hsphaven

It’s that familiar feeling again. The feeling that I can’t get away from the world and my problems no matter where I go or what I do. That the world is closing in on me. My holiday is turning to shit. The past two days I have been woken by noise outside. It is Saturday and at nine this morning, bright and early, some prick decides to roam about outside the motel with a violently noisy blower just like my neighbour’s electric leaf blower. Then later I was woken again by a chain saw. People think the hills would be quieter than the city, but in many ways it’s actually worse. Eventually I managed to fall asleep and slept the rest of the day. I woke up just before sunset depressed as fuck. I then got up and checked social media. That is when I found out some scum is trying to dump 400,000 cubic metres of landfill in the pristine valley behind my house. There are a few lakes here where I enjoy swimming. Local council knocked the proposal back, but now it is going to VCAT, a corrupt tribunal that has approved many environmental assaults I’ve fought against over the years. Looks like my holiday is pretty much ruined now. I had to cancel a Zoom meeting I had on this evening as I was so depressed. I’m running out of food and can’t even get to the shops. I have asked my dad to drop off some stuff.

This world has a disease and I have a disease. Every day my first thought when I wake up is “fuck I’m still here”. Continue reading “No escape” →

This thing in me has taken hold. I don’t know how it happened. I don’t know why it’s happening. But it’s there, and it doesn’t want to let me go. I’ve started starving myself and made myself so unwell in the course of only a few days. Yesterday I could barely get out of bed. I had a headache, was weak, felt breathless, nauseous and wasn’t sure if I was hot or cold. I was depressed as fuck and had to cancel everything I had on that day, barely able to reach my phone. I called Nurse on Call last night and she called an ambulance to get me checked out. My physical symptoms got better once the ambulance arrived and they couldn’t find anything wrong with me. I felt like I was just wasting their time and being an attention seeker. But they still brought me to the hospital as they were concerned about my mental state. I arrived at hospital around 3:30am. The time passed so slowly. I barely got any sleep and felt even sicker there as I lay there listening to some overly enthusiastic woman yab on about her cats and her partner. I got up and tried to find an exit but one of the nurses stopped me. Finally cat lady shut up and I was given a tablet of diazepam which helped me get a bit of rest. I was then seen by a person from the psych team at 8am and was sent home with nothing. I have had to do the leg work myself. Last night I called Butterfly Foundation and today they got back to me with some services. I’m still left with this demonic voice inside of me telling me to starve myself and lose weight, even though I am already skinny. I have lost several kilograms in days without even exercising much. I went straight back to bed when I got home and when I woke up I just cried, the best I’m able to these days anyway. These hospitals and their psych team have a way of making me feel even shitter. Continue reading “Dark descent” →

Everything is so shit. Everything is so broken. Everything is so fucked up. My dad has spent the last few days trying to fix the garage door which the cops broke when they busted into the garage to stop me from killing myself. Thankfully I am ok from the attempt. But I’m still suffering from the overdose all those months ago. I can’t sleep and I can’t lie on my right side as it sounds like someone’s thumping a basket ball in my ear. I found out it’s another form of tinnitus called “pulsatile tinnitus”…. just what I need. How ironic and cruel that I overdosed because I couldn’t cope with my tinnitus, and now it is even worse. Last night I was so distressed I punched myself in the face. I saw a neurologist who suggested a medication called propranolol. He said it might help with a number of my issues. But it takes months to work, and if you want to get off it you have to taper or you will get withdrawals. It sounds like a bit of a gamble. I don’t need even more problems, and so many of my issues were caused by drugs in the first place. I’m not sure it’s going to treat the issue anyway. It’s often given to people with high blood pressure, but I have low blood pressure. Continue reading “Tinnitus, life after hospital, CATT, rage” →

I am trapped. Trapped with people I don’t want to be around. Trapped in a body that torments me. Trapped in a life I don’t want. Trapped in a world that I don’t belong in. Trapped in a mental health system which only makes me worse. I’m being driven to desperate measures. “Give me some fucking heroine,” I posted to social media this evening. “Give me a fucking gun. Shoot me in the fucking head and make sure I die.”

I’ve been discharged from hospital and suicide is still on my fucking mind. I’ve been planning to get my hands on some heroine soon. In the meantime, I was going to stay in bed and knock myself out with pills.

If it’s not enough to feel trapped in my waking life, the feeling haunts me in my sleep as well. This evening I fell asleep for two and a half hours without even taking anything. I was not able to wake up. Sleep did not bring me relief like I was hoping. Instead I found myself in a horrible place which was, arguably, even worse than my life, and I could not wake up. I couldn’t believe it but I had even become trapped in a dream now. Trapped inside my own subconscious mind. It’s something that tends to happen when I am extremely suicidal, as though something is trying to make me feel grateful for my life because it could always be worse. In this dream I was on holiday at the beach. I was on my own. It was night time and I was in bed, but I could hear noises outside. I felt like someone was trying to break into my house. I pulled out my phone, an old flip phone, and tried to call for help, but I wasn’t able to. I then went outside and I found my mum, though she seemed different. “Am I dead?” I asked her. She said I was. I tried to “wake up” but my old life was slipping away from me. There was some kind of military regime taking over the place. There was a bunch of female soldiers wearing black. I joined all the people in another house. Some women were wearing beautiful lime green Brazillian dresses. I didn’t know who they were but they seemed to hold some kind of status in this female cult, or whatever the fuck it was. They wanted to dress me in green as well. There were kids here who didn’t want to be part of this strange gathering as well. I ended up running away and hid in someone’s yard. I then met a young girl, who lived in the house. The kids seemed to see who I was and how I was lost in space and time. She fed me some chickpea rolls, like the ones my mum made. It was like the magic wand which sent me back to my life. I wasn’t sure for a while where I had left my body, but then woke up in my familiar bed, relieved to be back.

I lost my special place, my refuge. On Thursday night the police busted into my garage to stop me from wiping myself off the planet I was so grief-stricken. The garage door is broken, like everything seems to be, and I spent four nights in hospital. I am home now and have to face reality again. I fight the urge to do it all again.

It was when I was in high school that I first started feeling death would be better than living my life. At lunchtime I stared at the train tracks on the other side of the fence and fantasied about jumping in front of a train. I became a workaholic to block all these painful feelings. I thought life would be better after I graduated. But it all caught up on me. I was dux, I could have pursued any career I wanted but instead I am unemployed, on the disability pension and revolving through hospitals. Why did I bother working so hard and putting myself through so much stress? Sometimes I wish I had of killed myself back then. It would have saved a lot of suffering.