|Dec 02 2009|
I have this fantastically responsible habit of only seeking out care when I am in crisis, which probably makes me come off as a histrionic cry-baby to my mental health "professionals". I have a wonderful habit of taking the medication that I am prescribed for a few days and then just stopping because everything makes me feel like zombie-time, and dammit, I have spent far too much time taking care of people whose little lights have been burnt out by the overzealous heavy handed prescribers of these magical little beans that will oh so effectively take away all of the bad feelings.
Suicidal? Oh fuck yes. It's not even "ideation". It's a constant, unceasing whispering in my brain, and in my ear that insists, and begs. I am thoroughly convinced that everyone hates me and wants me dead, but their loathing is no match for my own for myself.
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