Welcome to February,
I am terrified. I can barely get that out of my mouth. And so I’m resorting to the blog as mouth piece gimmick. I’m afraid and alone and shaking.
This morning I had a nightmare about the Omen. Not that I’ve ever seen The Omen, but rather a nightmare related to the things I had read about it on wikipedia. It was a strange dream. It was cold. There was a snow storm, there was more snow than can be imagined. And I had a premonition that something bad was about to happen. And so I went to lock all of the doors, but before I could lock the front door in the house that I grew up in, two small dogs managed to sneak in. They were cleaner and healthier versions of Jessica’s dog, Scout. And I knew that by letting them in, I had allowed bigger and bigger dogs to get in. And that they would start to sabotage us and nip at us and attack us and kill us. I’m no Freudian, so I’ll withhold any attempt to dissect this dream in those terms. But the fear was there. That terror that I had let us all down and we were going to die.
I missed my psych appointment this week. I didn’t skip it intentionally, I just slept through it. But if I had gone, I wonder if I would have had the bravery to tell her how afraid I am. And how prepared I am.
This is February. Two years ago around this time I tried to kill myself. It was a methodical attempt. I took aspirin so my blood would be thin. I sleeping pills to dull my inhibitions and put my to sleep. I carved 9 cuts into both wrists with my knife and waited to die. When that didn’t work. I carved in 8 more. I slept covered with a towel so I wouldn’t get blood on my covers. I wanted to die painlessly and look alright when they found me. I wanted to die.
But I didn’t and I am haunted by that attempt. And I’m haunted by the specter of statistics that says that I am three times more likely to make a second attempt. And I keep a razor blade on my shelf. And a bottle of oxycodone on top of my fridge. And I think about buying a rope and hanging myself off my roof. And whether or not it would be too messy to just jump off. I’m terrified. I’m so scared. I don’t want to die. I’m scared of the part of my brain that logically tells me to be prepared. I don’t want to die, but I’m also scared of being alive.
But then I breathe.
And files these thoughts away deep so I can’t dwell on them, just like I was taught in therapy. I start with the beginning of the alphabet and a is for apple, b is for banana, c is cantaloupe, d is for dragonfruit, e is for… and by that point I move to the next category or the thoughts are gone. So I’m safe. The weapons are away. But I’m left with the fear.
I can’t breathe.
I think it’s funny to think about how serious I get about social justice issues and people who are institutionally oppressed. I want to laugh right in my face and say, “A trans person can get killed just for being who they are and you’ve already tried to kill yourself. Black people get beaten by cops for being themselves and you’ve lit yourself on fire. Who are you, oppressor or oppressed? Can’t make up your mind? Good.” See? It’s funny. It’s fucking hysterical. Bwahahahahhahaahhahahahahaha
Lolz, this is a night, isn’t it. It’s a Saturday night and I’m sitting alone in Kafein and drinking my (herbal) tea and listening to Kanye West. I’m a college student. I’m so behind on work. But I’m good at what I do. But I’m not very good at it yet. Sonofabitch, there’s that two poled mental system again. See! I’m not crazy about being actually crazy! Crazy. I am crazy.
I’ve been watching episodes of Criminal Minds and I think that might be triggering for me. (Damn that girl’s ass is nice) But yeah, full of violence. Full of characters described as crazy or bipolar or depressed. How’s that trans people? You may not get any representation but my representations are all serial killers. I shouldn’t watch that any more. Down with Criminal Minds! Down with People! Bring on the people!
I should put together a to-do list for what I should be doing and when I should be doing it. That sounds like an excellent use of my time.
Until the Next Time,
P.S. Hey you, person who isn’t Andrew reading this. how are you? I’m fine, I swear. 🙂