Posts Tagged ‘suicide’

Because I absolutely must deconstruct everything.

A couple of the people that I’m closest to atm, seem a little ‘wtf’ at my sudden change in demeanour.  And it really was that sudden. One day, I was the epitome of ‘not coping’. The next, I felt ok. Good, even.

Nothing changed.

I mean, I still have cancer, no savings, no job, no practical ideas of what I want to do ‘when I grow up’ or even just where to go next from here.

I still hate and love the father of my child in almost equal measure.

It maybe sounds a little trite, but it was hitting rock bottom that snapped me back to life I think. Let me just say, that in my moments of clarity while I was in that dark patch, I was very worried for myself and Bailey. I could hear the things I was saying and thinking, hated the person I was becoming, felt like a ticking time bomb really.

I’ve been through a lot, in my very full and intense life (see me owning that shit instead of minimising trauma into almost non-existence?) but nothing has ever kicked my ass like it did in the last couple of months.

Anyway. I’m rambling.

‘Rock-bottom’ for me, was a couple of things. The first, was realising that the sole experience I was looking forward to was being able to drink on my off treatment weeks. So yeah, instead of giving my body a break from being poisoned, and my mind some space, I would just abuse myself more and more so I wouldn’t have to think about anything except how crap I felt. I fucked around with prescription medication. Numbed myself. I’m so ashamed to be writing this.  On the odd occasion where I made a concentrated effort to just…be…I couldn’t handle it. I’d pop myself in a meditative mindset (something that used to take me roughly 10 seconds and that I can honestly say is the number one way that I have coped with everything up until this diagnosis) and be thrown out of it with a massive anxiety attack.

Being in my own head felt impossible.

Not having music, noise, facebook, being able to hear my own thoughts was actual torture for me.

Another thing, was finding myself doing something totally depraved and out of character, and instead of exiting the situation, I pretty much held myself in the fire, reached for the pills, turned the music up, and ignored my own feelings, my own standards, my own intuition.

I’m a good person, and I don’t deserve to be treated that way, especially not by myself.

I hope I’m not being premature, or arrogant, but I really really believe the worst is over for me. I don’t mean this won’t be hard, I have a hell of a lot of work to do, and some of it is out of my control.

But I feel like I’m getting the hang of this ‘inner-ok-ness’ thing.


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‘So, will you write about me one day?’ he asked casually, leaning back against the couch. He passed her the joint, half smiling at her hesitance.

She thought, trying not to show him how her skin prickled. Took a slow drag.

‘Do you want me to?’

‘Write something just for me now. And then something when I’m long gone.’

She smiled, picked up the notebook. ‘You’re not that old’, teasing him.

‘No. Just too old for you.’

She made eye contact, wearing her sexuality like a dress as she crawled into his lap.

‘So why am I here?’

He closed his eyes.


As the months wore on, she started dressing differently. Not to please him, she’d tell herself. Just to try to bridge the gap a little. She cursed less, wrote more. He liked her to wear her hair back, instead of down and styled with salt water. They listened to classical music, staying in to explore each other. He drew her flowers and she enveloped him in prose. Her family was drawn to him; most were.

‘He’s quirky, isn’t he? That’s probably good, you know. For you. You’ve always been mature, anyway.’

The first time, it seemed almost charming, the flip-side to his creativity. She wasn’t scared, even when he made her load the gun again and again. But that night, without knowing why, she took it.

‘It’s because I love you. You need to be able to protect yourself’

‘You’ll protect me. Nothing’s going to happen anyway. Unless you’re not telling me something.’

His eyes darkened.


She took him to the hospital, listening to him talk to ghosts in the car. Adjustment, make sure you keep taking your stabilisers, was what she remembered. Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of. The intensity left. Stability didn’t suit her. They decided to see someone else. So he could be him. But well. No more bullets on the stove. No more sleeping for 16 hours. They went to the beach, for bushwalks. The apartment was covered in drawings and notes. It was Spring. She visualised this being for always. Keeping this Balance.



To be continued. If I’m brave enough.

Just wanted to try something a little different and this has been on my mind lately. I hope you guys don’t mind :). It’s important for me to start putting this to rest finally, and writing is the best safest way I know.

Thanks for reading,

Ash xxx

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First, an update.

That cold I thought I had? Pneumonia. I don’t feel as bad as you’d expect. But bad enough.

Also, severe depression apparently. Right up in the glowing red, clanging alarms, danger zone.

I’m surprised and I think maybe they scored wrong, or didn’t listen when I said ‘sure, of course I’ve thought about it, I wouldn’t follow through though.’

