I went back to the shrink today, to actually meet with someone this time, since it didn’t at all work out in my favor last time. Today started off similarly, after they’d lost my file. Eventually, they found it, and I sat down with an older gentleman with a slight lisp called Ted. We went over the initial family, living and personal information first, and then moved right into why I was there. I suffer from Major Depression Disorder, Generalized Anxiety with Panic Attacks, OCD and PTSD, though the last two I’d forgotten to mention to him. He asked about the ways I’d attempted suicide in the past, and we talked a little about self harm, but I didn’t tell him I punch my legs so hard that I’ve injured myself quite badly on more than one occasion.
I told him about my previous attempts – 54 Tylenol PM pills, laying on a train track just beyond a turn in the track so the engineer wouldn’t be able to stop by the time he saw me, and the plastic bag over my head, which unfortunately had a small hole preventing my escape which was less than two years ago. We talked about most of the ways I’d considered suicide without attempting it – falling off of a tall building, back first; leaping off of a bridge into upcoming, rush-hour, highway traffic; driving into oncoming traffic, preferably into a semi… I believe those are the only ones I admitted to today, but there have been others. I’ve considered hanging myself in my woods; buying an insane amount of cocaine and overdosing; pulling out a false weapon on police after insighting a high speed chase in a stolen car (that was from many years ago, actually – before the world was so crazy… Today, it probably wouldn’t be affective, as cops are afraid to do their jobs now, due to a rather large influx of crimes committed by police — the government is forcing a race war through in-proportionate media representation, but I suppose that’s a tale for another blog); stabbing myself repeatedly in the stomach (that one was actually attempted, but thwarted, much to my dismay); running into high speed traffic, painting the house with my brain matter after pulling the trigger of a shotgun with my big toe,, and — probably a lot more that I can’t even think of right now… I’ve been seriously considering committing suicide since I was a mere six years old.
After we’d talked about that a bit, he said he appreciated that I didn’t come in with the same old boring suicide attempt stories as they get boring to listen to over and over – we both laughed a bit at that. I learned that I’m more violent in my attempts and thoughts than females tend to be, which was interesting information that I’d never before considered. I do know one thing – if I ever use the bag over the head thing again, I’d first make certain there were no holes, and then I’d pump helium into it – I’d done some research after that failed attempt, and apparently, the helium keeps the bag from sucking tight around your face, and it just puts you to sleep so you can go a little more peacefully than some of my thoughts…and you can buy it at any local party store for a reasonable price – not that expense would matter on my last day… It’s been deeply considered. That would be less fun, but had I known then what I do now, my most recent attempt wouldn’t have ended in failure. I curse that lousy Wal-Mart bag with it’s stupid tiny tear to this day.
At any rate, he asked me why I had failed so many times, and why I was still alive. He told me I seemed like a determined person, and like a woman who if they really wanted to commit suicide, they would have already – so why wasn’t I dead. I don’t know. I suppose that’s a great question – I have so many ideas that I could combine several of them and absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, be successful… So why haven’t I? What’s keeping me here? He made me really think… Then I realized – maybe this time, I’m simply taking the longer, more painful and punishing route to suicide with Anna.
I’m certain it’s not the line of thinking he was trying to encourage, but I started considering committing suicide. What’s holding me back? Bambino, Isabelle, Kristin, Tom, Dad?
Bambino will be put to sleep and buried with me, should I be the first to go, and Dad would probably be forced into either the same fate, or getting his shit together and taking care of things again…if I were dead, I wouldn’t care which he’d chose.. The few friends I have would get over it and be just fine without me. I went to a very dark place, very quickly, and had I not asked Tom to accompany me, I don’t think I’d be here to right this tonight. I’m certain I would have entered the highway from the wrong direction and aimed for the biggest thing I could find at high speed. Tom held me while I cried pathetically into his arms after the appointment. I was relieved he was there to comfort me, and I couldn’t understand why – I do want to die.
At the end of the appointment, Ted asked me what I’d like to do… Since I didn’t want to be committed to the mental floor of the nearest hospital for god knows how long, I said I wanted to make another appointment, so we did… I don’t know if I’ll make it or not. I would, however, really like to see one more Renaissance Festival before I go, and that’s coming up in just about a day – Tom’s taking me this time, instead of Nonnie, but I would like to go have at least one more good time. I’m damaged goods. I’ve been through too much to recover, I think, and the shit still continues to hit the proverbial fan. I’m so tired of trying. I just want to go – no note – the people I care about should know that I do. The people who will ask what happened and why I’d do it didn’t ever take the time to know me in this world anyway, and they don’t deserve an explanation. I just want to go beyond the veil with my son and hide from the pain, the anxiety, the nightmares when I can sleep, and the insomnia when I can’t. There’s simply not much for me left here. I’ve ruined my life – I’ve wasted it and I haven’t accomplished a single thing I set out to do here. I’m getting far too old….
