Suicide- I still can't believe she did it

I know that I'm not coping with my sister-in-laws suicide right.  I just can't shut off my brain.  I can't seem to find any peace right now.  I know that she's only been dead for 4 days and no one expects me to just be over it.  We were so close for so many years.  She had a long history of mental illness and we always bonded over the fact that we could relate to each other.  My last suicide attempt, she was there for me.  I wasn't there for her when she needed me.  I've been drinking every day since she died.  I can't relax without it.  I go to bed at night and cry myself to sleep.  What's really starting to piss me off is all the fucking people asking the details of her suicide!  They are really asking how she did it.  What the fuck is wrong with people?  Also, my phone won't stop fucking ringing.  People are calling to express their condolences to my husband, nice right?  Well these people haven't had anything to do with my family in over 10 years and now they're calling all sad and crying- looking for us to comfort them!  Asking why she did this to them!?  My husband has buried his dad, mom and now sister all within the last 4 years.  We just need a fucking break from the world.

not this again

I am so tired right now.  Tired physically and tired mentally.  I'm tired of having to take pills everyday just so I can go out into the world and pretend that life is great because no one wants to hear when life isn't great.  I'm tired of the fact that I want to hurt myself constantly.  I'm wanting to drink more and I'm thinking about how I can get drugs to make me numb.  I have to be careful right now because times like these land me in the hospital 90% of the time.  My husband is noticing which means that I'm not doing so good pretending.  A month from now I'm going on vacation for 12 days, maybe that's why I'm weakening.  I have a temporary end in sight.

Does anyone else have much experience with different medications?  I've been on approximately 20 different meds over the last 10-15 years.  Right now I'm on Lamictal, Seroquel, and Wellbutrin.  I'm always on 3-5 different meds at any time.  I'm wondering if there's something out there that I haven't tried.  There must be.

I know I'm feeling bad for myself and it's pretty pitiful.  I just get resentful sometimes and I know that I need to find a way to deal with the things that eat at me.  But sometimes I can't deal.  I'm angry that I have to take pills everyday just to pretend that I'm normal.  Even with all these drugs in me my mind still screams "suicide" constantly.  I hate the men that raped me and sexually abused me!  I hate the fact that they are living their lives.  I hate that they killed me inside and have probably forgotten that I even exist.  I meant nothing to them yet they still haunt me today.  I can't forget that they exist and I wish I could!  God I fucking hate myself some days.

something to think about

I had a good talk with my Mom yesterday.  We talk every Thursday at 5 pm.  We have to schedule it the same day and time every week or else we won't talk.  She would like to talk to me 3-4 times a week but I can't handle that.  Once a week is too much for me to handle some weeks.  Mom and I have worked very hard at developing the relationship we have now and it's means a lot to me, the relationship we now have.  She's worried about me because I've stopped seeing my therapist.  I told her that I was not going because I was tired of going over the same shit over and over again.  I have had so many therapists, psychiatrist, psychologists and social workers over the years.  I've told the same stories over and over again.  I open myself up to these people, pour out my heart and feelings, expose all pain and bullshit and you know what happens?  Nothing!  I leave after an hour of sharing and I feel like total shit.  I want to cry, then I want to cut, then I want to drink so I don't cut, then I get home to my husband and he asks "how'd it go?" and I tell him it was fine.  I tell him it was fine because I don't want him to worry.  I pretend that everything is good.  The problem is I can only pretend for so long and then I fall apart.

So-  I told my mom that I was done going.  She pointed out that this is a pattern for me.  She's right.  I do good for a year or two.  I stay on my medication and check in with the psychiatrist every three months.  I work and go through life telling everyone that I'm fine. (do you know what 'fine' stands for? F-(fucked up) I-(insecure) N-(neurotic) E-(emotional))  I believe it most of the time, but without fail I start to fall apart.  I continue to go through life showing and telling everyone how good I'm doing when in reality- I am on the edge of complete meltdown.  Finally I end up getting some drugs (I'll go to a doctor and complain of some pain and get a prescription for Percocet) or I'll start drinking.  Then it only takes about a week.  At some point within that week I will completely lose my shit.  I'll end up in a room crying, high, drunk and suicidal.  At that point my husband will find an inpatient psychiatric unit and I will be admitted for an average of 2 weeks.  While I'm locked up my meds will be evaluated, I'll be stabilized and some do good counselor/social worker will set me up with therapy and then send me on my way.  Then I return to the real world, put my wall back up and go back to pretending that everything is FINE.  Repeat every 2-3 years.

Mom's worried because I'm getting older, mid thirties (creeping up on 40).  I don't want to keep doing this.  I don't think I'll end up in the hospital again but I say that every time.  I never thought I'd end up in a psychiatric hospital against my will EVER.  So- Mom wants me to think about continuing therapy.  She points out that I should be dealing with the tough stuff while I'm doing well, while I'm strong enough to handle it.  She's right.  Am I going to listen to her?  Probably not.  But I promised her that I would think about what she had to say and I have.  I'm 'talking' it out with you and I still feel the same way.  The key for me is- not only have I stopped seeing my therapist but I've also lost my psychiatrist.  If I don't go to therapy then I can't see the doctor that prescribes my meds.  I've cut myself back, dosage wise, of a couple of my meds to buy myself some time.  I think I have about 2 months of meds left.  If I run out of my meds I will end up back in the hospital.

I don't want to go back into the hospital.  This last stay took a major toll on me.  I was so obsessed with suicide for months after I was released.  I literally spent hours thinking of nothing but suicide.  I would cry for hours talking to my husband about how I was feeling because some days I started to make plans to follow through just so that I would stop thinking!  There is nothing worse that having your own brain be your most dangerous enemy.  Having every ounce of your body telling you to kill yourself.  I almost had to check myself back into the hospital because I was scared of myself.  So, I must not run out of my meds!

5-O

I'm trying to remember how old I was the first time the police came to my house.  I know I was in elementary school and for some reason I want to say I was in second grade.

My sister and I learned to hide when the yelling started to get bad.  Dad was very verbally abusive when he was angry but for some reason things changed this time.  This fight is my first memory of violence.  Since we were hiding we didn't witness it but I know that it sounded like the house was being destroyed.  Then it was quiet.  Finally Dad came looking for my sister and I.  He was telling us everything was okay, it was safe to come out.  We didn't see Mom anywhere.  We couldn't hear her crying.  Dad was telling us to put on our shoes and coats, that we were going out.  As I got to the front door I remember looking out and seeing police cars pulling into the drive way. 

It turns out that Mom had left the house and called the police.  I remember the cops coming into the house, my mom behind them.  One of the cops picked me up and was talking to me, I don't remember anything he said but I do remember him carrying me to the police car.  We stayed at my grandma's house for a while after that, without my dad.  I don't know how long we stayed there but I do remember crying about missing my dad and my grandmother told me that I needed to be a "big girl and stop crying about it."

More me

Growing up I was a very well adjusted, smart girl.  My family was respected and middle class.  We took vacations every other year, theme parks and skiing.  I grew up at the beach and spent my summers sailing and swimming in the ocean or my grandmother's pool.  I got very good grades with very little effort.  I played sports, enjoyed art, played instruments, was in drama and very involved at school.

But none of that is really important.  None of that tells you anything about me.

I never really had any friends.  I could only handle one at a time.  I never had sleep overs (at my house) or birthday parties.  I never really belonged with any groups.  I participated in extracurricular activities but that was all part of appearances.   I always knew the expectations and I never questioned my role in my family.

Only in my adulthood have I realized the dysfunction.  Only as an adult have I learned what was normal and what wasn't.