I still think it feels ‘not me’ and like it’s from…something external… The professional opinion is life catching up to me though.

I guess it doesn’t matter either way.


I keep getting this awful feeling that something is going to blow, with Craig and I.

He’s never gotten violent, and I didn’t used to worry about Bailey in his care.

I just have this awful ‘tick tick’ type feeling. He’s irrational…the mood swings are epic. He can’t grasp cancer being worse than a cold… He doesn’t understand that it’s not fair to tell me everything I’ve ever done wrong, practically string me up over these half-truths and exaggerations and flat out lies without any intention in his behalf to make any commitment to sorting himself out.

He can’t seem to see that it’s not the time, he can’t see outside of his own feelings…I guess what I’m trying to say is, he doesn’t seem capable of empathy anymore, not just with me, how he talks about his family, workmates now… I barely know him anymore.

He has me over a barrel financially and could make my life hell if he wanted to. So I try to play nice, and it sucks. Because I want to scream at him to wake up. I don’t know how to deal with all this, how to stand up for myself without making him worse. Without him getting worse, I mean. I know his behaviour is on him.

I can’t handle anymore drama.

I can’t shake him off, or move on properly without losing a lot. I’m not in the position to start from scratch and rebuild my life.

My instincts are screaming at me…when he was here last week, I was jumpy…I can feel his anger and resentment towards me. I felt like every sense was heightened every time I turned my back on him. He’ll lay into me, verbally, saying he ‘needs to talk to me’ and when I defend myself, say something is not true, his jaw clenches and his hands shake…

I’ve never been scared of him before, but he’s never given me reason to be.

Maybe it’s just my messy head mixing things up.

But it feels like something is going to give, soon.


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So yeah, it all sucks a little right now.

Basically, I’d really like to just delete myself from facebook, here, my email, and throw my phone into the ocean. Sit under a doona with tissues and hot tea and no interruptions. I even got to the point of considering just not doing treatment, and feeling lucky because, you know, at least I have an out, right? I could just pretend to be ‘leaving it in the hands of fate’ because I’m not suicidal, I’m more just…not into life.

Bailey. I know right? I’m a terrible mother and probably a horrible person right now. Of course I love the hell out of him, even if I can’t quite touch that feeling lately. Except for when it breaks through, blinding light through shutters, and it’s absolutely all I can feel, too much, leaving me winded and gasping.

Anyway. Today, I bullied myself into having a shower AND brushing my teeth *slow clap*. Ran a couple of errands, more than I’ve done in ages. I was exhausted after. School is on hiatus, so I am sucking at that too. Speaking of which, we got assessed week before last, and I smiled and made coffee and Bailey was gorgeous and she was so pleased with us. I felt like the most worthless piece of shit after though, because it was such a total act.

I have this shitty cold, and you’d think in light of everything else it’d barely register…wrong. I felt like shit before, all I can taste is chemicals, everything keeps bleeding, and god forbid I should try to have some time with the dogs or horses…it’s not worth looking like I’ve been beaten after with huge purpley black bruising. So add a blocked nose and pounding head and dry hacking cough, and yeah it’s noticeable. I’m so close to the edge of my ‘coping capacity’ now, that it takes very little to push me through to the ‘clinging by fingertips’ point.

It was Bailey’s birthday over the weekend, so we had his best friends down for three nights. I love these kids and usually love having them, but yeah, it was a bit much for me. Craig came down, and told me everything I’ve ever done wrong in our whole relationship, from his point of view. Because apparently it’s my fault I’m overwhelmed. And I can’t even write about it, because it hurts too much, making my chest squeeze and eyes prickle, and I don’t understand how he could, when I’m so obviously doing my best and still not coping.

I’m not a fucking punching bag, and yeah it’s easy to say, but if there’s something I know about myself, it’s that I prefer that to … nothing … That’s gotta change.

Anyway, out of the seven mediations I’m on, I think maybe one of them is having some weird side effect…some of the thoughts in my head, about stopping treatment etc, it doesn’t feel like me, and it’s the weirdest fucking thing. Or maybe this is just depression, I wouldn’t know. Anxiety, I get. PTSD, I get. But I *am* going to the Dr tomorrow, and a different one next week, and between the two of them I need some kind of treatment. Like, last week.

Wow, that was exhausting to write.

In other shit, my tests are slightly better, so we are on the right track treatment wise, I still don’t have my iphone back but can’t be bothered pushing for it, I can hear the beach and it sounds angry. My cat won’t leave me alone, and I’m stupidly grateful to him right now.

