Friday Funny

Why suicide is a valid option for me

trigger warning – I don’t think I need to state the obvious

I have wrestled with publishing this post. But this is my current reality, so post it must be. I must stress, it’s content holds no intent, but merely serves to reason why. To be clear, I take the subject of suicide very seriously. Would never throw the word about lightly because my mother killed herself many years ago. I know what it feels like to be one of the grieving left behind. So, why would I choose suicide? Three reasons.

1. Financial

I live on an extremely tight budget with a salary that often doesn’t cover my basic living expenses. So I scrimp and scrape and do without and make a plan. But there’s no ‘wriggle room’. No extra money for unforseen expenses (car breaks down, fridge goes on the blink), or everyday conveniences like TV, or for a few treats here and there like the hairdresser or going to see a movie, new clothes. And with inflation, it’s only going to get worse. I’ve done the calculations, and I project in about 5 years time, I will not be able to afford to live. Seriously. Time is working against me. Basically I’m fucked, and not in a good way.

2. I am alone

Not lonely… there is a difference. What I mean is, I stand alone in this world. I’m not going to add a long explanation to prove my point. Please, just believe me. No family, no friends, no pets. Zero. Nothing. No one beside me, no one leading the way, no one bringing up the rear or having my back. No support, no buffer, no anchor, no comfort against the world. And after my last interpersonal experience, well I doubt I shall be walking that path again. So I guess, alone it shall remain.

3. Early symptoms of psychosis

Yes, got that nifty little diagnosis in October 2015. Yay. I’m really looking forward to experiencing full blown psychosis on my own. I know it can be delayed with the right medication, but psychosis? You gotta be shitting me. So reality check – my health is deteriorating. What’s next? Institutionalistion? Oh, I shit you not. I am, after all, walking in my mother’s genetic shoes prints.

I have worked so hard these past four years toward healing, growing and learning from my experiences. Moving from beyond a failed marriage to an alcoholic and the abuse that comes as a package deal, to dealing with my bipolar. I’ve been proactive and accountable. I’ve shown up for life. I have grabbed a hold of hope with both hands and not let go.

But for what purpose? What gain? All I have is fear. From my perspective (which I think is a reasonable one), the future is only going to get worse. And I’m so, so very tired of a daily existence. And that is why, of late, I entertain death. I’m frightened, I’m alone and I’ve lost hope in having a future, let alone a bright one. I don’t think it gets more valid than that.


A new day dawns

dawn 12-03-2016

Early morning sunrise from my balcony

There came a desperate point last night where I gave myself a choice – die, or live. Anyhoooo, I have decided to give living another whirl. I am not happy about it, but as I mentioned in a previous post, I was not born to go down quietly. And besides, the statistics of a successful suicide do not fall in our favour. So for now, I will die trying to live.

i didn't come this far

A quick wrap up of what has brought me to this point:
The past 6 months have been tough, beginning with the diagnosis of early psychosis in October 2015, and followed by the experimentation with various anti-psychotics, none of which I could tolerate. November brought a horrible hospitalisation, lock up ward and suicide watch. December, the dreaded dreadful withdrawal from venlafaxine. In amongst all this, I met Lover, the conman, the alcoholic, the thief, who exploited me at my most vulnerable. And to add insult to injury, my doc believes I’m still in the process of withdrawal, and postponed the trial and error of anti-convulsants until April. So I remain inadequately medicated, lithium my only stablilizer.

But I’m tired of crying over spilled milk. It’s time to turn this shit around. Fall down, get back up, dust myself off.  See the doc on Monday, and hopefully get some nice, new drugs to make me smile again.

