An unusually productive day

An image Meadhbh and I found on the interwebs this morning; we loved it! :)

After seven straight days of tinned spaghetti on toast for dinner, I’ve shaken up the routine and opted for potato bake with sausages this evening. Now that vitally important piece of information has been imparted I can move on to sharing the activities of my rather innocuous day.

After yesterday’s painter invasion, my morning began after a dreamless night at my usual 9am. Within minutes of being up the routine was enacted; talk radio and internet until midday. But rather than meander around aimlessly, I decided to use my internet time for some good this morning. I discovered – and followed – a couple of new blogs (you can check them out here and here) and decided the time has come for some blog promotion. For the last eighteen months or so I haven’t done much in the way of promoting my blog. I don’t share my posts on Twitter or Facebook. I don’t Pinterest or Tumble. And my blog stats have been suffering as a result. I have a few stalwart commentators (and I love you all!) but outside of them I rarely, if ever, receive comments or likes on my posts; and I want to change that. So I’ve decided to start promoting my blog on three fronts:

1. I’m going to start Tweeting again. I used to enjoy Twitter when I was homeless as it gave me connections with other homeless people around the world, which in turn made me feel less isolated and remote. But after gaining my unit in 2012, I lost love for Twitter and let my account grow stale and unloved. But if the platform made me feel less isolated when I was homeless, maybe it can make me feel less isolated now. Plus I might make a few new Twitter friends, which would be nice. I haven’t Tweeted anything yet, but intend to re-embark on my Twitter quest in the next day or so. So feel free to follow me for random tweets of a mental health, homeless and random kinky bizarreness origin.

2. As I mentioned yesterday, I’ve decided to challenge my fear of commenting on other people’s blogs. For the last several years, ever since rejoining the blogosphere in 2012, I’ve had a serious issue with commenting on other people’s blogs. A lot of this is as a result of the abusive relationship I was in, when my (lovely) abuser would punish me for sharing my opinions. She would scream at me like a banshee if I shared something she didn’t agree with. She would hurl glasses of water over my head in public venues if my thoughts were not the same as hers. And it created issues. Issues that have manifested in an inability to comment or share my opinion. But if I would like people to comment on my blogs, I have to be willing to comment on theirs. I’ve commented a few times over the last few days on blogs I feel are wonderful, unique and beautiful, and fully intend to comment more regularly from this point in time on. So expect some patented Addyness on your blogs in the near future! :p

3. I’ve set up a Facebook page for my blog and you can like it here, should you so desire. On it I will be sharing links to my various blog posts, random articles on mental health, homelessness and advocacy, updates on my life and the occasional inspiring photograph or quote. It should be quite fun, and a pleasant way to spend your Facebook time, so please (don’t make me beg!) at least think about liking it! :)

If any of you with more successful blogs than mine (which is pretty much everyone!) have any ideas or secrets in regards to blog promotion, please consider sharing them with my good self as I’m determined to grow my audience in the coming months. I think my content is unique, well written and (occasionally) entertaining; I just need to get other people to realise this!

After this unusually productive morning, I decided to continue shaking up my routine by shaving (I hate shaving, but hate being mistaken for a hipster with a beard more!) and doing a brief interlude of some yoga moves I picked up from classes several years ago. It was rather nice being all bendy again, so may consider adding this to my routine on a regular basis. Following these out of character endeavors, I continued my usual routine by walking down the road. But unlike the usual walk-down-the-road of my routine, I actually had something to do today; the second appointment with my new psychologist.

It went rather well. I was a little anxious heading into the appointment, given I’ve only met her once before, but she was able to settle my mood relatively quickly. She’s a lovely woman, kind, caring and able to listen well. When I’m speaking to her, she genuinely looks like she is taking in what I’m saying, instead of letting the words skim over her mind. She seems to have a solid understanding of my issues (PTSD, Bipolar and Social Anxiety) and understands the latter more than any other professional I’ve met.

