Dieser Post wurde so von mir auf dem SubReddit /r/SuicideWatch veröffentlicht. Kopie kommt hier rein, der Vollständigkeit halber.


I am writing this here, because until now I had a blog in german for venting or just writing about my thoughts & life, but now I’m fluent enough in english to write this kind of thing in this language, so I thought I’d try here to get some actual feedback, which I don’t get on my blog as almost noone reads it (although closest friends & family know of it – guess I’m not that interesting or important after all).

As the topic states, I am NOT suicidal at this very moment.

That isn’t always the case, though. To be honest, it isn’t most of the time.

I’ve been having suicidal thoughts since I can think. Starting off as “How can I get the best revenge on my bullies” in basic school, continuing as “My parents need to know they’ve been failures” and currently mostly as “I’m doing nothing with my life and am a waste of tax money”, I have not known a life without any thoughts of this kind.

I did not do it yet though. The reason for that is that I’m too afraid of the pain that comes with the process of dying – or ending up not completely killing myself, sitting in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, not being able to finish what I started.

I know, though, that this is a lie. I am very aware that there are methods out there which meet both requirements of being secure & painless. I have never researched those to prevent them from entering my head. A friend of mine whom I told about this “predicament” started to tell me about one of those methods, or at least attempted to do so – I shut them off (verbally, although I wanted to hit her really hard) immediately. I just can’t let this kind of thoughts get into my head – it would literally kill me.

The thing I keep telling myself is that I have no other choice. I have no choice but to keep going. Killing myself is not an existent option. It just isn’t.

It’s the only kind of self-training (like, the thing you do with a dog, there’s no proper english word for it) I do to myself. I’ve always rejected these methods in other depression-fighting therapies from the start as “I’m not dumb enough to let myself believe it works” and “I’m not a fucking monkey”. These methods would include training yourself to smile in the mirror, having more positive thoughts, writing down what was good in each day and so on – I never did any of those for the reason stated above, and I don’ think that will ever change cause I’m a dead-rational & consequent person, if I think it’s appropriate.

This rationality does not come from anywhere.

I had an incredibly intense relationship of 22 months with my first girlfriend when I was 18 (I’m 23 now) in both directions – pleasent, and terrible. She was – is – suffering from Borderline, and at least when we were together, she was not in therapy for it, although she was aware that she had it (in most moments). She did not go to therapy cause that would’ve involved breaking her parent’s image of “their” “perfect little girl” that has no problems and is always happy. She wasn’t – but I was one of the very few people who knew that.

She threatened to break up many times, as borderliners do, and I always prevented it. Once, I tried to break up, she slapped me in tears and I just couldn’t do it anymore. (Even though I’m BDSMer, slaps are a hard limit for me for that very reason; I’m afraid it would kick me right back into that emotion.)

Eventually, after 1.5 years fighting against her image of herself and others, I managed to convince her that a) she’s actually beautiful and worthy of love & attention and b) other people don’t always want to use or do bad things to her. Until that point, I sometimes would’ve asked her to have an open relationship (just so I could fuck with others; being in a relationship always makes me feel like the whole world would want to fuck me if I asked). Suddenly, she asked me to have one – and I agreed, happily. She immediately found a couple whose sub she became (in BDSM-context) and I found – surprise – noone.

That was the second time I lost all control over my emotions which never happened before. I became jealous. (The first time was an occasion in which I let her sleep with a (female) friend of mine so she wouldn’t whine about her virginity anymore.) I could not take that at all – jealousy is something for “minor” people! So I let it out all on her, even though I was the one who wanted this all along. These two things and fighting more and more often, and a few other things, led us to break up, although it came more from her than from me.

To this day (These three words are, by the way, the title of an awesome poem by Shane Koyczan which I can strongly recommend watching on YouTube) I can not stop thinking of her every day – and dreaming about her every few weeks. Those dreams always have the same kind of content: We meet, she wants no contact, I can convince her to have some and we become at least friends, sometimes a couple again. These dreams don’t come from missing her only, though. They also come from guilt.

When we broke up, I fell. Far. I stopped going to work or university, lost the job b/c of it and eventually went into a mental health clinic. I was thrown out 4 weeks later b/c of self-harming behaviour. (They offered to keep me in the closed department; I declined.) But while I was there, my ex with whom I was still friends – or trying to stay friends with – visited me a few times. One day, she mentioned (with me starting the topic) that she would break the rule of not sleeping/playing with anyone else the couple gave her only for me – like, I was the only person she would break her promise for. My brain just could not take that. I was still so much over her that I took that as an invitation, pulled her down to bed and tied her up (as we would usually do when we were playing). She never stopped saying “I’m not allowed to” – never did she say she did not want to, so I kinda ignored that. But she would also fight, physically, more than usual. She fought so hard that eventually I asked her if she remembered the safe word we never used – she said no, I told her, she used it immediately. I let her go, she seemed peaceful, but later I got a message telling me that I belonged in jail and am a dangerous person, after which she blocked me everywhere.

