[CW: suicide, overdose]
Not writing blogs from emails anyway. There are so many of them, and there's so much of my distress in them (I don't know how services can read them and do nothing to help; simple answer is they probably don't read them), I don't want to read it all. There are things that I've forgotten that I can be reminded about from emails. There are emails I wrote after I'd tried to kill myself. I don't want to go over it all, yet a lot of it goes on in my head anyway. I was trying to avoid having to write stuff from scratch, knowing I've probably written it before, and with limited time and difficulty getting started, and my memory isn't great anymore so I don't have clarity for everything that's happened. I don't want to get things wrong/misremember and be accused of lying, even after I'm dead.
There's also a lot that I haven't written. Like I don't think I've ever written the story of most of my sections, what actually led to them (lack of sleep was a factor in most of them). All the stuff I've written in emails will be there for some people to see. Anything I haven't written about will die with me. But then I'm back to not knowing what to write/where to start, and I can't be sure what I haven't written about. I've had years to write stuff and I'm down to my last fortnight-ish. I can't prioritise, I don't know what are the most important parts to write about. I just don't want my experiences and my reality to be drowned out and attempted to be rewritten by professionals who want me to be seen in a certain way to justify their (in)actions, and who often weren't even there. I was there for all of it. I'm biased too, I know that, but I don't have a reputation or career to protect. My reputation went when I was in the news after I tried to get myself sent to prison, thinking I might be able to cope there and have some kind of life. My dignity went at some point in the overdoses and sections, I couldn't say exactly when. My decisions were based on trying to do things that I thought might help, at times when I needed help/support that I wasn't (and I'm still not) getting. And justice sensitivity. I don't know how to live with everything that's happened. And I'm tired of struggling.
It's sad that I'm looking forward to being dead. I'm not looking forward to the dying part though; that's the part I struggle with, that's why I'm still alive. I was meant to die too many times to remember over the last two and a half years. And every time I didn't die, I had experiences that made me have to struggle more. Noisy hospitals; indifferent, ignorant or deliberately nasty professionals; lack of understanding of autism. (I'm getting too tired to think.) It hasn't all been bad but the negatives have far outweighed the rest.
I wish I could swap places with someone who's dying who wants to live, because it feels so unfair that other people die and they'd probably do anything to live, and I'm not grateful for life, I don't see the point in carrying on. I didn't feel like this before. I've felt suicidal before but it's always been when I'm struggling to cope. And there's no help. No appropriate and stable/predictable help anyway. Just people saying they'll help and then not, or making things worse.
I'm just rambling now. That's not what this blog was meant for. I've got another blog for that.
[Moved from another blog. The date/time are from the original post.]
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