CUT ME A SLICE OF THAT, PLEASE.

I have an appointment with my shrink tomorrow. I only have to go every six months now. I've been on medication since my late twenties. I was on Prozac for a long time. After that I went on Paxil, but I didn't like it. It didn't feel like it was helping and it made me feel zombie-ish. Of course, there were probably actually other reasons for that, but we won't go there tonight. Then I was totally out of treatment for about a year or so - another long story. Miraculously, I didn't die, and I went back on Prozac after that. Once again, I stayed on it quite awhile until it wasn't working anymore, and then I started Lexapro. Lexapro was better, a whole lot better. My doctor tweaked around with dosage, and finally added Wellbutrin to supplement, and I feel like I am pretty stable now. Whatever it is about the combination of those two together, it works for me. For now.


No matter what I take, it never completely "cures" me. You see, I suffer from clinical depression. I get better with medication, but its still always there under the surface, just waiting to rear its ugly head. I have tried to commit suicide before. Quite a few times, actually. I'll tell you all about it eventually. I just can't believe that no one knows. Well, my doctor knows about one time, but he's the only one. I guess my suicide attempts couldn't be thought of as "cries for help" if no one knows, can they? Ha. I am trying to remember the last I tried, but it's a little mixed up in my mind as to when the last time was. I'm pretty sure the last time was late November/early December of 2005. I don't even really remember what was going on, I was in the throes of a depression, and I had this bottle of Wild Turkey. Not just any old Wild Turkey, but some of the aged shit that is supposed to be the killer stuff. And one night I was by myself and I drank the whole damn bottle. I'm not much of a drinker, so I'm surprised all that alcohol didn't kill me, actually. So I am rip-roaring drunk out of my mind, and I grab a knife from the kitchen and start cutting at both wrists. I kind of remember it, yet I don't. I don't know how things ended, only that I woke in my bed the next morning with my wrists cut and some blood on the sheets. I think I might have nicked a vein, but I didn't slice into it. I laid there and just looked at my wrists awhile, then I got up and washed them in warm water and soap. What a mess they were. Ugly, but basically superficial cuts. I made a promise to myself that morning. If things ever get so bad again that I am suicidal, I am going to go ahead and do it. No more dragging a knife down the vein, cutting and scarring my skin, with it in my mind that if it cuts through and I die, then good. Nope. No more hiding cuts until they can heal. No more dealing with the head garbage that piles up after a suicide attempt. If I ever take a knife to my wrists again, I am going to go ahead and do it.

But at the same time, I promised myself to clean up my life to where maybe it won't be necessary. So far I've done okay. The cuts healed pretty well, there is one scar left that is somewhat noticeable, but it actually kind of looks like a "natural" scar. I got lucky with that. Nobody has ever stared at it or worse, asked if I've tried to kill myself.

I did have an episode in May of 2007, but I didn't try to commit suicide. I probably would have if I hadn't already made the suicide vow to myself. I got out of control, hurting emotionally so bad I thought I would die from the stress. That time I took out a new, sterile blade and slashed my upper left thigh about 9 times. I slashed fearlessly, and the blood flowed. Relief was almost instantaneous. I calmed right on down. I wrapped my thigh up and took a long nap. That sleep was a beautiful thing. When I woke up, I was ready to deal with the mess. I got the cuts cleaned and dressed. There were two gaping cuts that probably needed a stitch or two, but oh well. I didn't feel bad about cutting myself like this, and I still don't feel bad. I was not attempting suicide, and it brought me into a controlled state. I would do it again if things ever got that way again. I would NOT do it just for the hell of it. It has been almost a year now, and I am still committed to trying to maintain my emotional well-being to where this kind of thing is not necessary. But I have a pack of sterile blades tucked away, just in case it is ever needed. I don't want to attempt suicide again.

Those cuts have healed nicely. The two gaping cuts haven't healed as well. It will definitely take those scars a long time to go away, if they ever go away. But they are on the upper thigh, covered by clothes, no one needs to know they are there. The only person in the world that knows about this cutting is you, if you are reading this.


No one else would ever, ever believe these things about me, if you were to tell them.

Why am I compelled to do these things? I don't really know. I know I have clinical depression. But somehow I am going to get through all this. I don't want to die by suicide and I will do whatever it takes to get better. I am so grateful that I seem to be levelling off some as I get older. Don't write me off as a hopeless case just yet.

HELLO

This is about me. The real me.

I have another blog out there. It is a public thing, I have real people that know about it. And I have my public face on when I blog on it. Always light, friendly, never digging too awful deep, not when it comes to my personal self, anyway. People think highly of me.

But those people don't know everything about me. I have a lot of secrets buried. Nothing too awful bad, of course, I haven't killed anyone. But things weigh on me and often. My true inner self has no outlet and that is not good. And my true inner self has a lot of darkness.

If you find this blog, then you will know more about me than the real people in my life. For what its worth. This blog is not going to be written with a reader in mind but if you want to come along for the ride, it's okay. I just would ask that you keep an open mind and reserve judgement. I've made some really hellacious mistakes. And this is going to be a self-centered blog - its all about me, me, me. My real life is focused on others. This is my secret place. This is where I want to be at 3:00 in the morning when I can't sleep.

Now that I have managed to get my life slowed down some and in a sane place, it's time to review. I've got mental scars and burns and a brain that doesn't work as well as it once did. I've got a heart that doesn't feel very much. I've got a soul that can't open up to others. I've got memories that I can't seem to shut down. Maybe laying them out where they can be seen can help take away the power they have over me.


Love, Lita