Lists

[suicide]

I have so many bastard lists on the go at the moment as I try to get organised. My memory is hopeless just now so I am using lists for even the most basic things. Here’s a list from ten days ago that I am referring to frequently, for comfort, reassurance and to torture myself (impressive résumé for a list):

• I feel guilty for the terrible things I have done which I can never fix or undo
• I hate and despise myself; I am a terrible person
• I have never achieved anything and I am intensely ashamed of that
• I am a burden and I drag down my family and friends; I know for a fact that they will be better off when I am dead
• I will never have someone to hug and hug me
• I will never have someone to love and love me
• I will never have someone to cuddle in bed with
• I have feelings of intense loneliness which are very painful
• I will never have someone I feel safe enough to have sex with
• I am putting all the weight back on and everyone is laughing and looking down at me
• I am ashamed that I can’t manage my eating
• I hate my body and want to rip it apart and set it on fire
• I am ashamed and horrified that I didn’t apply for the ordinary degree that I had credits for and so ruined even that faint hope for a future
• It really hurts and I feel intensely ashamed every time I see someone talking about managing to be a doctor or medical student with a mental illness
• I am a waste of the Earth’s resources; one less human is better for climate change
• I am a waste of NHS resources
• I am a waste of taxpayers’ resources
• I am ashamed that I can’t manage my mental illness
• I am ashamed that I so desperately want people to like me
• I want to be free (though I don’t deserve that)
• I want to be at peace (though I don’t deserve that)
• I want to be finished and gone and in the past so that the harm I did can heal

It was hard to write but I felt better for it as my head felt clearer and emptied out. It is like cutting into raw, burnt skin when I expose this intense, overwhelming shame. If it wasn’t for the fact that I will be dead in a few days I wouldn’t be able to. I don’t know why I am publishing this. It eases something and makes these last days less painful, I think. I have no right to ask or hope for that of course. Also, it’s a kind of proof to myself. I would never, never, never talk about these things if I thought anyone I knew could even remotely possibly find out. There is always a possibility that you can be outed from an anonymous blog. But it doesn’t matter if you’re dead.