Throw away the key

I'm starting to have regrets.
The Guru contacted my GP who saw me and is now contacting a hospital trying to get me a bed.

I don't want a bed. They are going to lock me up and throw away the key.

I managed to put off anything until Monday due to Sunday being mothers day and me not wanting my kids to wonder where the hell I have disappeared to and have "mothers day' issues for the rest of their lives.
Apparently I have to "let go" and get better. I don't want to get better, but I want to let go.
Right now I am done, I have made my decision, I have all my affairs in order, will done, notes done and I am ready to go.
I have a plan to use in hospital so I can die there where my husband doesn't have to find me - although I wont get to die where I wanted to.

I am feeling some guilt in relation to the kids, but at the same time I am 100% certain that they are better off without me. The way I spoke to them this morning was unforgivable and growing up with that is going to fuck them up way worse than them growing up without me.

I ate TWO bags of M&Ms yesterday. Hot chips today. Final straw.

This cant continue anymore.

Return of the Guru

After 6 months I finally plucked up the courage to contact my psychologist - aka The Guru.
I had been actively avoiding anyone at all of mental health persuasion after I had been given a psychiatrist through the public mental health team that I couldn't stand.

He would ask questions in this accusatory and smarmy manner that made me feel like he was making fun of or didn't believe anything that I was saying. I admit I didn't give him much of a chance, I only saw him one time but at that time I was so upset by his manner that I couldn't stand the thought of going back to see him ever again.

This blew up to the point of having anxiety attacks just thinking about it and after one last meeting with two of the nurses where I outright lied saying that I wasn't depressed at all while simultaneously plotting my demise. I knew they knew I was lying but paranoid of being locked up again I just avoided all contact attempts from the mental health team from that point until they eventually gave up and went away.

That depression never lifted. months later I have spiralled to a place where I am having a lot of trouble faking it. I am not even remotely interested in planning any sort of a future, couldn't care less about work, our house renovations, the holiday my hubby wants to take. But the big one is that I don't even care if they put me in hospital. I am too tired and I just don't care.

This led to a snap decision to contact the guru and see if she would still consider seeing me. I had it in my head she was cranky with me, but either I was wrong or she is very forgiving as she quickly replied to my text and offered to see me that Friday.

I went and straight away remembered why I like her, she was warm and comforting and remembered all the gory details of my past. She also knows how to handle me. We talked for a while and she said that she still feels I would benefit from a hospital stay and we talked about the pros and cons for a while. She pointed out that if I was going to off myself anyway then I had nothing to lose and I could just do it after. While I am completely aware of that point anyway and have always disagreed due to the affect that hospitalisation would have on my children and work etc.

She told me she is writing a letter to my GP with whom I have an appointment on Wednesday evening recommending that I go into one of the private facilities in town now that I have got insurance that will cover me. For the first time of the many, many times she has wanted to do this, I didn't put up a fight. I didn't freak out and bargain with her, make false promises or use my stellar sales pitch techniques to convince her that she was over reacting.

Nope, I was too fucking tired. I simply said 'fine'.

Of course me being me, she was expecting a fight, and I think that my reaction confused her for a minute and that she didn't quite trust that I would turn up to that appointment as she made me give her reasons why I would not just commit suicide first. I told her I am tired of running and honestly don't care anymore. Besides my parents are leaving for an overseas holiday and my brother is expecting his first child the same day as my doctors appointment.

I said my goodbyes and got in the car feeling ---- well still feeling nothing. Two days later I still have no care at all. I admit I do have a couple of contingency plans in place if they do put me in hospital and its too much. I have a (hopefully) fool proof suicide plan inclusive of means and opportunity which I can carry out inside the facility if need be.

It concerns me that this could be my last post, if they haul me off to the loony bin  and I am forced to take drastic measures then I will never be able to publish the rest of my story.

I really did want my complete story out there - the way it reads in this blog, well it focus's on such a small and negative part of it really - there were good times too, amazing times. I was given gifts that others could only imagine, I have both cried and laughed until lemonade came out of my nose. I witnessed the creation of life and the miracle of birth.
I look around today and see how big an impact I made on my little world and how little an impact I made on the big one.
So much experience in one life, forgotten quickly by onlookers but embraced for eternity within as we live on through the footprint of our energy. 

So many of these "good" tales, stories of the fun and fanciful, are spelled out within my other writings and blogs that now lay coated in a thick layer of cyber dust, lost within the sticky strings of the world wide web. Lost forever, and yet also permanent.

Thank you for sharing my journey, until we meet again.
Bel.

Peace In Arms

I keep looking at my arms for some sort of weird bitter sweet comfort.  They seem to accurately reflect the two sides to my soul.

On my left arm there is nothing but clean skin, a reflection of the “good” part of my soul that has control over her life. This is the face I show to other people, my work arm. It is the part of me that does not tell outright lies, but instead simply lies by omission while knowing all the secrets of my right.

My right arm, the “bad part” tells the tales of past truths, when I roll up my sleeve I am looking at the evidence of past wrongs etched into my skin, I hate the way I have to be so careful not to expose my naked, angry arm even in front of my husband, until the scab comes off and the scar fades because I hate to admit that I have to burn in order to cleanse. I am bound to long sleeves throughout Summer in case I bump into someone I know.

On the other hand (pardon the pun) it makes me happy that the last burn is scabbing well and I am internally hoping it will leave a noticeable scar, a reminder of my inability to retain self- control for any length of time and an incentive to do better next time, I hate when they don’t scar, because I feel like a failure and I just wish I had the courage to just sit down for the last time and slit along the vein with a knife to end the lies and end the pain.