The thing suicidal here is the door, we had a good run, even I have to admit.

Do you ever have this feeling of emptiness?
Right in your throat telling you that you have to be better.
Whether it's because you're single, or childless, or failing, or jobless, that empty feeling that brings a black cloud over your life.
Sometimes this emptiness manifests itself. Especially if you can't satisfy it.
So, yes, I feel empty. I feel unloved. Oddly, I feel like I want a baby (but that might have something to do with the focus of my studies on obstetrics recently, and the 'Bringing Up Britain' Season on BBC3, that means that I'm bombarded with shows about pregnancy, and babies).
I don't think I want a baby. I want somebody to love (cue Queen playing in the background). I want somebody to love me again. And I don't mean in a familial, best friend loving kind of way, I mean to be loved. And we all want to be loved, I know, so don't think I that I'm of the presumption that I'm alone, that I'm the only person in the world who feels this emptiness, or this craving for love.

I know I've been boring you all lately will the suicidal talk (which is where the title comes from), and you'll be happy to know that my morals have overtaken my desire to take my own life.

For a stupid reason, really.
I've been catching up with Desperate Housewives (sad, I know), and one character (I won't spoil it for you) took her own life after being rejected by her mother and husband, so that she could donate an organ to someone else on the street who is dying from high creatinine levels due to kidney failure.
And, obviously, the aftermath wreaks through the street. And it's then that I realise the effect that suicide has on the people that care about you.
Don't get me wrong, I know how upsetting death is, I do. But the effect of taking your own life, and therefore choosing to inflict the hurt on your family and friends, has a greater effect. And my friends who have lost a family member to suicide, will somewhat want to bitch slap me for my revelation, and to them I apologise.
I suppose after loosing someone, it's hard to watch your best friend hate themselves so much that they want to hurt themselves, or feel like they have no more purpose, and so do stupid things that end them up in a&e.

But, I need to see my doctor. And since she's only in twice a week (well, once at Melbourne and once at Chellaston) meaning it takes me 2 weeks for an appointment...which means I'm going to have to spill all of the beans to a new doctor...which makes me somewhat uncomfortable. It took me nearly a year since my first overdose to go in the first place, and I kept putting it off when I was going. I was then given counselling, which I stopped going to after 2 sessions...

I mean, come on! I spend my nights working, caring for dying people. So why the fuck should I be so sad? I don't have cancer. I don't have heart failure. I'm not dying. I have no real, adequate reason to feel like I want it to be over. And it also means that I hide my scars while I'm at work. Not just from curious clients, but the other Prestige members I work with. And not just scars. I do my best to hide the fresh ones from my grandma, and thankfully, no one has noticed yet. Although since my mother reads this, she may get a little curious. And I beg her not to tell grandma, or Aimie, or dad. Because it will get back to her.
And if anyone else has any beef with it, I'll email you the e learning document on mental disorders. You might get a bit of a look into it. Or look it up on wiki-fucking-pedia! It's not difficult!

There are so many judgemental opinions on self harm and depression, which is why it's a secret. As much as I love my grandma, she is very condescending. She likes to tell me about medical facts (that she has read in the Telegraph (or whatever paper she's reading)) that she obviously thinks I don't know. Me. The medical science (almost) graduate. Like the fact that vitamin C is beneficial to the immune system. I was given vit C when I was younger because I suffered with mouth ulcers a lot. And besides, I study freaking medicine! Oh, and she likes to inform me at pretty much every opportunity that my weight has serious effects on my health. Really? Because the nutrition module, or obesity and cancer presentation that I did did NOT inform me to this! I got in from work this morning with back ache. "well, you know the more weight you're carrying round is going to put more stress on your spine, that's why your back hurts" Really grandma? Fucking really?! I thought it was that metal rod I ran into while I was chasing the dragons out of the kitchen after they embezzled  our trifle!

I'm sorry, I don't mean to moan...It's just so frustrating after a year of it...especially when she then takes Aimie to Morrisons and bring FUCKING cream cake home! Oh yea! "You need to be more active and eat less....let's have some cake after tea!"
I have seriously had enough of it. I love my grandma, but it would be so much easier to be here if I didn't constantly want to get away.

Oh, and, MOTHER.

"So what are the chances of you actually graduating then?"

