit about what's bothering me, what steps I'm taking to try and help myself and that it's just not working. I feel like I need something more, especially in the moment. She didn't really offer much help other than a supportive listening ear, which I appreciated. I got to vent, let everything out without worsening the cuts I'd already inflicted upon myself and without swallowing another pill, although the colour of some of them is pretty and I wouldn't mind having such lovely colours inside of me. 

It makes me feel like a hypocrite having mental health help at the bottoms of blogs. Sometimes I can't reach out for help. I feel like I don't deserve it. I'm ashamed that I need it. I don't want anyone to know that there is something wrong with me. Despite the recent decrease in stigma regarding mental health and the increase in activism to help those who are mentally ill, I feel a deep level of shame. I feel that I should be able to handle it. I should be able to make my way through life without breakdowns like this. As I mentioned in a previous blog, many of my mates have grown tired of my illness and some of them have left. It's crushing to be left alone, never mind abandoned because of a mental illness you can't help having. I make the effort to try and get better but I feel that there are some people in my life who do nothing to help me on my journey. 

If you yourself or a loved one, friend or even co-worker is struggling with self-harm or thoughts of suicide there is help available. Reach out to a trusted mental health professional or crisis line. Below are resources for the US since that is where most of my audience is. There are supports for the UK as well.

United States
800-273-8255 National Suicide Prevention Hotline 
Text HOME to 741741 for free, 24/7 crisis counseling.
If you are in crisis, call the toll-free National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), available 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The service is available to anyone. All calls are confidential. http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org 

United Kingdom
AssistLine: 0800 689 5652 
Helpline: 01708 765200
https://youngminds.org.uk/find-help/feelings-and-symptoms/suicidal-feelings/