I deal with suicidal ideation as a regular thing. Every waking hour. It’s been that way for my entire adult life, so even though the folks at 988 freak out about it, I just shrug.
Right now, the CDC is not updating its webpage on suicidality, likely because the new administration doesn’t want us to see that it’s been getting worse (and has been since Trump took office in 2017) Academic institutions that also track it note that we’re nearly at 50,000 suicides a year. Curiously, mostly young white men, though LGBT+ and especially trans folk are disproportionately represented. I fall into the category of thirteen million Americans who consider suicide. (Incidentally, the US suicide rate is still not as bad as Russia’s but exceeded Japan’s over a decade ago.)
Sixty three days ago (I’m counting on) my psychotherapist decided that I was too spicy for the treatment she could provide, and referred me to the county behavioral health service. They passed me to a partner program that is impacted and has a waiting list of several months. At the advice of the counselors there, I am instead looking for alternative sources. I have been turned away from some, while others just don’t call me back. One recently rejected my insurance on a technicality. So I’m still in a holding pattern as I rule out other potential psychotherapy resources.
Meanwhile, Stephen Miller is looking to put all disabled folk back into institutions, which I’m sure will be about as hospitable as Delaney Hall. So, while I don’t have an exit plan, there’s the looming possibility that ICE will soon be at my door. And that is a motivator to have something at hand.
Right now, half of the United States is going into debt just for food, fuel and rent. Life here is Hell. My Hell here is a bit different. I have food and rent security, but I’m isolated, and have to contend with the same bullies that beleaguered me in grammar school have now captured the federal government and are dismantling the country while putting it into critical debt. For now, a few things keep me here, but if my life is still the same by the time they are gone, it’s time to retire.
So, frankly, I’m quite envious that Mr. Kirk escaped easily and quickly, while I am left to watch my society come apart and the world burn.
He didn’t suffer (much), but he also didn’t get to live the rest of his life. Is that not a cost? Even if he never knew he paid it?
Not sure.
TMI
I deal with suicidal ideation as a regular thing. Every waking hour. It’s been that way for my entire adult life, so even though the folks at 988 freak out about it, I just shrug.
Right now, the CDC is not updating its webpage on suicidality, likely because the new administration doesn’t want us to see that it’s been getting worse (and has been since Trump took office in 2017) Academic institutions that also track it note that we’re nearly at 50,000 suicides a year. Curiously, mostly young white men, though LGBT+ and especially trans folk are disproportionately represented. I fall into the category of thirteen million Americans who consider suicide. (Incidentally, the US suicide rate is still not as bad as Russia’s but exceeded Japan’s over a decade ago.)
Sixty three days ago (I’m counting on) my psychotherapist decided that I was too spicy for the treatment she could provide, and referred me to the county behavioral health service. They passed me to a partner program that is impacted and has a waiting list of several months. At the advice of the counselors there, I am instead looking for alternative sources. I have been turned away from some, while others just don’t call me back. One recently rejected my insurance on a technicality. So I’m still in a holding pattern as I rule out other potential psychotherapy resources.
Meanwhile, Stephen Miller is looking to put all disabled folk back into institutions, which I’m sure will be about as hospitable as Delaney Hall. So, while I don’t have an exit plan, there’s the looming possibility that ICE will soon be at my door. And that is a motivator to have something at hand.
Right now, half of the United States is going into debt just for food, fuel and rent. Life here is Hell. My Hell here is a bit different. I have food and rent security, but I’m isolated, and have to contend with the same bullies that beleaguered me in grammar school have now captured the federal government and are dismantling the country while putting it into critical debt. For now, a few things keep me here, but if my life is still the same by the time they are gone, it’s time to retire.
So, frankly, I’m quite envious that Mr. Kirk escaped easily and quickly, while I am left to watch my society come apart and the world burn.