She stepped off the ledge

twenty three years ago

my mother turned to go

she stepped off the ledge

of sanity’s edge

and fell to her death

in just one breath

I love you today more than ever

you were truly a genuine treasure

you found humour in so many things

even went flying without any wings

I look like you, I have your smile

that people often do admire

You may be gone with each dawn since

but of your love I’m still convinced

I hold your memory close

and think of you the most

My mother, Ruth, committed suicide during what I now understand to have been a psychotic episode, on Sunday morning, 1 November 1992, between 8 - 8.30am (source:

My mother, Ruth, committed suicide during what I now understand to have been a psychotic episode, on Sunday morning, 1 November 1992, between 8 – 8.30am (source:




















A diagnosis of early psychosis (Part II)

So I’ve just been diagnosed with early stage symptoms/early onset psychosis and my doc has me taking Olanzapine 10mg. The whole psychosis thing is bad enough, but the side effects of Olanzapine are enough to trigger any normal person into having a break with reality.

The variety of side effects with complicated names like hypercholesterolaemia, hyperbilirubinaemia, moniliasis, keratoconjunctivitis and mydriasis, would have any hypocondriac feeling like a kid in a candy store. With complications like congestive heart failure, rectal bleeding, an inability to control bowel movements, sudden death, and my own personal favourite – anal leekage, you gotta hand it to Olanzapine. It doesn’t joke around.

Then there’s the increased cough side effect? Meh, tolerable. I’ll mask it with my smoker’s cough. And just make sure you’re not the person who tells me I should give up smoking because of my bad cough. I might break something other than my connection with reality.

So far my worst side effect has been water retention, causing significant swollen feet and belly. So I’ve taken to wearing knee-high compression stockings. I’m bringing sexy back, baby. A corset and drinking gallons of lemon water is also a saving grace.

Aside from the medication, there have been side effects to the psychosis itself. I’d been dating a guy for two and a half months. He bailed. So did my father. Wants nothing to do with me. But its okay, the feeling is mutual *she says, crying on the inside*

A diagnosis of psychosis – Part I

Bits ‘n Pieces in the eye of a storm

Because my divorce was finalised late last year, I expected this year to be wonderfully light and fun and easy. But it hasn’t been. It’s been a confusing year. It’s been a hairy, smelly armpit of a year.

I could feel there was something off, but couldn’t put my finger on it. I tried to be the amazing-finally-free single woman – living it up, kicking ass and taking names. But I wasn’t. So with sheer force of will, I launched myself out into the real world….. with disappointing results. I dated, with disasterous results.





I cycled so quickly I was mistaken for a tropical storm and the World Meteorological Organization named me “Bits and Pieces”. Up, down, inside out and back to front, I was hauling ass all over the mood chart. Comfort eating grew out of control and out of my budget. And I grew out of my waistline. If I wasn’t sleeping endlessly, I was trapped in insomnia for weeks at a time. I couldn’t focus – reading/writing was impossible. I became more withdrawn… if that was even possible. Something was not right – I was supposed to be happy and carefree goddamnit.

I had been keeping a very simple weekly journal of symptoms and triggers for my new psychiastrst. To give him an idea of the pulse of my bipolar. It was after reading this, that he dropped the bombshell. I have early stage symptoms/early onset psychosis. At that point I stopped digesting what he said. I couldn’t hear him over the screaming in my head “NOOOOOOoooooooooo”. He became a man with a moving, silent mouth.



I wrestle with the fact that my bipolar disporder is degenerating. I wonder what my fate will be? Will my life run parallel to that of my mother’s? In her 40’s, psychotic, institutionalised and dead by her own hand at 49 years old – at 43 I’ve not much further to go. So I’ve decided not to look ahead, but to live only in the present. Don’t get me wrong, I’m freaking out on the inside, but I’m putting my head down and my shoulder into it – to live only one day at a time.

A toast!

A toast to the end of 2014.  Thank god its behind us

A toast to the end of 2014. Thank god its behind us








here’s to the highs and the lows
to who the hell knows
here’s to us, the crazy
we all face life bravely

here’s to nymphomania
brought to you by hypomania
here’s to depression
and also aggression

here’s to mixed episode overload
and a psychosis kaleidoscope
here’s to a spiraling of rapid cycling
say no to suicide ‘cos its frightening

here’s to antipsychotic and antidepressants
and anticonvulsives are non too pleasant
here’s to benzo’s and lithium
to take you to oblivion

here’s to the parties and the music fests
and the one who flew over the cuckoo’s nest
and as a new year arrives
I wish for you all healthier life