Being so ill so quickly (btw, I got the first illness again) can make you feel really crappy; having a body that’s not working the way it used to, changing relationships with friends and more importantly family, having to rely on them more and this feeling of loss of independence can really get to someone. But let’s not get all emotional and psychological, having you hair thin, losing muscle mass (aka not being able to work out the way you used to) and more importantly having your skin fall off, peel off, regrow and be super dry – needing intense moisturisation every few hours and relying on anti-histamines to get you through a few hours where you need to wear suffocating clothes; talking about clothes – not being able to wear the clothes you like because they’ll get ruined because of the greasy moisturiser; all these little things, minor things, they keep tap tap taping at the back of your head and some days they overwhelm you and you think “what’s the point?”

 

The furthest I’ve gone is thinking about my will (So as not to further inconvenience others – I’ve done that enough) but I realised I didn’t have much, that ring can go to my sister, really they can choose what they want to keep, chuck what they want and donate the rest. That’s pretty much it. Then I thought about my family, especially my mum and how much of everything she’s put up with and pulled through and I stop that stupid line of thinking.

 

The other day I had a thought that triggered this blogpost, I have a question, do you think it takes more than 12 or 24 hrs to decide to genuinely commit suicide? I think so. I don’t think it’s something you decide one morning and carry out in the evening. Thing is, I’ve been living on the edge of life and possible death for a while now, 5 years to be precise. I’m on a firm “life” ground, usually its beautiful and has lush green grass and wild flowers and the sun is shining and there’s a gentle breeze; but just on the edge of my theoretical vision there’s the edge, a ragged dark edge that falls into an abyss of end. I have epilepsy, and what we’ve discovered (with me being a rebellious, in denial teenager) is that if I miss my medication twice in a row then I’ll get a grand mal seizure. Grand mal seizure can lead to death, plain and simple. I’ve already had ten (don’t ask, it’s all on that rebellious, in denial teenager) so I’m not going to be asking any doctor about my odds for the next one or anything like that.

 

“Missing my medication twice” what does that mean? I have to take medication every 12 hours, so if I forget and go about 24hrs without that drug I’m basically playing a game with my literal life on the line. That…definitely gets you thinking. Another way to look at this is that every 12 hours, I renew my will to live.

 

So it’s hard to brood suicidal thoughts and then willingly pop a pill that is basically you saying “I don’t want to risk dying” and carry on brooding like nothing happened. Then you don’t want to NOT take the pills because you don’t want to die of an epileptic fit, having bitten your tongue, banged your head on something, lost control of your bladder and other such disagreeable side effects.

 

So, ladies and gentlemen, this is why (amongst other reasons) I probably will never commit suicide, aside from the selfishness of the act and as someone I’ve heard describe it, suicide is “not ending the pain but passing it on” I personally think it’s useless. It’s quitting the game because it got a bit hard. Who does that?

 

Through all the struggles, I’m learning new things, I hope my patience has gotten much better and my empathy has grown to immense proportions. All that tap tap tapping, I hope it’s shaping me into something great, if I let all that great experience opportunity go, what kind of human would I be?

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