I made a decision today, a decision that scares the living
fuck out of me. I wrote an email to my psychologist asking if I could come and
see her again.
This scares me because it inadvertently means I am
questioning myself, questioning the belief I have held deep to my core for well
over a decade, questioning the date of my death. The date that when originally
handed to me along with the vision of the future seemed so far away and so
unlikely until time passed and visions came true, time and time again.
I’m not sure what I hope to achieve from this, perhaps the
act of sending that email is far more telling and thought provoking than any
session or the flow on effect from it could ever possibly be. The fear of being
wrong about everything is far more frightening than being right.
My days are currently being spent simply trying to keep it
together, most of my being thinking that this is a fruitless exercise and why
drag it out and the other smaller part, some would say voice of reason saying ,
wait.. you have to do xyz first, reach your date and then you can do what ever
you like. I remember the guru telling me
once right at the beginning, that when you make the decision to finally cut the
shit and actually commit suicide that you should stop right before you do it
and say, this is ok I have made my decision and I have every right to make this
choice but first I need to wait until… tomorrow/3pm/after the 6’oClock news.
Then if I still feel the same way I can go for it, no probs. – this tactic is
very effective, as between then and the end of the 6 o’Clock news something has
generally happened to distract you from the task at hand and death is no longer
your top priority and you put if off as you want to do abc first.
I remember the day I took out life insurance, I felt this
immense relief, the lack of it had held me back for so long, now I only had to
wait another 13 months for the cooling off period and I could finally let go
knowing my family would be able to pay off the house, I just wanted so badly
for it to end right then and there, I couldn’t stop the pain, but now at least
I had a plan.
13 months later? I I had stopped counting the months down at
that point, I was happily in one of my manic phases and enjoying my god like
zen’ness with the natural world as I stayed up for days on end designing my
future magazine worthy garden that people would come from miles around to see
featured in the Australian Open Garden Scheme and carted hundreds of dollars
worth of potted colour home from Bunnings, potting mix spilled all through the
boot. Of COURSE I could plant approx. 300 seedlings that afternoon before DH
came home… - yeah suicide was no longer a priority of scattered thoughts.
From the moment I was ‘given’ – I hesitate to use that word-
the date of my impending death, I think I have always known deep down that
things would end at my own hand. The date has in many ways been the only thing
that has kept me here for as long as I have been. It has been my ‘6 o’clock
news’ and now its rapidly approaching I am in my current mind awash with
relief. D day.
5 days ago I took my medications down from the cupboard and
looked at the ½ full packet of Lithium I had previously used, then abused as a
means of having an excuse to stop taking it. Why did I want to stop taking it?
Frankly because I was afraid it might actually work, I didn’t want to get
better – I wanted to die, I had a plan and I was scared the Lithium might
change my mind.
I looked at this packet and made the decision to start
taking it again, in my general non compliant fashion I began the pills and have
not mentioned this to anybody. The Lithium was only really making me sick last
time because I was purposely overdosing so my blood results would say my levels
were toxic even at the low dose and the Drs would let me stop. Prior to my
little decision to abuse it I had in fact had no ill effects at all. So I know
that as long as I follow the proper dosage recommendation’s I won’t have a
problem.
The reason behind my decision to take the Li again is that I
want to prove to myself that it’s not just the uncontrolled bipolar that is
making me want to die, and that even when medicated it is still a decision that
I am making.
This email was so hard to write because I am still terrified
that something/somebody will stop me, I don’t want to be stopped. That little
voice quietly points out that ultimately it’s my decision but what do I have to
lose by sticking around? If that really is the date of death then nothing I can
do can stop it anyway. I suppose there is a reason that people aren’t supposed
to know their expiry date, even when it’s a goal not a fear it becomes all
consuming.
I do wonder if perhaps the toll that my eating disorder has
put on my body perhaps it will simply be my heart that gives out and I won’t
have to take that last breath as I close my eyes and lock the steering wheel to
the left.
All I know for certain is what I have seen in the vision of
my final moments. I see the poplars still stark naked, a few weeks away from
new leaf. The sun is slowly setting and everything fades to black a force
pushing my shoulders down, the world is black now but completely peaceful and I
am aware of the feeling of sinking into the leather seat and the car pulling
away to the left, and nothing more.
December 1984 – insert date here September 2014
Somebody please put “told ya I wouldn’t make 30” on my grave
stone ;D
My final goal, is that I must achieve before D day is
putting this and all my other incoherent ramblings together in some sort of
order. No matter the outcome they will be a source of understanding to others
or a means of reflection for myself should this not turn out the way it has
been foretold.