Today we talked about my routine, the fact it’s become a safety net and my desire to shake up the monotony. We talked about the safety I feel at the library, and brainstormed ideas of how I can feel safer in locations other than the palace of all knowledge. We discussed my goals of being able to go to the cinema again and my desire to join a local book club in an effort to meet new people. Both goals are on the back-burner at the moment, as the initial plan is not to upset my routine so much it overwhelms me, but with her help I think both goals will be achievable in the future.

She is a knowledgeable, intelligent and insightful woman and I’m looking forward to working with her. I think she will bring a lot to my life and could well be the addition to my treatment strategy that I’ve been looking for. She’s certainly, on the strength of just two appointments, impressed me more than my old psychologist did across several months! I have another appointment with her in six weeks (the earliest I was able to book) and am already looking forward to it.

Because of this appointment I didn’t have time to watch a movie upon my return home, so this was another shake up to my routine today. Instead I went ‘live’ with my Facebook page (which, just in case you missed the link earlier, you can like here) and settled in to read some blogs before preparing dinner. The potato bake is cooking as I speak and once this post is completed, I will begin cooking the sausages that will accompany it. And it should go without saying that, for the first time in several days, I’m actually looking forward to dinner tonight. It should be scrumptious!

Wishing you all a wonderful day. Hopefully it has been as productive, routine challenging and (dare I say it) down-right enjoyable, as my own.

 

Torturous small talk and tumultuous big talk

My anxiety was challenged quite profoundly this morning. Last Thursday I received a phone call from a painter that had been commissioned by my real estate agent to re-paint the ceilings of my unit. For the three years that I’ve been living here they’ve been mottled, peeling and flaking quite spectacularly due to there being no exhaust fan in the bathroom, so the hot water from the shower has been creating condensation that has slowly destroyed the paintwork on the ceilings. So they really needed to be done. The phone call I received was to inform me he’d be coming today; bright and early at 7:30am.

Normally I wake up around 9am. I don’t feel bad about this. I have depression, so I like being in bed, and I’ve suffered from insomnia in the past, so I like being able to sleep for a decent time again. But this morning my sleep pattern was interrupted by a shrill alarm at 7am, so I could get myself up in time for the painter. Three snoozes later and I finally hauled my lazy ass from bed minutes before he knocked loudly on my unit’s door. But waking up earlier than usual is not what challenged my anxiety.

What challenged my anxiety was this; I don’t do small talk. I’ve never liked small talk. For as long as I can remember I’ve considered it a major and profound form of torture. I like speaking when I have something to say. I like speaking when it’s important. When it’s life altering. When it’s necessary. I don’t like speaking in order to fill time. When you feel you should say something because it would be impolite to not say anything. And having a painter in the house, I found myself in the precarious position of making small talk.

Initially, it wasn’t too bad. We just didn’t say anything to each other. I fiddled with my computer, he set about doing the job he was paid to do. But after half an hour or so my anxiety was raging; it wanted me to talk, to fill the silence, to end the awkward silence in the room. I didn’t want to. I wanted to run away. I wanted to kick him out my house and paint the damn ceilings myself. Anything to get out of small talk. Anything to allow my day to return to the usual, boring, safety net of monotonous routine. But I couldn’t do any of that, because it would be impolite to do so, and I am anything but impolite. So I started the conversation with the only thing I could reasonable think to say: “so, it’s pretty cold today?”

This precipitated a dribble of conversation. Yes, it was cold. No, I didn’t mind. Yes, at least it’s not raining. My anxiety raged every time my mouth opened. Hating every syllable of the smallest of small talk we were mustering. Eventually we started commenting on the radio that was playing in the background. Eventually we started talking about things that weren’t meteorological in nature. But at no point did my anxiety wane. My pulse was racing. My palms were sweaty. I was smoking something rotten to calm the nerves. But the conversation continued in dribs and drabs all the same. It had to; it would be impolite not to talk to someone who was kindly donating their time to paint my ceilings.

All up it took nearly six hours for him to finish. My unit isn’t that big. But painting the ceilings of three different rooms with two coats of enamel paint takes time. When he finally left, with a quick thank you and goodbye, I collapsed onto the floor of my unit and breathed a sigh of relief. I had survived the torture that is small talk. I had survived the invasion of my privacy. And I had the pungent aroma of drying paint to soothe my troubled soul.

