Some really polarised opinions here. I do understand how some think people who want to commit suicide are selfish, but for me...I honestly felt that, after the time for mourning, the people I left behind would have better lives without having to worry about me all the time.
I asked for help from the professionals time and time again, and was given a succession of antidepressants and antipsychotics, all of which I seem to be resistant to, but nothing more than that. I was off work with depression, anxiety and stress, living in a shared house with 7 other people- constant sensory overload, no friends, the only person I saw was my mum once a week.
I took an overdose. I was in Intensive Care for a month with organ failure, pneumonia and other complications. I don't regret it, I truly didn't want to live. I took a second overdose 18 months later. That time I was found after only a few hours so the effects were less than before, although I spent more time in ICU and had seizures.
After that I made a promise to mum and Andy not to do such a thing again. Like someone (sorry, I can't remember the name) said, how are the people affected supposed to deal with it, just to move on and forget? I think about that a lot, how much I hurt them. My mum's not a very open person but we did talk about it once, I can never be sorry enough but she knows how much I love her.
As for now...With that option no longer open to me, I just struggle along. With the kids now living with us I have so much responsibility, for their emotional well being as well as the practical bits. Music, the more evil the better (!) helps my sanity slightly, as does stand-up comedy, but mostly my emotional state manifests itself in bulimia. It's the only thing that provides a kind of release, a kind of control (I know how terrible that is) I'm honest with mum and Andy about it, and I know it hurts them too, but less so than my death would, I think.
Again I asked for help, and was admitted to an eating disorders unit (away from home, Moglet and my safe zone). I was determined to give it my best, but they were going to make me eat mayonnaise (some of you know how awful that is, bleurgh even typing the word makes me cringe!) and wouldn't listen when I said I would eat anything but that, so I discharged myself.
I've read a couple of threads over the course of today, one lady saying that CBT doesn't work for her because of the way her brain processes and another about the r-word. I think the 'pros' need to realise that we know our own minds and to some extent be adaptable rather than following "the therapy process" to the letter.
I'm sorry about my digression. This is a thread which touches me in myriad ways, and it's the first time I've really opened up here so please be kind. So to return to the OP, nothing truly helps. Responsibility and being trapped, as much as I love the few people (and cat!) in my life, take away the option.
If you've read this, thank you.
K
