I'll use this part of the forum to introduce myself. My name is Mike and I am bipolar, depressed, suicidal, and an ungrateful recovering drug addict. I am a college graduate, a registered nurse, and an unhappily single man with no children, no job, but a wonderful family who wants to keep me around as a pet. In other words, nobody understands the struggles I have gone through over the past 15+ years. I am the victim of a series of drug accidents where I played with psychedelic poisons that I thought would cure me. I first considered suicide in the fall of 1994 after mixing a strong hit of LSD with smoked PCP. I woke up the next day to find that I had a hard time forming new memories. I was unhappy all the time, and soon experienced the electric shock sensations that accompany antidepressant withdrawal, although I hadn't been on any antidepressants at the time. This was my brain dying, the needed chemicals no longer being produced, I had destroyed my organic mind's mechanisms to make me feel normal and happy. My condition persisted for two years until I was placed on the antidepressant Paxil which sent my brain into overdrive and made me feel I was cured. After doing every crazy thing I could during this extremely fun and rejuvenating manic episode, the drug finally wore off and I was once again trapped in the prison of depression. Two manic episodes later, which came from switching drugs, with the same letdown, I sit here five years after my last drug induced manic episode knowing that 1) another will not come, 2) I will never be myself again, and 3) I may only find salvation in death.
I am not a veteran, my handle Shattered Soldier comes from another drug accident I was involved in a year ago leaving me even more mentally impaired than before. Believe it or not, I was sent to a strange and horrifying world of disassociation by a hefty dose of cough syrup. Doctor Mike fails again to find his way back home. Since then my thinking has become "slippery". I have made so many of these attempts that I found I had nothing left. I couldn't think straight, and these memories of the incidents feel as if they had happened to somebody else, not me. Each time I didn't realize just how much I had left to be taken away from me, and up until today, I didn't realize that what I had gone through was an extraordinary amount of suffering that no other human being could identify with. In the war of life, against my own life, against my own mind, I am The Shattered Soldier.
"People who suffered suicidal conditions, particularly conditions that were chronic, recurrent, or included one or more attempts, may also be victims of PTSD. According to its definition, PTSD may result when a person suffers an event or situation that is outside the range of normal experience, exceeds the individual’s perceived ability to meet its demands, and poses a serious threat to the loss of life. "
My drug experiences and their consequences were events that are outside the range of normal experience. The things that I saw, and the emotions that I felt can not be described in words. Experiencing the swift disintegration of your brain and all of its thought processes is not a normal occurence. To wake up looking the same, and acting almost the same, without any obvious detriments is horrifying. My only hope was to turn myself into a drooling mess of a vegetable, that is how I feel inside, and seeing the outward presentation of this would be the only way a rational human being would ever come to believing it. Still, I tried to fix myself. I decided this summer to quit using drugs permanently and join Narcotics Anonymous. It was my last hope. They say to try to identify and not compare. Well I tried both and could found that there was nobody alive in those rooms as "shot out" as I was. If you're reading this and thinking that I can't be "shot out" let me just say that the chemicals take one skill at a time, starting with the weakest. I learned to write at a very young age, I guess my writing skills will be the last to go. My social skills are nill, I learned over 15 years of depression how to look people in the eyes, but communicating any more than a few short sentences is all I am capable of before my brain locks up and I start to lose words. I have lost alot more than I care to mention here, and in the interest of brevity I do not wish to list my defects. Let's just say that the drugs have done so much damage to me that no program could ever be expected to save me. I love NA, and it does help people to quit using drugs, I only wish I had found them sooner.