Other than this, my day has been somewhat uneventful and dare I say, boring. In order to ‘come down’ from my overly anxious morning I allowed the safety net of my routine to take over. I strolled down the road, visited the library, rented some DVDs and acquired my dinner from the local supermarket. Upon returning home I watched a movie double bill (Wrong Turn 4: Bloody Beginnings and Wrong Turn 5: Bloodlines; because of the OCD like need that grips me until I have watched every film in a franchise, no matter how crap they may be!) before turning my attention to the internet, and replying to the comments that had been left on my blog. This too, caused my anxiety to ripple. I’ve never been good at commenting. Not on other people’s blogs. Not on my blog. But I have been pushing myself hard lately to comment more. I’ve been pushing myself to respond to every comment that is left. And I’ve been pushing myself hard to comment on other people’s hard worked-on blog posts. In a way, it was another minor victory in a day that had already seen one minor victory!

For those of you who wish to know (and who wouldn’t?) the war between Meadhbh and Vanessa hasn’t abated one iota since it kicked off last week. They are still at it. Still hurling taunts and abuse at each other. Still driving me insane with their incessant bickering and endless bogus capitulations. I’ve tried to explain to Meadhbh as clearly and concisely as possible how pointless it is to challenge Vanessa. How antagonizing her is just adding fuel to her fire. But she won’t listen. She won’t back down. She’s obsessed with getting Vanessa to stop her continual abuse of me and I don’t think anything I say is going to change that. Sure, their ongoing battles may see the end of what little sanity I have left, but at least I would be losing my sanity knowing that Meadhbh has my best interests at heart.

With all of this raging, my other voices, Shay and Audrey, have had little time to voice their own opinions of late. Shay piped up today at the sight of two women out exercising (he’s as misogynistic and annoying as always) whilst Audrey has remained relatively silent. I think she’s stepping back whilst Meadhbh and Vanessa go at it; determined not to interfere or take sides. It’s a little annoying. I miss Audrey. I miss her unique outlook on life and the various conversations we have on literature, culture and arts, her favourite topics. It got me thinking that I should organise a play-date with her; some time where it is just her and I, doing something she enjoys. We’ve done it several times in the past, and I’ve found it a useful tool to keep her on-side, to keep our relationship productive and civil rather than abusive and combative.

I know that my talking about voice-hearing may put some of you off my blog. It’s a hard subject to get your head around. And I’ve thought long and hard about not talking about my people or their actions, but whenever I do, I realise how important it is for me to talk about them. It helps destigmatise the voice hearing experience. It allows people to realise how commonplace this experience is. And that it is not something to fear or look down on. It is a perfectly acceptable experience. That’s why I talk about my voice hearing; that’s why I allow my voices access to my blog; that’s why I share my day-to-day interactions with you all. The more people who talk about it, the better. And from my own personal experience, there really aren’t that many bloggers talking about voice hearing. In fact, I know of only a handful of blogs that talk about voice-hearing, so any you’ve come across would be wonderful to hear about.

I’m feeling a lot less anxious after typing this post. The anxiety followed me today, after the gruesome forced small talk of this morning, bleeding into every action and activity I undertook. It’s nice to feel less anxious. To know that writing has the power to relax me again. Or maybe it’s the paint fumes that have relaxed me! ;) Either way I’m glad I won’t be entering this evening with heightened anxiety. I’ve had enough of it today. But it taught me a valuable lesson: however anxious you are, however debilitating you think something is going to be, it won’t last forever. You will survive. And live to fight another day.

Sunday Stealing: Would You Rather (Part II)

 

It’s that time of the week again! That exquisite moment we launch into internet theft and pillage memes from across the interwebs for our own entertainment and amusement. Welcome back to Sunday Stealing, which originated on WTIT: The Blog. Here we will steal all types of memes from every corner of the blogosphere. Our promise to you is that we will work hard to find the most interesting and intelligent memes.

Would you rather go to a movie or to dinner alone?

