Writing with Suicidal Ideation

cliff-2213614_640Recently, in my blog entry Writing with Depression, I revealed how depression affects my writing and talked about the depressive episode that has thrown a shadow over my past few months. I was trying to exercise my way out of this recent depressive episode. That didn’t go so well.

In Writing with Depression, I said that medication didn’t help me. I’m bipolar and take mood stabilizers that help prevent manic episodes. They do little to nothing for depression. The popular antidepressants used to treat unipolar depression don’t work for me because they throw me into a ‘mixed mood’ and usually result in a suicide attempt. To treat bipolar depression, doctors prescribe antipsychotics or atypical antipsychotics. I’m extremely sensitive to the side effects of these medications and basically hate them. However, they have their place.

July is a hard month for me. Its anniversaries remind me of death. July, so sultry and sun-drenched, so full of promises of summer pleasure, doesn’t charm me at all. I know that she is full of death and shadows, that her breath is as fetid as it is hot, and her kisses bruise and burn. July quit being my friend years ago.

This July, I was depressed, but I thought I could take care of myself and fend the depression off. If things had been normal, maybe I could have. Honestly, though, things are never normal, are they? I had a stressor that came as something of a shock. Under normal circumstances, I think I would have been more resilient. This time, however, I was already depressed, so I just sank. I went from ‘kind of down but mostly okay’ to suicidal in a matter of minutes. It happens like that. Fast.

I hatched a quick plan and started to implement it. At a pivotal point, I had second thoughts. I actually thought about that depression blog entry and called the suicide hotline that I mentioned. They were really nice and talked me through the maelstrom. Afterward, I called my therapist and made an appointment for the next day, then followed up with my psychiatrist a few days later. During the time between the call and the psychiatrist, I felt constantly plagued by thoughts of suicide. Having suicidal thoughts is called suicidal ideation. (Suicidal ideation sounds like a band I would have liked in my twenties. Sadly, it’s not as fun as it sounds.) I felt like I was caught in some kind of loop. I thought of better plans. I settled on one that met all of my requirements, held it close and nurtured it. The morning of my psychiatric appointment, I dressed in the clothes I thought would work well for my best plan in case she had nothing to offer. I wanted to be ready.

I didn’t tell her that. I did tell her that I was having constant suicidal thoughts. She put me on an atypical antipsychotic called Vraylar. Honestly, so far, I don’t like it. She said it would give me lots of energy, but it makes me sleepy and lethargic. I’m having to drink a lot of caffeine to stay awake. It did, however, stop those destructive thoughts. It stopped them cold. Now, I feel embarrassed for having them, and I can see that it was all over something that shouldn’t have bothered me so much.

I apologize that this entry is even more pointless and self-indulgent than usual. I just thought, since I write about depression and bipolar disorder and have tried to be transparent and honest about my illness, I should admit to what happened with my self-care strategy. I’m hoping I can get off of this medicine soon and go back to trying to self-care my way to normalcy again. Despite this post’s title, I haven’t been writing much since everything blew up. My characters are bothering me to get back to it, and my cats have been trying to get me to go into the office where I do most of my writing. I’m trying to give myself some space, but characters and cats have little patience.

If you’re reading this and having suicidal thoughts, please seek help immediately. I know everything might seem clearer now than ever before and that suicide is the only way out, but I can promise you that pain is clouding your judgment. Please call one of these numbers:

 

You’re Not the Boss of Me–My Cats Are

I’m not feeling well today, but I’m attempting to write because of my cats. Yes, I said my cats. I have five of the furry divas, but only two to three are allowed in my office. There simply isn’t enough room in there for five cats. Honestly, there isn’t enough for three, but the third gets in sometimes.

Bruce and Loki
Bruce and Loki (in the living room–there’s no bar in my office. *sigh*)

The two main office cats are Loki, the little blue god of mischief, and Bruce Banner, who has a PhD in cuteness. Bruce especially loves my office. He looooooves it.

Bruce_hammock
Bruce destroying a curtain in my office. Such fun!

 

 

 

 

I wanted to die quietly in my recliner all day, but Bruce kept rubbing on my feet and nipping them. This is his cat language for ‘I want something.’ He’ll then look up to see if he has my attention and trot toward the hall that leads to my office. He’s very smart. I think he knows that if he looks cute enough, I’ll follow him anywhere.

Hecate and Loki
Hecate and Loki snugglin’

The sometimes office kitty is Hecate, my lady cat. She and Bruce don’t get along very well, but she seems to like Loki. Loki is a sweetheart; he loves everybody.

Anyway, my feline masters are insisting that I sit upright like a person with a spine and work on my upcoming gay paranormal romance. Remember to check out my latest release, A Little Sin. It’s available on Amazon and is FREE with Kindle Unlimited. It’s a mystery M/M historical romance with a western flare and steamy sex scenes. (The cats helped write that one, too.)

A_Little_Sin
Grisly murders, a hot veterinarian, and a sexy sheriff!