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.
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