I have no problem doing either of these options. Being socially isolated, as I have been for eight years, you get used to spending time on your own. A socially isolated person doesn’t have anyone to wile away the hours with, we don’t have anyone to accompany us on a dinner date or to an evening at the picture theater, we just have ourselves for company. But if I had to choose between the two, I would choose the movie, because I would much rather deal with the anxiety of being in a cinema audience listening to other people shoveling popcorn into their mouths than have to listen to myself eat.

Would you rather always say everything on your mind or never speak again?

I rarely if ever speak at the best of times, so never speaking again wouldn’t come as a major problem for me. Plus, I’m not sure the world would be able to cope with hearing every bizarre, kinky and downright outrageous thing that trundles through my brain on any given day!

Would you rather make a phone call or send a text?

One of the most frequent behaviors that my abuser would attack was my occasional sending of a text message. Whenever I sent one she would launch into a tirade of vicious, ridiculous abuse about how I should always communicate with people face to face, that I should never ever (under any circumstances) send a text message because people don’t like receiving text messages. They like receiving phone calls. They like being talked to in person. Text messages, according to my abuser’s abuse, are the work of Satan. So I would much rather make a phone call; because if I send a text message, any text message, it triggers my PTSD. Hence why I haven’t sent a text message in years.

Would you rather read an awesome book or watch a good movie?

This would entirely depend on the mood I’m in. If I was in a book frame of mind, I would much rather read an awesome book than watch a movie. But if I was in a movie frame of mind, I wouldn’t be able to focus on a book, so I’d much prefer to watch a movie. Thus, I refuse to choose either one; I choose both.

Would you rather be the most popular person at work or school or the smartest?

I’ve never been all that fussed about being popular. Being popular is inherently over-rated. So I would much rather be the smartest person in the room.

Would you rather put a stop to war or end world hunger?

How on earth am I supposed to choose between these two options? It’s like asking someone to choose between chocolate and cheese; it’s impossible, as they’re both as delicious as the other! I’ve never been a fan of war (who is?) but then again, I’ve never been a fan of world hunger either. So I choose to use my recently acquired smartest person in the room ability to end both things at the same time.

Would you rather spend the night in a luxury hotel room or camping surrounded by beautiful scenery?

Easily, without question or hesitation, I would choose to camp surrounded by beautiful scenery. Luxury hotels, like popularity, are inherently over-rated. They’re just bastions of vanity. Who in their right mind would choose high quality sheets and spa baths over a sleeping bag and the sound of rain on the canvas above you? Camping is wonderful. It is divine. It is everything that is right with the world. Plus, I have to say camping, otherwise Meadhbh would kill me; she loves camping more than I do, and that’s saying something given my love of tents and ravishing scenery!

Would you rather explore space or the ocean?

I hate the water. It freaks me out. So I would much rather explore outer space. Who knows, perhaps I would be the one to discover intelligent life! ;)

Luxury hotels, like popularity, are inherently over-rated.

Would you rather go deep sea diving or bungee jumping?

I hate the water. It freaks me out. I also hate heights. It freaks me out too. So I would choose sanity, and pick neither.

Would you rather be a kid your whole life or an adult your whole life?

I would much rather be an adult my whole life. No-one telling me what to do. No-one governing my every whim, action and desire. Adults can have more fun too; as long as you’re an adult who’s not averse to the wonders of imagination.

Would you rather go on a cruise with friends or with your spouse?

I have neither friends nor a spouse – I’m socially isolated, remember. But, if I had to pick one, I’d choose my imaginary spouse so we could have lots of imaginary sex as we floated effortlessly across the ocean.

Would you rather lose your keys or your cell phone?

I hate my cell phone. I really do. It never rings. It never beeps a message from Satan. It’s just something I have because I’m supposed to. So I wouldn’t be too fussed if I were to lose it. My keys on the other hand, that would annoy the crap out of me, so bugger off phone; I’d lose you any day of the year!

Would you rather eat a meal of cow tongue or octopus?

Excuse me while I vomit! I hate the water, remember, and that goes for everything that lives in it. Especially creatures with eight tentacles. I would also rather gouge out my eyes with a wooden spoon than eat anything’s tongue. So I would happily choose neither of these, frankly grotesque, options.

