And this makes 1...

I often have to wonder how I got to this place. I sit here waiting, trying to let the time pass so that the impulse will pass as well.

Sometimes the urge is overpowering and I must give in. I just barely stopped myself from moving the tissue box where I knew my blade hid underneath. This time I succeeded.

As I sat back on my bed in the quiet of the house, I grew overwhelmed by both the world and the temptation. What can I do? How can I get past this?

And so, here is a blog about it. Having a journal is supposed to help sometimes... you can write all your deepest, darkest secrets... get it all out. In my case, I couldn't do it. It seemed selfish. There may be other people out there that are unable to cope, and they may be searching online for a solution like I am.

I have borderline personality disorder. I cut myself, and have years of scars marring my body. I rarely leave my house. I am overwhelmed, anxious, panicking, depressed, angry, hopeless, no one will help me, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. BUT, I will get through this. I have to. I'm also a mother. And there is nothing in this world that is stronger than my desire to be his mother.

It's not logical to believe that life will never get better. Personally, I have always believed that life always get better, eventually. You just have to get through the bad parts. I've never been suicidal. I had always held a firm belief that it wasn't the answer, and that things would improve.

I've been waiting for so long, it seems. I'm at the edge of losing hope.

Suicide is not neccessarily the desire to die, but more of an inability to cope in most situations. And if someone has so much pain that they are incapible of coping, and there is no other way out... well, I became that person, as much as I hate to admit it.

I didn't want to die. I wanted the pain to subside. I desperately wanted to sleep and not have this dreadful overwhelming pressure closing in around me. And I took one too many pills. I was desperate. I didn't see another way out.

The thing is... I had asked for help! In desperation I had gone to the ER, and they had turned me away saying I wasn't "suicidal" and I wasn't a harm to myself. I had tried to get in to see the doctor as an outpatient. It takes about a month to schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist or even a therapist. There's no in-between. I'm not sick enough to go to the hospital, but not well enough to be outside of it.

Mental health is a funny thing. It's not physically tangible. Others can't see it. You can't run a blood test to get a value of the severity. They can't listen to your heart and hear the sickness boiling inside. You can desperately need help, ask for it, and be turned away time and again. They don't believe you, can't take time out of their day, and can offer no alternatives. As a mentally unhealthy person, let me just say, crazy people can't wait!

The desperation I felt that there was no way that I would get better, that no one would help, that I couldn't even help myself... it consumed me. It led me to a bottle of pills that I thought would help. I took one, two, three, four, with no results. I kept taking them. I wanted the pain gone. I wanted to sleep.

I slept for 2 days. In the hospital. I guess I got my wish.