Re: the ones who love you - yes, it is quite true.
In some ways, it is a real pain having R. in the way when I have decided to put an end to my life. But looking at the years, knowing you are loved unconditionally by someone in real life is trememdously important.
Not everyone has this luxury. The luxury to ignore the love, perhaps.
I have AIDS, and some liver trouble. I was already suicidal as a young man. I have several times made myself ready, not in a suicidal gesture, but as a way of preparation.
Treatments came along, and many of us are defying out death sentences. Still, some of us feel pretty brow-beaten. I can not say, even in front of my mother, that I will be here in 5 years. I just don't know.
The people I know, and have known who struggle with terminal illnesses have mostly been real prize-fighters. They willed to live. Every effort was made. And several lived. Those that died, died satisfied that they squeezed every good thing out of life.
Being terminally ill gives one a heightened sense of all senses. You notice leaves budding in February. You may notice where a sewer manhole cover was made. In India, no less!
A visit from a friend, who knows just how long to stay, is such a balm.
These people are pro-life, and usually not in constant heavy pain. It comes and goes.
When I was told my liver would die soon, I found myself following orders, and going to the transplant clinic. I had a small chance, really small, of getting a real transplant. But I discovered that I had two persons in one.
One was this guy who found life so painful, for all the people that hate guys like me just because we exist. They are out there marching with placards. We shall see them at the National Conventions this summer.
The other was this man who was a tough patient. I read up on everything, suggested things (some which were correct, and helpful), and railed when medication mistakes were made. I was a real pain, but very kind at the same time. Persistent.
So I really wanted to live, after all? Just a little longer...
Now, I realize that the majority of suicidal ideations are not exactly about wanting to die, really. It's some other intolerable thing in (my) life.
I spent time on a Borderline Personality Disorder ward - cutters galore. They come to know things, later in life (hopefully): they did not really, really, really, want to actually die.
They just felt like it.
When you are told you have 2 years to live, everything changes. I have threatened to stop my medical meds once, over a year ago. I fantasize about it - because I am sick of being unloved in a peaceful romantic situation.
I beat those 2 years, amazing the doctors. My body is an amazing instrument.
I still carry HIV, and my immune system is not too great, on paper, but my liver seems almost normal.
And yet, suicidal ideations persist. They are masked with a drug (Provigil). It does a good job, most of the time.
The answer had to be this: my suicidal feelings were a result of a chemical imbalance (hormones, neurotransmitters, and who know?) that can not be treated. No one knows where to begin to test. The tests performed showed no great troubles (altough liver damage affects moods).
This may allow some of you to give yourself a break. Your life itself may not be as awful as you think. But your amazing instrument, your body, may be out-of-tune.
It is popular now, and wise to look at what you eat, where you live, and how you live. Everything is chemistry - the air we are in, the water we consume, and every single food we eat is a chemcial compound.
It's a project that requires a lot of self-care. But as you care for your body and its environment more, you develop a greater sense of self-preservation. You've done all this work - why would you want to spoil it now?
This on-off terminally ill person tries to hang on for multiple reasons. And one of them is the leading post, here. There are two people I would devastate if took violence on myself.
There is a third: but I am not often willing to admit it.
Me.
peace,
Sylvester
In some ways, it is a real pain having R. in the way when I have decided to put an end to my life. But looking at the years, knowing you are loved unconditionally by someone in real life is trememdously important.
Not everyone has this luxury. The luxury to ignore the love, perhaps.
I have AIDS, and some liver trouble. I was already suicidal as a young man. I have several times made myself ready, not in a suicidal gesture, but as a way of preparation.
Treatments came along, and many of us are defying out death sentences. Still, some of us feel pretty brow-beaten. I can not say, even in front of my mother, that I will be here in 5 years. I just don't know.
The people I know, and have known who struggle with terminal illnesses have mostly been real prize-fighters. They willed to live. Every effort was made. And several lived. Those that died, died satisfied that they squeezed every good thing out of life.
Being terminally ill gives one a heightened sense of all senses. You notice leaves budding in February. You may notice where a sewer manhole cover was made. In India, no less!
A visit from a friend, who knows just how long to stay, is such a balm.
These people are pro-life, and usually not in constant heavy pain. It comes and goes.
When I was told my liver would die soon, I found myself following orders, and going to the transplant clinic. I had a small chance, really small, of getting a real transplant. But I discovered that I had two persons in one.
One was this guy who found life so painful, for all the people that hate guys like me just because we exist. They are out there marching with placards. We shall see them at the National Conventions this summer.
The other was this man who was a tough patient. I read up on everything, suggested things (some which were correct, and helpful), and railed when medication mistakes were made. I was a real pain, but very kind at the same time. Persistent.
So I really wanted to live, after all? Just a little longer...
Now, I realize that the majority of suicidal ideations are not exactly about wanting to die, really. It's some other intolerable thing in (my) life.
I spent time on a Borderline Personality Disorder ward - cutters galore. They come to know things, later in life (hopefully): they did not really, really, really, want to actually die.
They just felt like it.
When you are told you have 2 years to live, everything changes. I have threatened to stop my medical meds once, over a year ago. I fantasize about it - because I am sick of being unloved in a peaceful romantic situation.
I beat those 2 years, amazing the doctors. My body is an amazing instrument.
I still carry HIV, and my immune system is not too great, on paper, but my liver seems almost normal.
And yet, suicidal ideations persist. They are masked with a drug (Provigil). It does a good job, most of the time.
The answer had to be this: my suicidal feelings were a result of a chemical imbalance (hormones, neurotransmitters, and who know?) that can not be treated. No one knows where to begin to test. The tests performed showed no great troubles (altough liver damage affects moods).
This may allow some of you to give yourself a break. Your life itself may not be as awful as you think. But your amazing instrument, your body, may be out-of-tune.
It is popular now, and wise to look at what you eat, where you live, and how you live. Everything is chemistry - the air we are in, the water we consume, and every single food we eat is a chemcial compound.
It's a project that requires a lot of self-care. But as you care for your body and its environment more, you develop a greater sense of self-preservation. You've done all this work - why would you want to spoil it now?
This on-off terminally ill person tries to hang on for multiple reasons. And one of them is the leading post, here. There are two people I would devastate if took violence on myself.
There is a third: but I am not often willing to admit it.
Me.
peace,
Sylvester
