bottle in front of me, frontal lobotomy. pick one.
julia,
25, mortuary science.
cypress, california.

I can totally relate to all of the emotions and the experience from A to Z. However, I reiterate in the above comments, I care so very much for you and I am glad you are still with us. You have my email address; you know that I am always here for you.

All my love, Alix xx

Take care of yourself – and thank you again. xxx

((SI)) What everyone else said. I do care about you, I wish I could be there with you but ‘the pond’ gets in the way. Be kind to yourself as you are to everyone here.

Feeling a little better, thank you x

I hope your okay now! x

But I just wanted you to know that I really do appreciate you all. Thank you.

Lots of love

SI xxx

On quite a number of occasions, though one more serious than the others, SI attempted to leave before having been seen. Her general view was that we had waited too long and that there was no point in remaining until whatever form of treatment they saw fit go provide was dispensed. Unfortunately SI turned out to be largely correct, in that the ‘treatment’ provided was of little real value. Still, I am glad that I physically prevented her from leaving the confines of the hospital. I had to do so for several minutes before she reluctantly returned to the waiting room. I’m glad of this because there’s always that “what if?” factor. What if there was decent treatment of some sort around the corner? I am not myself by nature an optimist. If I was, SI would not put up with me. However, I would like to believe that, the odd time, there is something worth waiting for. In this case, I was spectacularly wrong. Oh well.

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry this happened to you, I’m sorry you felt you had to, and I’m sorry at how you were treated afterwards. You deserve better.

But I do have something to remind you of – you can write. Like, you can really write. You can write with wit and humour and honesty and devistation all rolled up into one. There’s brilliance in there, I promise, and the people who are compelled to comment here attest to it.

I mention this to you because it’s something to hang onto. It’s a contribution that you make that can’t be taken away. It’s emperical. It’s lives that you are touching. Maybe even saving. Period.

You might want to read this post I wrote about suicide: http://imbound.blogspot.com/2005/05/on-death-dying-and-suicide.html

But here’s the important bit: no one has the same voice as you, no one can put the same words together as you do, and no one can touch people in the same way as you do. You’re unique. Your voice is unique. Your voice is important.

Here is the poem I like that reminds me of this. Hope it helps:

The Choice
Lesléa Newman

You can carve out a life for yourself
just as your bones have been carved
from some larger bone
your flesh peeled from some larger flesh

Or you can lift the paring knife
from the kitchen drawer
and free the veins
that rise to meet the skin

There is no one
save the poems you might write

Your voice matters. You matter. Hold onto that.