Would you rather have x-ray vision or magnified hearing?

X-ray vision. You could have so much fun with X-ray vision; checking out people’s naughtily placed tattoos, seeing through walls, examining broken limbs…the list is positively endless! Okay, so the list has three things on it, but each are so much more fun than being able to hear a bit better.

Would you rather work in a group or work alone?

Socially isolated man who suffers from social anxiety…I would choose working alone to working in a group any day of the decade! There would be less chance of panic attacks, for one, and less likelihood of having arguments over who’s doing what, for seconds. Plus, like popularity and luxury hotel rooms, other people are over-rated. You can have much more fun on your own! :p

I hate the water, remember, and that goes for everything that lives in it.

 

 

An epic battle involving horror movies and Bonnie Tyler!

Following on from Wednesday’s rather fraught day of voice activity, the last couple of days have been no better. In fact, when it comes to my people, there has been a battle raging in my head for the last forty-eight hours; and it’s exhausting! Meadhbh – in her infinite wisdom – has decided to take on the role of ‘protector’. It’s a role she has often undertaken over the last twenty-odd years, protecting me from everything from school yard bullies to the chaos anxiety inflicts on me, but over the last forty-eight hours her target has been Vanessa; and she’s refusing to give in.

You see, when it comes to my voices, they’re not only able to speak to me, but they can speak to each other. Sometimes this is vastly entertaining, like eavesdropping on a particularly naughty conversation, other times it can just be debilitating, as they valiantly attempt to gain my attention by speaking over each other. For the last forty-eight hours my attention has not been the goal. After the endless, onslaught of abuse on Wednesday, Meadhbh has taken it upon herself to defend me against the “pure evil that is Vanessa”. And she has decided to protect me by ceaselessly arguing with Vanessa, picking her up on every comment, every word and every syllable that she decides to voice. It’s been pretty deafening, this constant bickering, and only marginally entertaining. But it’s nice to know that I have at least one voice on my side; such has been the volume of Meadhbh’s defense.

According to Meadhbh Vanessa is the useless one, not me. According to Meadhbh, Vanessa is scum of the universe, a selfish, self-righteous, condescending bitch of the highest order. And she has said all of this to Vanessa over the last couple of days. And Vanessa’s reaction has been obvious. You see, when you antagonize an abuser all you are going to do is make everything worse. And Meadhbh doesn’t grasp this. So as Vanessa’s abuse grew louder and more toxic, Meadhbh’s defense of me had to become more prominent, and at a greater rate of decibels. The fight has been raging for two whole days now – neither one giving any ground, neither one any closer to being the ‘winner’. Personally, I think they’re both enjoying themselves too much. Meadhbh loves to talk, and if she thinks she’s on the side of right, there’s no stopping her. Meanwhile, Vanessa also loves to talk, and her narcissism means she is always right. So really, there will never be a winner in this argument. And the loser will always be me – because I’m the one who has to sit here and listen to the chaos hour after hour!

Meadhbh also got a trifle annoyed after I let Vanessa program the songs on Wednesday’s post. She wants to know why I didn’t let her choose the songs. She doesn’t understand that I was trying to placate Vanessa, that I was hoping allowing Vanessa the choice would lessen her abuse. This is why I’ve had to promise Meadhbh she can choose the songs today. To keep Meadhbh happy. Oh, for the life of a voice hearer; the constant daily battle to keep everyone happy, to keep everyone on side. It’s damned exhausting, it really is. Just once I’d like other people to be able to hear what I hear, what I have to put up with, then and only then would they realise how hard I work each day just to get even the most basic things done!

Anyhow, aside from the endless battle between Meadhbh and Vanessa, my day has been rather uneventful. I woke up after a dream about being trapped in a vat of liquid cheese and fell into my usual, boring, monotonous routine. I listened to talk radio, I walked down the road, I visited the library, rented some DVDs, purchased some spaghetti for dinner and then came home and watched two of the worst films I’ve ever had the misfortune to sit through; Wrong Turn 2: Dead End and Wrong Turn 3: Left for Dead. Seriously, if you ever find yourself in a position of watching these films, find the nearest wooden spoon and gouge out your own eyes, it will be a lot less painful than sitting through this horror-stereotype laden tripe!