On to my current situation. I have constant headaches, dizzy spells, and very odd tinnitus. This occurred after trying to find God and relief through a nitrous oxide binge over the summer. Case after case of cartridges went into my system and I would spend at least an hour a day breathing them in. I am severely brain damaged although nothing shows on my EKG's. Anyway, I recently found my first job as a nurse, but the demands of the job were to great for my atrophied mind so I had to resign. I have left all of my friends behind and have recently quit narcotics anonymous because I did not find the answer I was looking for. Drugs are no longer my problem, my shattered brain is. I am no longer to function effectively in society, but still have my wits about me so my family believes that everything with me is ok. My vision is terrible, everything is sparkly, glowing, annoying. I see it all the time and it won't go away. I cannot form new relationships because everything I remember about myself is locked up in this story. I can only describe myself through my tragedies, for my tragedies are all I have. Nobody understands my dilemma because I do not have the capacity to verbally explain it. Therapy would do me no good because it requires verbal skills and memory. Therapeutic medications only work if you have half a mind left. Yes, they make me "feel" pleasant, but do nothing to repair my thought processes.
Yesterday I ordered some drugs and am waiting for them to come in. I have accepted the fact that my life is over and that I can no longer function as a human being. I won't be kept around to vegetate. Disability is not an option because I live with my parents and they believe that I am not disabled. I'm not disabled in the clinical sense, and will soon go broke because of this fact putting a drain on my parents and their finances. As soon as I get my shipment of pills I am going to take them all, and I ordered alot. I realize that this is a 50/50 shot, that it is rather hard to die of an overdose, but if at first you don't succeed....like my years of doctoring and drug experimentation, I'm hopeful that I will be given the opportunity to try and try again.
I am the victim of a series of drug accidents. I am a shattered soldier in the war against my own life. What I have seen cannot be unseen. What I have done to myself cannot be undone or dealt with. I took many risks in trying to make i back home to my normal life, but each time was driven farther and farther away. I have hurt too many people, women who I thought were supposed to save me, to ever have another relationship. I hate myself. I am sorry for wanting to kill myself, and I wish my family could just believe me when I say that I have been painted into a corner. I hope they can understand that this was the toughest decision I have ever had to make in my entire life, but I am living in a life that I can no longer cope with. I am interested in nothing. Every day brings a new pain and a new hopelessness. I was recently hospitalized for this very condition, suicidality, and was told that nothing could possibly be done for me. I feel that the last fifteen years of my life have been a long drawn out suicide. I am cursed with self awareness. I know I am not normal and will never be normal again. I am able to look at myself with a bitter and critical eye, maybe even objectively, and say it is finally time to quit. I am writing this only for it to be read. Only for it to be read, but please admit to yourself after, you can never understand, because what I have done and have gone through cannot be put into words. I am ready to go, I have given up long ago. I ask my God to grant me the strength to write the ending to this worthless struggle that I know as living. May His will and not mine be done.
Please pray for my eternal soul!
I am not a veteran, my handle Shattered Soldier comes from another drug accident I was involved in a year ago leaving me even more mentally impaired than before. Believe it or not, I was sent to a strange and horrifying world of disassociation by a hefty dose of cough syrup. Doctor Mike fails again to find his way back home. Since then my thinking has become "slippery". I have made so many of these attempts that I found I had nothing left. I couldn't think straight, and these memories of the incidents feel as if they had happened to somebody else, not me. Each time I didn't realize just how much I had left to be taken away from me, and up until today, I didn't realize that what I had gone through was an extraordinary amount of suffering that no other human being could identify with. In the war of life, against my own life, against my own mind, I am The Shattered Soldier.
