Say Leave and I will leave. Say nothing and I'll post. But I have nothing to offer to anyone here. No answers or suggestions.
My mood is pretty blank, not good, not bad not quite dissociated, sad but not agonised. My 'tone' is unemotional - 'matter of fact'.
I tried to put all ideas of suicide out of my head after my last attempt. hen I came home I believed that the follow-up they had promised would result in something or someone to address my feelings and periods of hopelessness to. It never really got off the ground though.
The first hint that there was really nothing set up for people like me was when my initial appointment with The Crisis Team worker, L turned out to be held in the makeshift surroundings of an empty Boardroom.
I don't remember that much was achieved at that meeting. It was 'an assessment' and would lead on to 'the right help for you'. The second appointment was cancelled at the last minute. The last I remember very little of - I would be assigned a key worker, L and others, in particular Dr S, the psychiatric registrar who assessed whether I was mentally fir to go home after the overdoses, would push hard for a follow up to request psychotherapy (something which L also said a psychiatrist Dr M had said might be too upsetting for me)
I waited hearing nothing. Weeks passed. A (Friend I Live with) wrote expressing concern. Because Dr D had expressed contempt for Dr M's letter 'A' paid for me to see a private Psychiatrist who expressed surprise as soon as I saw him as he believed Middleton had covered everything and did not understand why I had succeeded in getting Dr D to refer me.
All he did was write saying that I should be prescribed Parnate. That I was diagnosable as having a 'reactive personality disturbance'.
The actual consultation with M had resulted in his expression that this is an area of particular prejudice against sexual minorities and that without having a car I would be unlikely to be able to get employment of any kind.
Next I saw, after some time, MT. She is a social worker (not a CPN as I was originally told) At the first meeting I fell into a confident performance of a confident, successfully integrated 'Transsexual Woman', in the absence of any input or real communication from her. She remarked that she could not easily ascertain what she could do for me or where my needs lay. I replied that I could appreciate her difficulty as I was performing.
Appointments with MT are infrequent, unstructured and mostly lead to other appointments for 2 day taster 'courses' of one type or another.
She is not the first to say that I am 'too intelligent' to be satisfied with what she normally offers. There is the vague promise of a job and of work experience etc but my lack of references and the rather unfocussed way this is dealt with leads me to the feeling that everybody is just going through the motions.
The drug is not treating/alleviaing my depression. It used to where all others didn't but now it makes no difference.
A's understanding of my down periods is nil and she no longer has no money to throw at the problem.
My sense of gender is non-existent - I don't want a gender. I don't want an
identity. I don't want a life.
This is the first day of a countdown to my next overdose, or as that failed, my leap from a tall building or in front of a articulated lorry or train in town.
This LJ version is a copy of my private journal. Why have I written a journal about it at all? It's my 'Suicide Note'.
Why have I gone live here on LJ with it ?
Because I am vain, because I want to feel someone is hearing me.
I hope to have enough drugs or the strong enough impulse to be dead within a month.
I would prefer to simply die. For my body to give out on me. We've all wished, (well many people that I know have) for a built in self destruct button, just behind the ear or on the neck perhaps. Evolution let us down there. My lungs function, my heart beats, my body lives, even my brain is engaged, my mind clear.That my body 'lives' is the only regular, dependable and consistent fact of my life.