Asking for help?

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.