"People who suffered suicidal conditions, particularly conditions that were chronic, recurrent, or included one or more attempts, may also be victims of PTSD. According to its definition, PTSD may result when a person suffers an event or situation that is outside the range of normal experience, exceeds the individual’s perceived ability to meet its demands, and poses a serious threat to the loss of life. "
My drug experiences and their consequences were events that are outside the range of normal experience. The things that I saw, and the emotions that I felt can not be described in words. Experiencing the swift disintegration of your brain and all of its thought processes is not a normal occurence. To wake up looking the same, and acting almost the same, without any obvious detriments is horrifying. My only hope was to turn myself into a drooling mess of a vegetable, that is how I feel inside, and seeing the outward presentation of this would be the only way a rational human being would ever come to believing it. Still, I tried to fix myself. I decided this summer to quit using drugs permanently and join Narcotics Anonymous. It was my last hope. They say to try to identify and not compare. Well I tried both and could found that there was nobody alive in those rooms as "shot out" as I was. If you're reading this and thinking that I can't be "shot out" let me just say that the chemicals take one skill at a time, starting with the weakest. I learned to write at a very young age, I guess my writing skills will be the last to go. My social skills are nill, I learned over 15 years of depression how to look people in the eyes, but communicating any more than a few short sentences is all I am capable of before my brain locks up and I start to lose words. I have lost alot more than I care to mention here, and in the interest of brevity I do not wish to list my defects. Let's just say that the drugs have done so much damage to me that no program could ever be expected to save me. I love NA, and it does help people to quit using drugs, I only wish I had found them sooner.
On to my current situation. I have constant headaches, dizzy spells, and very odd tinnitus. This occurred after trying to find God and relief through a nitrous oxide binge over the summer. Case after case of cartridges went into my system and I would spend at least an hour a day breathing them in. I am severely brain damaged although nothing shows on my EKG's. Anyway, I recently found my first job as a nurse, but the demands of the job were to great for my atrophied mind so I had to resign. I have left all of my friends behind and have recently quit narcotics anonymous because I did not find the answer I was looking for. Drugs are no longer my problem, my shattered brain is. I am no longer to function effectively in society, but still have my wits about me so my family believes that everything with me is ok. My vision is terrible, everything is sparkly, glowing, annoying. I see it all the time and it won't go away. I cannot form new relationships because everything I remember about myself is locked up in this story. I can only describe myself through my tragedies, for my tragedies are all I have. Nobody understands my dilemma because I do not have the capacity to verbally explain it. Therapy would do me no good because it requires verbal skills and memory. Therapeutic medications only work if you have half a mind left. Yes, they make me "feel" pleasant, but do nothing to repair my thought processes.
Yesterday I ordered some drugs and am waiting for them to come in. I have accepted the fact that my life is over and that I can no longer function as a human being. I won't be kept around to vegetate. Disability is not an option because I live with my parents and they believe that I am not disabled. I'm not disabled in the clinical sense, and will soon go broke because of this fact putting a drain on my parents and their finances. As soon as I get my shipment of pills I am going to take them all, and I ordered alot. I realize that this is a 50/50 shot, that it is rather hard to die of an overdose, but if at first you don't succeed....like my years of doctoring and drug experimentation, I'm hopeful that I will be given the opportunity to try and try again.
I am the victim of a series of drug accidents. I am a shattered soldier in the war against my own life. What I have seen cannot be unseen. What I have done to myself cannot be undone or dealt with. I took many risks in trying to make i back home to my normal life, but each time was driven farther and farther away. I have hurt too many people, women who I thought were supposed to save me, to ever have another relationship. I hate myself. I am sorry for wanting to kill myself, and I wish my family could just believe me when I say that I have been painted into a corner. I hope they can understand that this was the toughest decision I have ever had to make in my entire life, but I am living in a life that I can no longer cope with. I am interested in nothing. Every day brings a new pain and a new hopelessness. I was recently hospitalized for this very condition, suicidality, and was told that nothing could possibly be done for me. I feel that the last fifteen years of my life have been a long drawn out suicide. I am cursed with self awareness. I know I am not normal and will never be normal again. I am able to look at myself with a bitter and critical eye, maybe even objectively, and say it is finally time to quit. I am writing this only for it to be read. Only for it to be read, but please admit to yourself after, you can never understand, because what I have done and have gone through cannot be put into words. I am ready to go, I have given up long ago. I ask my God to grant me the strength to write the ending to this worthless struggle that I know as living. May His will and not mine be done.
Please pray for my eternal soul!