In fact, as I was forcing myself to watch such garbage, I began to wonder why the horror genre has more crap in it than any other. Sure, there’s a lot of dodgy comedies and thrillers out there, but there seems to be a dirge of atrocious horror movies. In fact, pretty much every horror movie that  is released is derivative nonsense. Sure, there is the occasional stand-out – The Descent springs to mind – but most is just boring, unfrightening wankery. The trouble is, when I’m depressed, I crave films that make me feel something and as laughter is thin on the ground when I’m depressed, I tend to seek out horror movies, hoping beyond hope that they give me a scare. They rarely do, and today’s Wrong Turn double feature, made me cringe more than startle. So I’m left wondering what horror film I should watch next; what horror movies have scared you? What horror movies have made you hide behind your sofa in pure terror? I genuinely want to know as I genuinely want to be scared by a movie again.

And the first person to say The Blair Witch Project gets a good spanking! :p There is nothing scary about The Blair Witch Project. Nothing.

Anyhow. Aside from the endless battle between Meadhbh and Vanessa, and my quest to find a truly terrifying horror film, I’ve actually felt quite proud of myself today. You may have noticed that yesterday saw me (finally) complete the 31 Days of Bipolar challenge. It’s the first blog challenge I’ve completed for quite some time, and am immensely proud that I saw it through to its conclusion, rather than give up halfway through as I’ve been known to do with blog challenges in the past. All in all, I had a good time writing the challenge. Some of the prompts were a little pedestrian and uninspiring, but the vast majority had me find the writing spark that I’ve sorely missed over the last several months. The only problem is that now it’s completed, what do I do? Am I seriously going to have to come up with my own post ideas again?! How annoying. I will actually have to think original thoughts and write them in a way that entertains, enlightens and amazes. That seems a little too difficult. Perhaps I’ll just find another challenge. Either way. You’re not taking my pride away from me this time! I’m over the moon I completed the challenge and have had a daffy grin on my face for most of the day because of it.

And after saying that, it appears this blog post has come to a sort of natural conclusion. Sure, I could force it to go on a little longer, come up with something random and pointless to extend the post by another 500 odd words, but I really don’t think I can be bothered today. I just kinda what Meadhbh and Vanessa to shut the hell up for five seconds as their war is starting to grate. Meadhbh has just fired off insult number 8907, which just made Vanessa laugh, which has made Meadhbh fire off insult 8908 in retaliation. Like I said. There’s no way either one is going to give up, so ultimately, I’m the loser.

Don’t forget to leave your horror movie recommendations in the comments section below. I’d love to know which one of you is going to suggest a movie that truly freaks me out! Hope you’re all having a wonderful day, whichever timezone you find yourself living in! :)

Note: As mentioned, today’s music has been chosen by she who is named Meadhbh. As if I would choose a Bonnie Tyler song! :p

31 Days of Bipolar: Day 31. Every day I think why am I still here?

Day 31: Have you attempted suicide? What, when, why, how and what did you learn?

There are many people out there who say we shouldn’t talk about suicide. Most of these people work in the media. Fortunately I don’t work in the media because I firmly and wholeheartedly believe that we should talk about suicide; as loudly as possible. We should talk about when people attempt to take their own life. We should talk about why they attempt to take their own life. And we should talk about how people attempt to take their own life. Only by talking about suicide can we begin to understand what goes on in someone’s mind when the only option they feel is left is to end it all.

I’ve been one of those people. I’ve been to a place so dark, so abysmal, so rotten with chaos and trepidation, that I felt the only route I had available was to end my own life. I’ve stood on bridges and stared into the abyss. I’ve tied nooses round my neck. I’ve consumed vast quantities of medication. And I’ve slashed at my wrists with knife and blade. On nearly a dozen occasions I’ve visited that dark place; that place where death is the only solace.

