Published on 12, July, 2020
It's not the first time I have been depressed. It's like a recurring undercurrent throughout my life. I was depressed for most of my 20s and I had a failed suicide attempt 15 years ago. Last year I was going to kill myself. I chose a foolproof method that couldn't fail and set a date and I arranged to meet with a solicitor to write a will, but it all got disrupted by the sudden lockdowns.
I was on a waiting list with the NHS for counselling, but they phoned me up and told me they couldn't see me any more because they didn't have enough staff, and that if I wanted to kill myself I should call the Samaritans.
I have called Samaritans and other charities a few times and although it's great that these volunteers try to help people, I don't feel like they understand me and I don't like being on the phone. I have emailed them as well but just receive what is mostly a stock response where they tell me to call them.
I don't know what to do any more. I get no enjoyment out of doing things and I don't see the point of anything. It all seems bleak and hopeless and I despair all the time. I have nothing to look forward to. Mainly I hate myself. I have no friends and I am so alone. I feel so empty all the time. I don't even bother eating any more. I don't do anything except sit by myself and wait until I can go to sleep. And sometimes I cry. There is no support available to me.
I have been thinking a lot about quitting my job. I tried going into the office again so that I have some human contact, but I hated it. It was so over-stimulating and I hate being outside in the city centre as well. The smells and sounds and brightness of it stresses me out. I tried going for drinks with my colleagues, but I feel so alone in a room full of people. I feel like they all get along and vibe off each other and I am this weird alien that doesn't belong there, and they don't care whether I am there or not.
I think I need real help from a qualified therapist, preferably one familiar with autism, but I don't know how. I'm still on a very long waiting list for the autism, probably won't get seen until next year, and I don't expect anything to come from it anyway. It seems like there is nothing available to me. I have contacted the doctor so many times. They won't see me face-to-face and the only way to contact them is via a text-based web service where they respond with half a sentence after which I can't reply. There is nothing available to me on the NHS anyway. The waiting lists are all over a year, and I was previously on one and they cancelled it. I don't want to talk to someone on the phone because I find it really difficult.
What can I do?
I've got big lumps of all of the above right now. It ain't my first rodeo.
Inactivity, sleep, and avoiding people is how I get through it, with brief moments of attempting useful tasks, which I bin as soon as I start getting pissed off with my lack of success, rather than futile attempts to "push on through".
At such times I also derive a lot of comfort from the simple and usually 100% sucessfull interactions with my cat. I may not be able to improve my day but I sure can make his little day better, with an unexpected treat or play, or a "line of catnip". Having the certain knowledge that the endeavour will be sucessful before I attempt it, is very therapeutic. Makes me feel like I have some control or value in the world.
Does not work however, if your depression is caused by the unexpected thrombosis taking your lovely cat away from you, and it does not help alleviate the anxiety when it happens two days before you start your new contract..
I'm utterly, utterly "cabbaged" now. I can't think straight, I'm struggling to maintain my relationships, can't be bothered to touch the sticks that keep the plates in the air and wondering what the hell I'll do next when I feel like doing anything.
What I DO know, is that I am two for two on witnessing botched "cat euthanasia" done by the professionals, and very tempted to demonstrate first hand to the world how it should be done. I do know how to leave this world exactly without any discomfort or fear whatsoever, and at the very least I think it's a method that should be available to our animals at their last moments rather than propofol which both my cats "told me" is a very discomforting way to go...
Of course, my chosen name (and eventually there will be an icon) far from being some crypto nazi reference as was suggested by a less kind member of our community a short while ago, is in fact a simple representation of what I keep finding out. "Things are often bigger under the surface than you can see"
That applies to the possibilty of an afterlife existence too, which due to pesky science and mathematics has an extra eight inaccesible to us dimensions to be hiding in. It's a real problem with suicide, your life could indeed actually exist MOSTLY in those eight or so inaccesible dimensions, what we think of as "life" may indeed be the only bit we can see, just like my iceberg! My thinking is: "If I've had my *** kicked here, and fled this existence, then suicide could well be a out of the fat and into the fire situation!", rather than the desired end to suffering people hope for. It really could work that way!
So whilst I may be defeated and miserable now, the alternative (knowing my luck) will be even worse! Therefore, all I can sensibly do is wait for this latest agony and despair to pass, sleep or work it off as much as possible, and try to concentrate less on what I lost last sunday morning, and more on the wonderful memories we made together.
I Sperg, I understand grief, and as much as is humanly possible I empathise with how you are feeling. I'm sorry to hear that your cherished pet has passed away. If we felt no grief or pain at these times, then we would be the worst kind of monsters—or worse, Liberal Democrats. Stick around. The show is not over until the final curtain call. It feels like Hell sometimes here on Earth, but it's actually Heaven comparative compared to the dark realm where those who self-murder find themselves in.