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(3/5) Suicidal Ideation

By DestinyBlue
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[Content Warning] I speak candidly about: depression, psychosis, self harm, suicide, and other unpleasant reason I ended up in psychiatric hospital.
(1/5) Psychotic Depression and (2/5) Losing Reality ~ Previous chapters in brief: Depression and psychosis for months.

It is the last day of January 2016.

Hope and light have not arrived. In fact it's got darker and colder. Pitch black to sub zero. 

My fire is almost out and reality is hazy. I've done all the things that were supposed to make me feel better. So why do I feel worse? I feel wretched. Wrecked beyond repair.

My brain is like a car crash. High velocity. All mangled and twisted on the tarmac. Good for nothing but scrap. But unlike a car, I can't escape the wreckage, I am the wreckage. I can't get out of my broken brain, it's all the transport I have.

So I try and 'get on with it', push thorough. 

Except for anxiety's sharp spikes, my emotions flat-line. I look in the mirror at my vacant face, and smile, to try and bring something back, some joy, some pleasure, but it's gone. I don't have those to fortify me, no light to stop the darkness creeping in. My thoughts are thickened with murky ink, which blurs the world, and permeates to every part of me. There's nothing left untouched. The light in my eyes is gone.
I realise others can't see the crash, it's in my head, they see the smile and think I'm fine. I don't have the words or the strength to explain: I'm ruined.

They don't see what I'm left with. Charred Debris. No thought big enough to make a coherent sentence. No piece of humanity big enough even feel human. I cannot make sense of living, of life, of this experience. A huge wave of sadness crashes and ebbs through me, as pure terror takes it's place, the panic of being a shell and having to exist within a world which I can't comprehend. My spirit split into a thousand unfamiliar shreds. I try to pull the pieces back together, but I've got prit-stick when I needed a welding torch. There is so little of me left. Whats going on? What's everything? Whats -anything-? How do I make this stop? 

End it here and now, on my terms. Death will make it stop.

What's left, when it feels like there's nothing inside you?

There's nothing even to live for you see. If I've explained it right, you'll see. If I haven't well. Imagine. There's nothing. You are not you. You are a shell. A shell who has to live in the echo of you. You have to act like you're supposed to, everyone has expectations of you, they all expect you to drive, because they can't see the crash, they don't see the pieces. 

Somewhere tucked deep within, you have a memory of being the old you, the happy you, but when you recall this, it only serves to make you feel more detached, so different are you now. The pain is so much you think even your loved ones would understand. Would want you out of it. Love is an abstract concept anyway. You can't feel it.

Living like this is torture. My depression and psychosis combine to face the most horrible monster I've ever encountered: Myself. 

My need to die. 

The soft fantasy of existence hardens into a concrete plan.

I think how I'll do it. Research. Perhaps it will hurt. I should test. So I take my dressing gown cord and tie a makeshift noose, put it over a hook on my bedroom door and the sling noose round my neck, and let myself be cradled by it, all my weight for a few seconds. It doesn't break, my head feels fat and dizzy. It's viable. It almost feels like hope.

Self hatred sweeps into me. I don't think I deserve to die peacefully.

I find a safety razor, brake it open, and cut.

Some small part of me understands I need help, as I'm wrenched from reality again. The cuts start forming words. Not real alphabet words. Words I think Angels can understand, their writing is spoken on skin, in pain and blood. I write to the Angels on my leg. I ask them for help. Spilling tears and blood as I carve their angular letters from my ankle to my hip. Warm red seeps through the messages for help. Without even reality as an ally, my last hope is someone will answer.

No-one comes. I need the message to be clearer. I'll write on my face, so the Angels will certainly see, I stand up and look in the mirror. It makes my leg bleed more, I look down, see how many cuts there are, though not deep, and something stirs in me, perhaps it's the endorphins kicking in, but some reality returns with a punch to my chest of fear and confusion. What am I doing?

I call to my partner downstairs, he runs up, sees me standing there with the blade and the blood. He gently takes the blade from me, as I tell him I'm talking to angels. We agree that the hospital is the place where I have to ask for help from now.


Covered only in setri-strips and a hospital issue nightgown, I sit on my bed in the psychiatric ward.

Weeks inside this time. That's next episode.

This was the hardest  part to write. After it happened I thought I literally would never tell anyone, ever, about any of it, so ashamed and stupid I felt. But, I realise now, that's exactly why I should write about it. I have nothing to be ashamed about, I was ill, very ill.