1. November 2000: I stood on a viaduct in Glenfinnan, Scotland, eager to throw myself off
2. March 2006: I sat on a beach in Port Fairy, ready to slash my wrists with a knife
3. May 2007: I took an overdose of medication whilst in the safety of my bedroom
4. October 2007: I attempted to hang myself in the midst of a rainforest
5. January 2008: I cut my wrists with a knife in the middle of a public park
6. June 2008: I swallowed dozens of tablets in the non-safety of a hostel dorm room
7. May 2009: saw me so close to death I don’t like talking about it
8. November 2009: I fashioned a noose out of clothing to cease my homeless existence
9. Mid 2010: lost to homelessness, I hacked at my wrists with blunt sticks whilst living in a park
10. October 2011: I used my belt to hang myself from a tree, in the wilderness of the Australian bush
11. December 2011: I attempted to decapitate and dismember myself on a railway track

 

And on each occasion I failed. In whatever attempt I was taking to end my pointless existence, I failed. And even though some people don’t like talking about suicide with those words – failed, succeeded – I do, because my desire to end my own life was so strong, so powerful, that I felt I had failed. All I wanted in each of those eleven moments was my death. I no longer wanted to live. I no longer wanted to breathe the air or feel the rain on my face. All I wanted was to die. To no longer exist. To end my worthless, useless, insignificant life. In fact, the desire for death was so strong, so powerful, that I am surprised I am still alive to type these words.

By all accounts, I should be dead. I often talk of 11 October 2007 as the day I should have died. The same could be said for May 2009 and October 2011. All three attempts were so solid, so thought out, that I am amazed I failed. I am well and truly stunned that I was able to keep breathing beyond those dates. In fact, the only reason I am still alive is because of the fundamental lesson I’ve learned over the years. It may sound simple to end your own life, but the reality is starkly different. In fact, ending your own life is the hardest, most complicated and difficult thing you could ever attempt. There is nothing simple about killing yourself; unless you’ve done your homework, unless you’ve thought of every angle, you will fail; and rightly so.

For that is the other lesson I have learnt from all my suicide attempts; there is always something worth living for. It may not be something you’ve considered. It may be something as simple as a scent, a taste or sight. But there is always something that should be powerful enough to keep you breathing. On one occasion, for me, it was the desire to not die a virgin. Whilst on another occasion, it was the desire to look upon another beautiful female posterior. Both desires prevented me from successfully ending my own life. Both desires were enough to convince me to keep living.

So if you do ever find yourself staring into that abyss, try to find that one thing powerful enough to keep you breathing. It may be so you can hug your kitten again. It may be the desire to taste Vegemite on toast once more. It may be as simple as not wanting to die in the dodgy underwear you’re wearing. There will always be something, buried deep down in the bottom of your mind, that will keep you wanting to breathe. That will make life feel lively again. So just find that something and hold onto it as tightly as you can, for you really don’t want to kill yourself; it’s harder than you think.

I have written extensively about all my suicide attempts in two previous posts, which you are more than welcome to read:

• My suicide attempts (up to 2007)
• My suicide attempts (2008 – 2014)

It’s hard for people to understand what it’s like to hear voices

Vanessa has been raging hard today. There’s barely been a minute that she hasn’t been assaulting me with her unique brand of vicious abuse. One moment I’m the most useless human being to have ever lived, the next, I’m the most pointless human being to have ever lived. I should kill myself. I should carve wanker, evil fiend and bumder into my flesh. I’m weak. Pathetic. Worthless. I’m insignificant. Mediocre. Wretched. On an on, over an over, her abuse has slowly been driving me to despair.

She gets like this from time to time. And when she is like this there is nothing I can do to counteract it. There’s no amount of ignoring, there’s no amount of distraction, that will make a difference. I just have to put up with her. I just have to listen to her. On and on, over and over, her relentless, unending abuse slowly driving me to complete insanity.

It’s hard for people to understand what it’s like to hear voices. It’s hard for people to grasp the endless, ongoing quest for a tiny scrap of peace. I have four people, four unique voices, four virtual human beings, talking to me twenty-four hours a day. They never stop. They never give up. They just keep endlessly prattling on, vying for attention, vying for prominence, vying for affection. And when they’re like this, it is devastating.

