Desperative+and+Futility

My name is Lucy. My thought of dying will not leave her. My current label is Borderline Personality Disorder. The most difficult thing for her has been keeping all this from friends and family. At first, my friends were involved because I live with them. They would pick me up from hospital or the police station after a suicidal crisis. But it took its toll on them – my best friends became depressed, withdrawn, and I couldn’t live with myself knowing that it was my fault they felt that way. Same goes for my family – when I was younger they found out about my suicidality and it nearly destroyed each of their souls. It is easier for me to cope and for me to live with myself, by not telling them. Suicide tends to rip up the hearts of those you are closest to. I made a conscious decision to keep them out of it, no matter what the cost. To some extent, I guess it’s worked, because my family still come to me for help, and my friends have resumed a normal lifestyle. It is the most isolating thing ever, dealing with depression on your own. But I’d rather it were this way round, so they don’t have to sufferand more selfishly, I don’t have to watch them suffer. I tried to kill myself by took over 150 pills, nearly died, and would have died if it weren’t for the police and adrenaline shots from the ambulance. That was the time I gave up on life. Since then, nothing has changed my feelings. During these last six months of suicidality, I was hospitalised many times – had emergency spinal surgery and a long slow recovery, spent time in a pain management hospital programme, and was placed in a psychiatric ward for many weeks. In between these hospitalisations, there have been a good handful of attempted suicides, multiple mental health act assessments, and plenty of times when I’ve been dragged to accident and emergency for the emergency psychiatric team. I’ve held myself so far using the resources around me – distract myself, give it time, talk about it, take my meds, ringing people when in crisis. There’s always been a part of me that has fought every suicide attempt by carrying out the above. That is what makes this complicated. I want to die. But part of me wants to live. I’m not prepared to continue the physical and emotional suffering. This contradiction is probably the largest reason that I am still here. I’m sitting here, falling apart. I have tried everything, every treatment option I’ve been given. I don’t believe there is any hope left for me to recover from this. And even if there is, I don’t have the energy to try. I don’t want to always be in pain, and always be trying to hold myself back from suicide. It is a constant effort – staying on guard, being vigilant, never backing down, not letting those thoughts win. But they have won. They are inside of me; I made them; they continue to exist because I continue to exist. I want to break down. I want to scream, to shout. I want to cry inconsolably. I want to kick, punch, writhe around so the outside of me reflects what is going on inside. There’s no way that anyone can take the pain away – God knows they’ve tried. I want people to recognise how hard this is, I want someone to tell me that it’s all going to be okay. But it’s not going to be okay. Not for anyone. Because if I die, I screw up the lives of my friends and family. If I don’t, I have to deal with continual mental torture and never ending distress. So no – either way, nothing is going to be okay.