While I'm working my arse off, making revision cards right next to you before I go off to work (a shift I picked up because you were coming round and were going to steal my bed)! Yea, thanks. Way to kick my self esteem up a notch! Productivity has decreased so much since then. I just think, you know what, doesn't matter how much effort I put in, not even my own mother has enough faith in me to graduate.
I know I've not had the best attendance, but you try going to uni when you've got a mental disorder (and yes, it's a mental disorder) that keeps you in your dark bedroom for days on end, and eventually turns you slightly agoraphobic. I am trying so fucking hard to make you lot proud! I'm the first of your children to go to university, and you even said on the train to Aston when we went to look round that you were so proud of me for going to uni and trying to do something good with my life. I'm still trying. But it's hard. I've never been the brightest person, mum. I've always been an average student. And now I'm bloody crazy as well...it's not easy!

The least that I want is some support. And not financial. When I'm sad, and there is a razor in my hand, I want to be able to call my mummy and have her talk me about of it, instead of thinking that if I let her know I was self harming again she's say it was stupid or silly, and if she didn't say it, she'd certainly think it. I want to know that if my parents noticed that I'd hurt myself, that they'd be good enough not to think it was stupid, and maybe offer me help. Not tell me "you don't want to be on those tablets again, Kit. They're not good". Or to mutter to your mother "I'm glad she's wearing that jumper now" after noticing the cuts at the top of my arm (Wilko heard you talking tyvm). Ok, it was before the Christening and it would have looked bad. But how about supporting your daughter while she's losing her mind? I know that you worry, but it feels like it's more of a "what's she going to do next?" than a "I need to help her" and then posting "loves reading about her daughter's numerous suicide attempts...NOT" on facebook....do you ever stop and wonder why I vent through this blog instead of talking to you or dad or grandma? The only person who sort of understands is Aimie, and that's because she went all bat shit crazy with post natal depression. And when I talk to her she tells one of you because she's 'worried about me'.

Sorry, this has turned into a rant at my mother. And sorry mum. I briefly thought about not posting this, but then I thought fuck that. If I don't then you'll never know, and you need to. My best friends know how badly crazy I've been, but you don't.

And this is giving me a headache. Well, either that or the crying. Yea, in tears while writing a whiney blog....how stereotypically emo of me?

Sincerely,
in need of meds.

I couldn't bring myself to call, except to call it quits

Revision.
Revision.
Revision.
Fucking revision...

It's all I need to do now...Shame I'm rubbish....

Ugh...I have 3 weeks to learn all my pharmacology and therapeutics...and then all the other stuffs the week or so after....Resits inevitable again this year? Maybe...since I have been particularly insane this year...

Anyway, enough revision bollocks...I'll do more tomorrow and then at work....

My grandma's a little drunk...and up emailing her 'boyfriend'...then commenting that she shouldn't be worrying about all this lark and boyfriends, when she should be tucked up in bed with a Horlicks....

Which gets me thinking....Stupid boys.

I feel like I should be trying to talk someone I care about into a relationship...
Oh no.
Wait.
I did that enough last year.

So no, I don't want to talk someone into a relationship with me...I want to actually be in one. Pretty please. I'm not fussy, honest! Well, that's also a lie...I am...I'm quite shallow...But apparently I have strange taste in men...so you never know, you might get lucky!
Applications on a postcard please!

I don't know....
I don't give a shite about the sex, or the comfort, or the talking...It's the knowledge that there's someone that loves me like I love them....The knowledge that I can call someone and talk to them without feeling like the annoying friend...The knowledge that I can text someone and get a text back at some point later...The knowledge that I don't have to tiptoe around anyone or feel awkward around someone because of a few things someone says, because if someone tells me that they miss me, or I'm gorgeous, or they "totally would go there again", it's because they would...I wouldn't have to spend days wondering what they meant, whether they meant something they'd said before...Aggghhhhhhh.........stupid brain, occupying my memory and stopping the science going in.........


Never mind.......

I can't be bothered to complain about my pathetic little life


Sincerely,
In need of meds
x

I just want to be better than your head's only medicine

So, the time has come once again...Dissertation is complete, exams are around the corner and I am back at home.
I was quite happy yesterday...Maybe it was the sun...
Lauren and I went swimming with Dj....who (much to my mother's disdain) I have been getting along with again.
After which, we went to the pub with Rik, who I haven't seen since I all but told him to go fuck himself in October (ish).
And it may have been the nicotine rush or seeing/speaking to him for the first time in months after everything that happened. And then giving him a lift home (since it made more sense for me to go back to Burton via Chellaston, than Dj to go to Leicester via Chellaston) and we had a chat...and since I promised, I won't tell you what about...because I promised.
But I got home, and my grandma was watching a film so my cheeriness wasn't quietened as usual...I was a little hyped....and now I'm singing my croaky throat off...which makes no sense.