As far as burning Bambino with me, cutting his life short, I rationalize it with the knowledge that the day he dies, I won’t make it through. I need to be with him. He’s my heart and always will be. I want him to come with me, and I’d rather not experience the pain of his passing first. I want him to taste chocolate before he goes. I want his belly to be so full of deliciousness that he could burst – pizza, cream pie, a burger, a soft shelled taco, steak and chocolate – as much as he could eat (which is surprisingly a ton). I want him to meet some dogs and cats on his last day and completely harass them just like he loves to – I want him to be insanely happy….and then I want him to come home with me to the beyond – whatever it is that may or may not lay ahead. He couldn’t cope without me here – it would be so wrong to torture him by leaving him behind – as much as he’s my heart, I know I’m the same for him. I want him to lay in my casket with me, my arms wrapped around him, and unless I’ve managed to completely disfigure myself during death, I’d like an open casket. He wants his favorite toy, Rocco the Racoon, and I want my favorite stuffed animal, Liam the teddy, who can be found in my bed. I’d like to be buried in my favorite pajamas – a pair of black pants adorned with chevron and hearts, and my matching robe. They’re warm, soft, and comfy, and I’ll be sleeping forevermore. I want Kristin to be notified of our passing, and for her to be flown here to say goodbye. She knows the things I’d like on my grave – and I’d like something snarky or mildly stupid carved onto my headstone – something different that stands out and expresses my personality for people to enjoy on random passings of my site… One of my favorite phrases I say to Vaughn when we helplessly, though happily, get lost is, “And now we’re here.” I would, obviously, like Bambino’s full name, Bambino Ricardo Brooks and his date of birth 07/12/2006 and his date of passing as well as my real name – DakotaLynn Brooks along with my legal date of birth and date of passing.
It’s funny how at the start of this I was teary-eyed and now I’m calm, because someone out there will know my exact final wishes, and though this is not a legal will, it is a written document by myself which someone will have the unpleasantries of ensuring on my behalf. All of my possessions will go to my father, a transgendered person born as a female, who’s legal name can be found on my birth certificate under ‘mother’, including any property, death benefits, insurance benefits and final paycheck(s). I would like Kristin to come in, before anything is touched, and chose any of my belongings, including art, stuffed animals, electronics, books, décor, etc, if she should choose to do so, and Thomas may follow if he should chose, as well. If my father is not in the position to care for my remaining “children” (pets: Isabelle Marie and Sapphira Jade) I would like them to also be euthanized and buried with Bambino and I, with their information also documented on our headstone. I do not wish to be, under any circumstance, cremated, as the ash of others is often included in a product you believe to be one’s family remains, and we’d all be separated all over the local area, and hence separated from one another, left to unrest, possibly to wander and haunt the world, searching for one another or parts of ourselves. If my father is capable of caring for Isabelle Marie and Sapphira Jade, I wish them to stay with him to accompany him through a very difficult time. While I don’t necessarily have a hard core preference of burial site, and would be happy, if it were legal, to be buried here at my family homestead, I would like to be as close to my Nonnie’s burial site as possible, in Albany Rural Cemetery.
I’ve had a lot of fun in the last several weeks with my newest best friend, Tom, and I’ll never forget the joy I’ve experienced recently, and the growth that he and I have accomplished separately, yet together, even in the afterlife, or lack thereof. No one need feel guilty – if I attempt it again, and I’m not saying for certain I will or won’t, it wasn’t anyone’s fault but my own. Please, try to be happy for me. Most of you won’t understand – it’s so hard for me to be open and honest – but I’ve made too many mistakes here, and I’ve been through too much pain here – if I’m gone, it means I just couldn’t stand the inner suffering anymore – I was just too tired to carry on. I love you all, very much, and I’m sorry if I’ve caused you pain. Please celebrate my life rather than mourn my death – celebrate the strength it’s taken me to make it this long – and never forget the good times we shared. Smile for me, fore I am free.