I watched the surfers for ages today, just sat and stared out. The sun kept peeking through dark clouds, making the grey waves sparkle. Bailey asked why they do the same thing over and over, they already know what’s going to happen. Maybe that’s the point.


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I just learnt that today is ‘ World Suicide Prevention Day’.

I know a little bit about suicide.

It never leaves you, the ‘would they have if’, the ‘what if I had’, the ‘what would they be like’. Well it’s never left me anyway. I don’t like to generalise.

I will always always wonder what his last coherent thought was.

I never knew how common suicide is until recently. I don’t know about everywhere else, but here there are strict laws on what can be reported…it’s not really talked about.

I don’t know if I agree or disagree with this.

I don’t know what would help. I wish I did.


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I’m not anymore, I don’t think. I feel like I’ve changed intrinsically, and that makes me sad.

I feel my weaknesses, seeping through my veins, and I want to shake myself.

But other times, I wish people would just let me be weak for awhile.

It’s like there’s all this evidence of me being strong built up in their minds, that they can’t quite grasp how this is too much for me, right now.

Because I was held at gunpoint.


Found someone I cared for hanging from a beam.

Had cancer.

And the other things.

And I survived, better than survived, I was strong. I smiled alot, moved on with my life, kept going, always looked forward, always had a job – or was busy being a mummy, and was generally reliable and responsible if anyone needed me. I’ve had some of the best things I can imagine, in my life…people, experiences….stuff I wouldn’t trade for the world.

Sure, I did some stupid things when I was young, but I always knew when to get serious. I never went ‘off the rails’ as such.

So of course I can do this.  I’ve proven how Strong I am.

I feel like that’s Not Fair.

Just because I was ‘strong’ with the other stuff, doesn’t mean it made me stronger. It just took most of the strength I had, bit by bit.

And now I feel like I don’t have enough left.


Really I think -hope-  I’ll eventually be ok, but it helps me so much to write what’s in my mind, right at this very moment, and this is something that’s been turning over in my brain for awhile now. I hate knowing that people are surprised by how hard I am taking this thing with Craig (Fuck, just say the word – d.i.v.o.r.c.e) and that I’m just expected to ‘deal’ because it’s what I have always done.

In spite of this, I am trying hard with the plan. It’s not coming easy.

But I’m doing it, as much as I can.

I have to believe that it is possible for life to build strength, rather than just diminish it.

It has to be possible, what will I do if it’s not?


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Is where I’m at right now.

I’m past the being able to verbalise it stage. Theres so many people I could talk to while I’m down here, so many old friends who I know would happily put their lives aside for me right now, if I could be honest about where I’m at.

Where I’m at, is fucked. I can‘t think of one thing that would make it better. I was supposed to be here 2 nights, 3 days and I’ve been here 8 nights.  I feel scared to go home.

I’ve pretty much run away.

I can’t get out of my own head though.

So I play beach cricket with Bailey while tears build behind dark glasses.  I grab nothing but his hand and we walk barefoot over the dunes, and I’m grateful for the simplicity here.

Craig comes down, we argue horribly, round and round. I eventually snap, mentally, and everything is fuzzy and I’m scared of myself. I feel like I might get some relief if I can get out of the house but he won’t let me.  I realize what I really want, at that moment, is to die.

That is fucking terrifying to me, I know exactly what suicide does.  I’ve seen it close up, in minute detail and I don’t care. 

Obviously, I’m still here.

If there was someone I could leave Bailey with, that would raise him in a way I am comfortable with, I don’t know if I would be.

I wasn’t even thinking of that at the time, but that’s my mindframe today.

Anyway I was upset enough to snap Craig out of his fucking bubble, and that is saying something.  We sit on the balcony while I sob and claw at my skin and try to quiet the rushing in my ears.  Eventually I’m quiet and outside of my mind and I can think in abstract coagulating thoughts.

He promises me everything will be fine, we’ll work out.

We make love and I come back to myself a little, my whole body aches as I drift off.

I wake up to him kissing my forehead and saying he’s going to work, and my eyes have filled with tears before I’ve even opened them. He didn’t ask if I was ok, left me alone with Bailey when I’d been totally off the fucking wall just hours before.

I lie there until I realise I really can’t make the decision to get out of bed, try to call Craig twice, he doesn’t pick up. Bailey gets up and I start feeling a little panicky but it’s still not enough to motivate me.