Deep down I know I’m not useless, I know I’m not worthless, weak, pathetic, mediocre or wretched. I know that I’m not an evil fiend. But when they’re like this. When Vanessa is this loud, this repetitive, I have to stop and question her validity. I have to question whether or not she is right, because it’s all I’m being told. Usually I have Meadhbh to help me fight her, usually I have Meadhbh on my side, but today, Vanessa has been too dominant. She has eclipsed all other voices and subjected me to an endless, ongoing stream of continuous, vicious, abuse.

It has affected everything I’ve done today. Listened to the radio; I can barely hear it she’s so loud. I went for a walk; but that only triggered her more. When I watched a movie; she just interrupted at every opportunity, unrelenting in her quest to destroy me, to make me question everything I believe about myself. Everything I’ve done, from housework to prattling about the unit, has been scored by this incessant, ongoing soundtrack of hateful words, abusive outbursts and vicious attacks. Even now, as I valiantly try to type these words, she keeps hurling insults in my general direction. Attacking everything from the way I type to the words I choose to use. Everything analysed. Everything critiqued. Not a moment missed to abuse me. It’s just who she is. It’s just what I have to put up with, day-in, day-out.

And it’s on days like these that make me hate my voices. That makes me want to medicate them into oblivion. It’s pointless to talk to Vanessa, to reason and rationalize with her, because she never gives any leeway, she never wants to stop abusing. Meadhbh is different. She is conducive to change. She listens to me. Takes into account how I’m feeling. She is able to communicate with me in ways that Vanessa isn’t. Vanessa just attacks. That’s all she does. Whenever she talks to me it’s just insult after attack after abuse after criticism. When Meadhbh talks to me it’s different. It’s a two-way conversation. That’s how I wish it was with Vanessa. I wish we were able to communicate, to move past the abuse, to have some form of dialogue and discussion. But she doesn’t want to. She chooses not to.

I know deep down that Vanessa is linked to my PTSD. She is, after all, the voice of my abuser. She speaks to me in the way my abuser used to speak to me. With that same condescending, superior tone. She believes she’s better than me, that she knows the real me; exactly as my abuser used to think. I know that when my PTSD is triggered, Vanessa is too. The two go hand in hand together. They live off each other. Grow stronger off each other. But there’s little I can do with this knowledge; there’s no answer, no easy option to sever the connection between the two. Either one of PTSD or Vanessa is bad enough, but both together is destructive, potentially mortally so. When Vanessa is in full swing, as she’s been today, it would be all too easy to slash my wrists on her command. Just to get her to shut up. Just to get that sliver of peace I so desire.

But I don’t. I don’t slash my wrists. I don’t carve words into my flesh. I just put up with her. I just try to get on with my day, to concentrate on the next activity, whilst listening to this endless stream of abusive content being hurled in my direction. If people knew what I put up with. If they knew what it was like to hear voices, how loud they can be, how ceaseless in their efforts to undermine me, they would be astounded. They would realise just how strong I am. But they don’t. Instead they look at me as if I’m mad, as if I’m insane. He hears voices, they say, he’s a fucking nutcase, they say. But I’m not. I just hear voices, an experience that 4-10% of the population share. It doesn’t make me insane; it just makes me human.

So with Vanessa being as prominent as she has been, my day has been wasted. All I’ve done is listen to her whilst trying to ignore her. The movie I watched slipped away from me, the radio has blathered to itself and my housework errands were given up on. It’s just been Vanessa and me today. The double act of abuser-victim; of victim-abuser. And it’s been exhausting. Hopefully tomorrow she will calm down. Hopefully tomorrow she will realise that this incessant critiquing of my life, of my being, is utterly pointless and will lead to nothing but ruin. But deep down I know that’s what she wants; to ruin me. To destroy me. So all I can hope for is that if it continues, if this repeats itself tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that, I will be strong enough to counteract her commands. That I will find the strength to keep on fighting as best as I can.

Note: all songs featured in this post were chosen by Vanessa. My valiant attempt to placate her; to give me one moment of peace.