The following years, I tried to contact her 3 or 4 times; filled with guilt and the thought that I raped her (although I never got undressed and did not sleep with her, sexual stuff happened on her side) I wanted to make piece with her and know that she forgives me for what I did. Eventually, she answered a facebook message I could send after she made a new account, telling me that she indeed forgave me. We small-talked for a day, then she blocked me out of pretty much nowhere.

A few weeks back, I got another message from her. In it, she says that she lied. That she is suffering every day because of what I did, that I am a horrible person, that she wants to see me dead and that she never forgave me and only said that because she tried to make piece with it herself, but never could. She also said that she never could let anyone get close to her again.

My answer was that I hate myself for it probably more than she ever could, and that she will never hear from me again. How could I bother her with my existence anyway, after I obviously destroyed her life like that?

After this, because I let my feelings take over my actions in this one instance, I never had feelings have any control over my life anymore. I live my life purely on rationality since then, and do not plan to ever change that, fearing I might make such a mistake again. I am not sure if I could take it if I hurt someone like that a second time, or worse.

I’ve had two (both long-distance) relationships since then. One where I did not pay enough attention for her and did not take care for her so she had to break up, and one that even goes as far as overseas which I ended because of too-much-alternating views on – everything.

This is not the only part in my life that’s shit.

I had to stop studying because of psychological and financial reasons. Student-loan-agency would not pay anymore cause I was taking so long – I was only studying half-time, could not do more cause of depression – at most, and I lost my 7th job within 4 years, most of whose I lost b/c of some parts of my personality disorders.

I am diagnosed w/ a narcissistic, a sadomasochistic (which should not get diagnosed at all nowadays anymore) and a schizoid personality disorder. Those are just the three they put on the front of my last – third – mental health clinic report; two others which are mentioned in the text are a schizotypic and a histrionic personality disorder; the diagnosis from the second clinic was just Borderline.

I have a hard time living in general. Everything I do is learned. I had to learn how to behave – not manners, but why not to undress in public, why not to hit people I don’t like (although I rarely have aggressions against other people, it’s hard to make me aggressive), what signs of emotions are and all this kind of stuff. I can not feel into people – I read them. That’s one thing I can do by now. I can read people. I see them and very often know what they feel, even what they think, just because I learned so hard how to pretend to be a normal human being that I immediately see when someone derives from the “normal”-state. (People who do that permanently – being “not normal” – are also those I’m emotionally and sexually attracted to, by the way.)

This messed up many relationships already. But the thing that did that the most until two years ago (when I stopped letting other people suffer under them) is probably my emotional breakdowns.

Every once in a while, I have a complete meltdown. But I do not cry. I do not lie on the floor. I carry on like normal – I’m always pretending anyway, it’s not that big of a deal to do that while I feel like my head is about to explode from sadness and rapid thoughts. Oh wait, it is. But I manage to do it anyway. It’s virtually impossible to see from the outside wether I have an emotional breakdown. My voice gets a calmer, I talk a bit slower and sometimes clench my fists because I need to leave the force building up in my brain somewhere. But noone ever saw it, and I am not completely all by myself (although I do not leave my apartment as much as I’d like to). There used to be a knife in my fists before, but I stopped self-harm a while ago as it stopped to help against these phases. I also have no scars from it, as I always used blunt knifes or other blunt stuff which hurts a bit more, but leaves less traces; noone can see what I went through this way. I for myself scan people as soon as I see them, and scars on the lower arm parts is something I always – always – will notice on you right away. Same goes for long sleeves when it’s unneeded, and I will ask you to show me your arms if I can’t get a glimpse on it after some time if you wear those.

These meltdowns got reduced almost two years ago thanks to a medication that slows down my brain a good bit. I used to break down daily before taking it, now it’s “only” once a week or so. But it does nothing against the depression – and because of me being always suicidal, noone will give me antidepressants or noradrenalins so I start to do stuff b/c both of those raise the suicidility when you start taking them.

What ended four years ago, though, is crying. I never cried a lot – ten times at most in my life – but even that stopped when I got thrown out of the first clinic. I’ve not cried ever since. I do have little sadness attacks in sad movie plot points, for example, where I want to burst out in tears but can’t, but those only last for 2 or three seconds and are gone again.

Currently, I am waiting for the approval of an application for a therapeutically-accompanied apprenticeship as a software engineer. I do not really want to do it, but I have to do something, people tell me, so I do what I must so they don’t hate me. I can’t deal with hate at all. I don’t care if people don’t like me, but hate has a reason – and that reason is my fault, for me.

People in the last clinic have been telling me I try to make people hate me on purpose, although it might not be a conscious process, just so I have some kind of connection to them.

I never had the feel like I could control anything that happens in my brain. Emotions are always the opposite of what I want to feel – and most of the times what is appropriate and helpful to feel – and my thoughts are clogging up my brain like crazy often, even with my medication.

I manage. Somehow, I still live. I have no idea, but I will continue to do so. I am writing this now because I’m somewhat stable. I hope people have read this, although I know how much it is. And I hope they have something – anything – to say that could help me. Any and all advice is greatly appreciated.

Thank you for reading.

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