I tell Bailey he can have biscuits for breakfast and he comes and sits in bed with me, getting crumbs everywhere, and I don’t care.  I think desperately of the beach, horses, I stare at my child, and drift back into sleep for another 2 hours. When I awake I’m ok, fragile, but I think I want to live. 

I’m scared now, knowing that can change.

I get up, walk to the fridge and dump a jugful of icy water over my head.  We go to the beach and draw in the sand and I feel desperate, and I don’t want to be anywhere.


When we return, there’s 6 missed calls from Craig. I can’t bring myself to call, but we text a little the next day -today- , I tell him how I’m feeling, how the only time I’ve felt suicidal is over his behaviour, that I’m feeling pretty close to the edge and he still argues. I end up saying that this isn’t worth Bailey not having a mother, that I love him but won’t engage with him until something major changes, and asked if all this would matter to him if I was dead.

Melodramatic, I know.

I guess he should, be happy, he’s gotten what he seemed to want, an open non-ending, where nothing is resolved, and he can comfort himself with the knowledge that he was ‘still trying’ and that I’m clearly the one with mental instability 😉


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this year…

As this year, which has been wonderful to me, draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on the clusterfuck that was 2011.  More specifically, the lessons I’ve learnt from said clusterfuck.

1.  Relationships take 2 people, not one. Two.

Ok, I am still coming to terms with this one, but I am edging towards acceptance. There is only one person whose behaviour I can alter. Guess. No, not Craig.

2.  There are better ways to cope with life than falling into a bottle.

Because it makes your skin awful, and gives you a headache on top of everything else. And you still have to cope with everything you were trying to escape anyway.  When I feel like I really need a drink, is specifically when I shouldn’t have eight one. Annoying, huh?

3.  During cancer treatment is not the best time to start a degree.

4.  Sometimes, you can sleep with someone, have it be fun and then still be close friends afterwards.  Not often though.  So I’m still not doing it again. I figure I’ve had my ‘grace period’ on this.

5.  When you’re ‘still in love’ is not the best time to start a new relationship.

Even if you insist on ‘not labelling it’ and that it’s ‘just a bit of fun’.  Not my best move, but I know better now.  And yes, the guilt is still killing me.  Sorry Random Guy.  Hope he finds someone.

6.  Sometimes, shit just happens. And there’s nothing you can do except roll with it.

7.  Post-traumatic stress is a bitch.  A horrible mind-altering whore. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s over shit that happened last week, or 8 fucking years ago.  Maybe it’s worse this way, considering the huge amount of energy I spent holding my mind together all this time.  And now I still have to deal, which is what I was trying to avoid that whole fucking time.

2012 is going to rock so hard.  And by rock so hard, I mean hopefully be boring, and the year my health picks up. And the year I can have nanna-naps while B-man’s at school. Yeah, that rocks.


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So, I have a


Well, sort of.

It’s my husband.  We’re seeing each other again….

So messy.  But I just can’t give up on us.  I’m praying he doesn’t rip my heart out this time around. 

I feel….ok. Like maybe I’ve turned some sort of corner.  And I know a few people are going to think I’m fucking stupid, blah, blah, blah, but I don’t care about other people’s opinions on my life as much anymore. 

Don’t want to speak too soon though.

Maybe being in remission is starting to set in properly, it has taken a while this time. 

I feel like I’m handling myself a bit better.

Last night I had….maybe one of the worst nightmares I’ve ever had.  The type where I wake up crying and shaking and drenched in sweat.

It was about him of course, and me finding him, except he was alive, half alive and it was just graphic and awful and disgusting.

BUT I handled it and still managed to have an ok, stable day.

Might not sound like much to you, but it’s fairly big to me 🙂


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This is mine, right now.


Just some rope, hanging from a tree.

I can’t remember why it’s there, but I remember us laughing about it getting stuck.

And this morning, when I wandered outside, it was enough to give me a graphic flashback, one where I’m not here anymore, where I’m immersed in another time, another place.  I want it gone, but I can’t get close enough to try.  I can’t ask anyone to help because I can’t deal with people seeing me like this.

I just….fuck.  Really, fuck this.

Is this what he wanted to happen?  By ensuring that I would find him, is this how he wanted me to be?

I WAS over this.  I swear.  There was a timespan, years, where I barely thought about him, and when he crossed my mind, I didn’t think about how it all ended.  I wish now, more than almost anything, that I’d dealt when it happened. Taken the therapy that was offered to me.

I didn’t even tell most people who I was close to.  I just continued with life.  Other things bothered me more.  He was right about my selfishness, my detatchment, my inadequacies.



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