Suicidal: Can You Really Tell

Maybe there are people who give you clear signs of when they are about to commit suicide, but then again, those people are probably looking for attention more than anything. Those people are using suicide attempts for attention as a poor substitute for coping with stress. My stress is not about attention, it is about my cycles of manic depression that seemed to have erased all hopes for some type of success in life. You probably would never be able to tell I'm on the verge of ending it. On the outside, I seem functional and amicable. I probably even seem humorous, somewhat intelligent, and social most of the time. My humor is still apparent after all these years. I have a dry sense of humor. Not your typical sitcom bullshit. I like Adult Swim Cartoons, Reno 911, Happiness (The Movie), Family Guy, kind of humor. Some of it is not that dry, but most if it is. Regardless, my main point is, is that there is no apparent sign I am suicidal. One would think everything is just fine, as in my main title to all this. I am suicidal; everything is just fine. Why would I want anyone to intervene and continue my inevitable misery? I am just fine.

Suicide: Living It Up

Living every day as if it were your last is very destructive. I have done it for real two times in my life, and it has pushed me into a deep hole I am still trying to climb out of. After years of battling manic depression, I finally became self aware of the condition and sought professional psychiatric help. I was started on anti-depressants and mood stabilizers, which turned my ups and downs into one steady flow of boredom with no emotion. I stopped the mood stabilizer because I was a zombie on it. Unfortunately, I went into a manic episode on an antidepressant without anything to counteract my mania. I took a cash advance on all of my credit cards. I planned on a trip to Australia where I would die in the desert after spending time in Sydney and Melbourne. Before I went to Australia, I planned three days of vacation in Reno, NV. I learned how to ski, but also blew all of my money on blackjack. Over a three day period I blew over 15000 on blackjack. I had no money left and was desperate. I called my family and my best friend. My best friend bailed me out by taking on the debt. I paid him off completely after two years by taking all my retirement money out in one lump sum with a huge tax penalty. You thought I would have learned. After a few years, I went on another spree while doing a job contract in Washington State for a few months. The Seattle Metropolitan area has plenty of casinos. I blew more than 30000 grand in cash advances on gambling, hookers, and expensive restaurants. I was down to nothing. I transferred my debt to a debt consolidation program. After two years on it, I hardly put a dent in my debt. I can't speak for everybody, but when one is living everyday as if it where their last, it is careless, and reckless, but not all out chaos. I wanted to enjoy myself, not kill anybody or commit a major crime. I never had any real plans of suicide until the last year. Even as I get down to my last days, I am not reckless. I do not want to leave a huge scar for the people who know me. My life is miserable; I do not want to inflict harm on anyone else. Maybe I lived more in my 34 years than most people, which is good to some degree, but horrendous on most accounts. At this time, I wiped out any future plans of retirement or a family. I can't speak for anyone else but myself. I would want a family if I were stable. I know in my heart I would never harm anyone, and would be very loving, but I would be too unstable, and self-destruct. Then again, if I had a family it might deter me from self-destructive behavior that would harm both my family and me, but I think it is too late for me. I am growing tired of my self-destructive bullshit, and I am waiting for an opportune time to end my existence as a living being. I know I will reside in peoples’ memory, but I want to end my internal suffering, and probably end theirs as well, when referring to me.

Suicide: The Irony and Sadness Of It All

My poor decisions in life are no one else's fault but my own. I grew up in a warm and loving home in a great family. There was nothing traumatic in my background which would lead me down the road I have taken. I think about suicide a lot. I do not want to go into specifics about suicidal acts or anything right now. There are some ironies in my life, one being my teeth. I guess it can be comical and sad at the same time. My mother went out of her way to get me braces when I was twelve. She got my teeth straight and white. I still take very good care of my teeth to this day, and when I think about suicide, I think of the kindness and generosity my mother invested in me 22 years ago when she straightened my teeth out. I know it may seem trivial, but when I see my teeth everyday, I think of my mom, and it saddens me to think my mom's kindness will be thrown away. I guess all of my parents' kindness and generosity will be thrown away. I know they invested so much in me in the past, and I ended up being a bipolar loser. My parents have great friends and my sisters are real close with them. They have a great support system. They will do fine, I hope.

Depression: Talking to Myself

It looks like I am the only one reading my blog at this time. Not such a bad thing. It allows me to expresss myself, organize my thoughts, and keep a journal of sorts. Of course, it can be viewed as pathetic that I may be the only one that is reading it, but I believe I am pathetic to begin with, so there is not much to lose. It is hard to understand myself and my thought process. I guess paying a so-called licensed therapist/psych counselor may be beneficial, but I have done that in the past. I know what the overall goal is without fattening their wallets, so I will spare their time and mine, although I am sure their time is more valuable. Getting back to what I was saying. I do not understand my thought process. Some days, or some hours I am happy, social, enjoy conversing with people, listening to music, and enjoy my surroundings. Other times, which is more often than not, I am miserable at where I have gotten myself. I am not a genius, but I have enough intelligence to accomplish anything, which is the worst part. I had so much potential in life. I had a blank slate and all the oportunities at one point, but I threw them all the way with my depressive/manic impulses. I have had too many times in my life where I lived that day as if it were my last, and they added up and cost me dearly. They have brought me down a hole which seems to be growing deeper while I try to dig myself out. The only reason I have stayed around til now is because of my recent goals of finishing my life story, even though I have not gotten back to it in awhile. I decided to start this blog/journal instead. If I keep writing to myself I will probably just get back to finishing the story, which may be a good or bad thing.

Is Pure Honesty Worth It?

I was wondering whether being completely honest on here is worth it. The reason I am pondering this question is because I am quite sure some individual with better than average computer skills will track my true identity and location and thereby throw a wrench into my plans. I am not trying to become famous or even play with anyone else's emotions like some recent "90 day Jane" artistic suicide bullshit. I simplify feel my story is interesting and entertaining, but of course this is purely subjective and someone else may tune out. I myself find the world a more interesting place when people (the ones who are rational) open up and share their true feelings with others. I like when people are "real" or honest, to put it another way. I do not like people who preach hatred and violence. I know I am digressing from the main issue at hand, which is suicide, but I am also trying to test the waters on this blog site. I am an individual who does value and respect life (except my own), and I do my best to treat others with kindness. I myself am bipolar, and have pretty much been heading down a one-way street of self-destruction for the past 16 years. I am thirty-four now, and the chances of me reaching thirty-five are slim; and I don't think that is necessarily a bad thing from my own point of view. There are two things I hope may be accomplished thru my blog, that A) someone who is feeling hopeless and still has options may find new hope in my blog , and B) people may find my story interesting and learn something from it that may better their life or someone else's life they know who may be heading down the same path of self-destruction but still has time and options left.
The thought of "nothingness", if there are even words that can even scratch the surface of what I call the great oblivion, is not scary for me. I find it quite comforting as time goes on. I am not religious and do not believe in the fairy tales of heaven or hell. I will go into more detail on this subject in the future, but for now I do not want to write on and on just so I can find out I am the only one reading it. I have been writing a journal/autobiography of my bipolar self-destruction for about a year and half now. My goal/goals (I have two) are to complete the autobiography/journal and you can guess the other one. Hope someone reads this, and if not, it's not like I can feel any worse, LOL.