How do we solve a problem like Ma-ri-a?
Short of packing me off to a strange family in Vienna, I do not know. I'm not a nun either so I can't rely on my sisterhood to straighten me out and throw me back in to the arms of God. In fact, I'm probably a sinner, but we'll leave that topic until I'm getting deluded about purgatory again.
I am a problem.
And in the words of Fiona Apple "I'm a mess, he don't wanna clean up" - he being the system, people, anyone.
Again and again, I'm told it's all in my head and that if I really wanted to be getting better, I'd be better already. In the words of Stephanie Tanner (Full House) 'HOW RUDE.' I perhaps have been binge watching Full House on Netflix opposed to opening the curtains, speaking to people or eating any kind of nutritious diet. I have my reasons.
My new care coordinator has enforced what feels like a very cruel regime of getting every mental health professional I come into contact with to robotically repeat the words 'Have you looked at your Wellness Recovery Action Plan?' and refusing to acknowledge anything else. It's great fun. They get their ego stroked by having the power to make me feel two inches tall and I get more and more dissuaded from reaching out for support.
I'm waiting for the moment all my friends start echoing 'but have you tried leaving the house?' or 'how about turning it off and switching it back on again?'. I'm scared they're going to jump on the bandwagon and start critiquing my every move.
I rang to ask for support on Friday after a full day of no sleep and emotional reunions with friends. On my mind all day had been how I just wanted to stop; everything. So when I got home I rang them and they said 'well obviously you're not trying because it's silent around you', sorry Miss are you trying to help or catch me out? It was silent around me as at 8pm I had just got home from being busy since 5am. Surely that's enough for anyone, let alone someone running on zero sleep in the midst of a crisis? Nope, it never is.
I had tried to nap, but when I spoke to my care coordinator I was told to 'get out of (my) bed of sadness'.
What?! I have only been here for twenty minutes. Am I not allowed to try and rest? No, not trying hard enough again.
In fact, it actually turns out when I reach out for support I'm wrong. So I don't. Oh, but wait a minute, I'm not compliant if I don't, if I'm seen as not engaging that's even worse. So correct me if I am wrong, but I am meant to be totally self-sufficient until I'm in crisis, then I'm told 'I need to ask for support' OH BUT WAIT THERE'S A CATCH! It's also wrong to ask for support, acute services can't help me, I have 'felt the full weight of what services have to offer and it doesn't help' so if I'm feeling suicidal and have active suicide plans I'm effectively sent home to fester.
They call it 'positive risk taking' and OH BOY am I so glad they do it, because of course this 'positive risk taking' hasn't put my life in imminent risk twice in as many months. So it's kind of a watch it and wait approach, they'll watch me and wait until I either get better on my own or die. I think if I die they might step in, but then they'd probably have to for the inquest.
Currently I'm festering, the noose in my bedroom has become a friendly face. The clothes, rubbish and old food on the floor and everywhere I have decided to take a similar approach to. I'm going out watch it and wait for it to clear itself up, if services have taught me anything it's that every mess will clean itself up if tackled with enough hostility.
Everything smells like tar, seen as I've single handedly turned my room into a Parisian smoking room. If only my dealer would get back to me I could upgrade to Amsterdam café.
Emotionally, I think I'm dead. There's nothing left in me to feel. I've accepted my fate and I'm on schedule with my plans, to hopefully *fingers crossed* be dead by Christmas, though honestly I might drag it out to New Year's. We'll see.
I'm all done with being rejected by the services meant to be supporting me. I've learned my lesson, that if I'm going to kill myself it's best to just sit and ignore me. I promised myself that if I reached out for support again and got rejected I'd just let things take whatever course they're going to.
After all I can't win either way, and I'm not going to get any better. I've been told time and time again, it's my job to improve things. But without hope, I guess it's down to me to make things better in the limited options I have, the most favourable (and only option beside suffering endlessly) being death.
Well, that's a light note to end on. Byeeee!