Given that it's me, he obviously received the obligatory "I've seen you for the first time in months and you were...we'll say nice...so I'm gonna text you half an hour after dropping you off"
And of course, Rik being Rik, didn't reply. But then again, I've come to expect this so I wasn't exactly bothered.

Anyway, enough about my confusing and often failing love life.

I'm doing some e-learning for work. The 2 tests for me to do are 'Oxygen Therapy' and 'Mental Health'. So I thought, ok, mental health, we deal with challenging behaviours and learning difficulties, it'll be about that.
Oh no.
I'm reading about depression, self harm and suicide. I'm reading about my own mental disorder from an professional's perspective, and how to deal with it as a carer. One of the questions was "Which of these can you do to help someone with depression?" there were 5 answers, pretty standard, be informative etc etc, and one of them was to provide hope. Which I didn't select. So I got it wrong.
Now, call me strange, but I would be pissed off if some know it all carer started giving me hope in regards to my depression. They would get a big fat 'fuck off' and be done with it. I know enough about my own illness to know that you don't give hope because it doesn't make a blind bit of difference.
Par exemple.
I have been sitting in a corner for 3 days feeling that nothing is worth moving for (besides using the loo...because that would just be gross) when a woman dressed in a white tunic with a blue ID badge around her neck sits beside me telling me that it's all ok, and that things are worth it.
Do these people honestly think that I've not noticed the sun piercing through my curtains, or my friends trying to get my back up on my feet? It's almost as though she'll say "look, it's nice and sunny outside" (in that condescending way that carers do) "let's get you dressed and looking pretty so we can go to the park and get an ice cream?" and I'll look up and go "Yes! You know what, that is all I needed! Yes! Let's go and get ice cream and we'll all live happily ever after"
I'm gonna go with no...

I'm not entirely sure why I'm getting so agitated about something written by Prestige Nursing to help the carers deal with the clients who have mental disorders. Maybe it's just reading a professional caring prospective after studying the psychological aspect and suffering it first hand (which I know my mother doesn't like, and I'm sorry for rubbing it in your face again...well, sort of...I'm more debating the question on the test than anything else).

The part I did appreciate though, was the section about self harm that explained that it was a way of gaining control of their emotions and distress...which I have repeatedly explained to my dad, but he doesn't seem to get it. He hated me being on SSRIs, even if it made me better. He said I was stupid and shouted at me for self harming, which may have made it worse since guilt is often a major factor.
The presentation explained that as much as it could be a cry for attention, it is more often than not, hidden, as self harmers will be embarrassed about their scars and having to explain them to family members etc.

I really think that depression is an underrated mental disorder, and those that don't suffer from it and go "Oh, I feel all depressed" just because they feel a bit down in the dumps because, say, they got a low grade on their science paper or whatever...And when they don't understand it, they think that people who suffer from it are over reacting or playing on it.

Like me...I make jokes about it, but last year, I lived literally 5 minutes from campus and I went to only handful of lectures. I went to all of my labs, but very few of the lectures/seminars/tutorials...to a point where I never met some of the lecturers, and I failed 2 modules and am now no longer doing an honours degree.
I've been better this year, I've been to many more lectures (at least one every week, as well as going to work) and I've met all of the lecturers. But it takes me a lot. I even went a bit crazy at one point, and started almost having an anxiety attack when I knew I had to be in a crowd of a lot of people. I've since forced myself to recover from that...I still feel paranoid, but I can handle it (like in the Lamb last night, me and Lauren got there first, and instead of getting the drinks in, I went with her to the loo (ok, I did have to pee but not desperately) because I couldn't handle being in the pub alone)

Ok, so, I'm a little bit mental....and I've started having feelings for my best friend...which complicates matters....Some things happened at my birthday party (the insane one) and while I was like wtf...I wasn't complaining...he's attractive and he's a very good kisser...then I noticed that we hold hands all the time....so much so that it just feels natural and we automatically kiss hello and goodbye....so then my brain goes "you two would be perfect together....you're practically a couple anyway...." which inevitably confuses me somewhat....And he'll more than likely read this.........so.....Generic Super Hero Man, go out with me til you get fed up with me :p


I think that's about it....I should get back to my e-learning....I've been at this for a while.


Sincerely,
In need of meds
x