Scribble Comic

I, uh, don’t really know if I should be posting this but will do in case it stops someone else from as getting as far along as I did. I get suicidal every so often. About once or twice a year since the onset of the schizoaffective disorder I need to be hospitalized because of it–it can be around this time of year, or completely random based on the stress of what’s going on around me. Usually it starts with me crying for no real reason I can think of–I don’t do that often enough to know myself well enough to put those pieces together, which is a bit sad in and of itself, but not unusual for some folks who have a bit of emotional stunting like myself.

I think the best thing to do is to post it below so you can see directly the thought process I was having at the time. After that I took my meds and went to bed safely, as I always know the feeling passes. I’ve planned this before–it passes. I’ve acted–it passes if you’re lucky enough to be caught. Just remember that in all things good and bad, they pass, and eventually you’ll be dealing with something else once again.

Here’s what I wrote for myself. I’ll have to change a couple of things so I don’t worry people and they’ll look like [this]. Here goes:

I keep thinking about refilling my [medication] bottle, mixing it with some peanut butter, and taping a bag around my head so that once I pass out I can overdose. Nothing in my life has worked out. I make no living. I barely live outside my four walls of my house, including the backyard. I wanted to be a creator but that didn’t happen. I wrote books—they became best sellers but made no money. I painted—eventually for a King and his family—and made no money. I worked for [job] for a day and chased that feeling ever since. I’ve been raped, beaten, had bones broken, been an attempted murder, been trained to be isolated, had a psychotic break, diagnosed with an unremovable mental disease and the stupid physical one that is likely to kill me young anyway. My mind is a constant hive of activity when I wake but is nothing but horrors every time I go to sleep. My attention span is useless. The lump in my chest has appeared to become scaly over the past month. 

[wife] it’s not your fault and it never was.

The rest of you can bite me.

No signature–no thought that anyone would be able to get into my computer to read it.

If you’re feeling the same way that I feel currently I implore you to watch youtube videos of people who have lost family and friends to suicide. Here’s a list of ways to get help in your country: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines

My therapist and I have figured out, at least for myself, that if I’m working on a project of any type even it unsuccessful, I will eventually feel better and tip to the manic side of things. Best of luck to you all.

-J.