I'm sorry, I know it's hard to read, but I wanted to do my best to put you there. So you might know what the experience of the illness is like. I'm not condoning, glorifying, or advocating suicide or self-harm. It's a horrific things to go through (as I hope my writing conveys) It's so rare to see first hand accounts of experiences like this, so I thought it important to share mine.

I am proud to say I survived. There is a reality, far too close to this one, where Blue is no longer here. I have made great improvements since the start of the year, thanks to doctors, medication, therapy and perseverance. I am not suicidal now, and I am well out of this episode, which is my I can open up about it like I am.

If you are feeling suicidal, please reach out for help, a good way to start is to call a suicide listening-line like the Samaritans. You can find the phone number for your country here:… Even though it may feel like there is no one there for you. There literally is someone waiting for your call at the end of that phone. Please do tell someone, you are not alone, we are all together.

I don't usually ask this, but please do share this if you think it's important.

Peace, Love and Life,
~Blue x

Next chapter:  (4/5) Psychiatric Hospital by DestinyBlue

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~Featured Artwork~

She's brOKen by DestinyBlue Anxiety by DestinyBlue All Wrong by DestinyBlue I'm Complicated by DestinyBlue Depression by DestinyBlue

Image details
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Focal Length
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ISO Speed
Date Taken
May 20, 2016, 10:11:33 AM
© 2016 - 2021 DestinyBlue
anonymous's avatar
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W4nderingK1tty's avatar

Tbh it looks like your just relaxing on the edge of something XD

Is this mean- Sorry ; - ;

OctavKitty's avatar

Beautiful. Love the cloud wings

MrFrigginSuspenders's avatar
DarkUnknow's avatar
Like dude can you be serious for once or not
UncleSunday's avatar
cobaltcrimson's avatar
You wouldn't think that asking for help would be the hardest part of the battle but admitting that we're not well and need help are almost as hard to admit as it is to fight off all the dark thoughts that swirl around. In my case I didn't really have a choice as I literally just basically shut down and stopped functioning. That said I still finding myself fighting to talk to others about the issues even though I've somehow managed to surround myself with friends who have similar issues. We need to stop seeing asking for help or admitting we're ill as a weakness or we'll never be able to help others in our positions. Everyone always calls suicide the easy way out yet it's not, it's damned hard  and the fact that things get to the point that someone can override every built in survival instinct speaks volumes on how bad the place they're in mentally is. The lack of mental health care is almost as criminal as the stigma attached to those of us who are ill.
Blood-Huntress's avatar
Reading this, this feels like it's something I wrote myself... Though unlike you who went to doctors and stuff... Which helped you, I also have been there, and honestly I can say, going there, talking about it, all that stuff... Just doesn't work for me... I'm at a point where absolutely nothing matters anymore... I feel beyond dead... There is nothing... And I can feel nothing... Not even fear... I just completely died inside... Thank you though for sharing this... :heart:
Love how the cloud form into her wings to help her fly when she let go of the rails. Great job :D 
FidgetTheFurry's avatar
i can relate to your depression. it's gotten to the point where I just want to die...
Siarhon's avatar
glad you're still with us.  hope it's a "better" experience in the UK than in the states. working on mine right now with my therapist.    
kiwikikiBOA1's avatar
the52-hertz-atma's avatar
 i like reading other experiences fighting mental illnesses because it always give me hope. some sort of security and bravery. even though ill get choked up during reading because i understand the horror, i manage to pull myself together again when i read some of the comments below. thanks for sharing your story :)
SarahShirabuki8000's avatar
Are you taking requests? 
Connaroy's avatar
help me.
Narwhalscandraw's avatar
i hate that a bunch of people are not taking this seriously 
HikadaTheo's avatar
I thought that was a butt
zackosletacos's avatar
aw please stay strong... im begging you and i wish the best for you
EvilCharcoal's avatar
i'm so close to finding a bridge. i cant find no job anywhere, i am scared of driving on the road, my family doesn't like anyone anymore. it feels like i'm useless even if i find a gf. who wants a guy who can't drive nor find work anywhere? uhh... no one duh!
Medral's avatar…

Nobody is useless! Don't give up, you deserve to be happy!
Kiborg-Graph's avatar
Join the club, dude. If you lived anywhere near me, I'd buy you a beer. :iconiknowthatfeelplz:
cptlinebeck's avatar
Stay strong my friend.
CripplyDepressedOcs's avatar
I hope you feel better and never have to go through it again
anonymous's avatar
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