Dregs
I want to be clear, I'm not looking for you to say anything or any response or ... anything.
I have an annoyingly high amount of suicidal thoughts at the moment. Like, the major reason I have not killed myself, or the reason that I seem to have or give to myself most often is that I got a super sweet deluxe absolute edition of one of my favourite comics ever (Daytripper which you should look up) and have been rereading it an issue a day.
And it's frustrating because this is obviously some sort of mental health crisis but there's nothing to do about it. I mean, I went to my GP about it in January where it started to be bad, as a result of which I'm awaiting a letter from a phone consultation I had a few weeks ago to see if I get put on a much more than a year long waiting list for NHS therapy. And have been told to go to A&E if I think I'm going to do anything bad.
But I've no reason to think there will be anything offered there. And, truthfully, I am unlikely to act on them at at any point. So I sit and keep thinking about how I want it all to end and trying to come up with the last bits of details of how I'll do it in a few days (while knowing I probably won't, but also being disturbed by this.
I was talking to someone months back about how (among other qualities) as a sort of recovering semi-agoraphobic the lockdown's not good for me. And it occurred to me, today that actually I do just not want to go out. Part of it’s that climbing walls are closed. Part of it’s that those I’d most like to see in person are too far away, part that there’s a way in which socialising under distancing doesn’t quit work, part that, as so often the issue, that I don’t really want anything. I had an initial appointment with a therapist a couple of months back. (As well as a lot of approaching others who didn’t have time for mel.) She said she thought she couldn’t help me. Part of it’s that I don’t know what I hope to get from therapy. Part of that’s because I don’t have hope. I’m half-heartedly making plans to travel to Scotland to lock myself up for a couple of weeks before staying with my parents for the res of summer. I’m not really enthused about it, or anything. (I don’t know how much of this is anhedonia, some inability to enjoy things, how much of it’s that I’d had a few things I hoped for and was looking for which are not possibilities, how much is the baseline “I don’t know what I want. (And I don’t really want to go on.)” And I don't think I am anhedonic. There's lots of little bits I like. But, you know, still don't want to go on and find it really hard to want to go on, in this world.)
There are people I’d normally talk to about this, that I want to talk to, but they’re all too busy or unwell, mentally or otherwise, and really don’t have time for me and I don’t want to bother them again.
(And a bunch of them are probably sick of me having been here for five-six months, after a longer period of deterioration and huge part of it is not wanting to approach other people because I get to be too much for people and, let’s face it, there’s a degree of patheticness and being stuck here, which … I don’t know if anyone can help me with and sitting to say “there’s nothing you can do” and pushing away attempts to help and feeling more isolated.)
So I sit here thinking that I don’t want to go on and making vague plans.
I have an annoyingly high amount of suicidal thoughts at the moment. Like, the major reason I have not killed myself, or the reason that I seem to have or give to myself most often is that I got a super sweet deluxe absolute edition of one of my favourite comics ever (Daytripper which you should look up) and have been rereading it an issue a day.
And it's frustrating because this is obviously some sort of mental health crisis but there's nothing to do about it. I mean, I went to my GP about it in January where it started to be bad, as a result of which I'm awaiting a letter from a phone consultation I had a few weeks ago to see if I get put on a much more than a year long waiting list for NHS therapy. And have been told to go to A&E if I think I'm going to do anything bad.
But I've no reason to think there will be anything offered there. And, truthfully, I am unlikely to act on them at at any point. So I sit and keep thinking about how I want it all to end and trying to come up with the last bits of details of how I'll do it in a few days (while knowing I probably won't, but also being disturbed by this.
I was talking to someone months back about how (among other qualities) as a sort of recovering semi-agoraphobic the lockdown's not good for me. And it occurred to me, today that actually I do just not want to go out. Part of it’s that climbing walls are closed. Part of it’s that those I’d most like to see in person are too far away, part that there’s a way in which socialising under distancing doesn’t quit work, part that, as so often the issue, that I don’t really want anything. I had an initial appointment with a therapist a couple of months back. (As well as a lot of approaching others who didn’t have time for mel.) She said she thought she couldn’t help me. Part of it’s that I don’t know what I hope to get from therapy. Part of that’s because I don’t have hope. I’m half-heartedly making plans to travel to Scotland to lock myself up for a couple of weeks before staying with my parents for the res of summer. I’m not really enthused about it, or anything. (I don’t know how much of this is anhedonia, some inability to enjoy things, how much of it’s that I’d had a few things I hoped for and was looking for which are not possibilities, how much is the baseline “I don’t know what I want. (And I don’t really want to go on.)” And I don't think I am anhedonic. There's lots of little bits I like. But, you know, still don't want to go on and find it really hard to want to go on, in this world.)
There are people I’d normally talk to about this, that I want to talk to, but they’re all too busy or unwell, mentally or otherwise, and really don’t have time for me and I don’t want to bother them again.
(And a bunch of them are probably sick of me having been here for five-six months, after a longer period of deterioration and huge part of it is not wanting to approach other people because I get to be too much for people and, let’s face it, there’s a degree of patheticness and being stuck here, which … I don’t know if anyone can help me with and sitting to say “there’s nothing you can do” and pushing away attempts to help and feeling more isolated.)
So I sit here thinking that I don’t want to go on and making vague plans.