THE COLOUR OF MADNESS
A Blog About Living with Mental Illness
The hard way out
I don’t want to have this operation on Friday.
Did I already mention that like 100 times? Sorry, I know I’m annoying but I so absolutely completely and totally do NOT want this. Like I’m quite cool with dying, no worries – me and death, we are square. It’s life that I struggle with, it’s life that I’ve been trying to avoid since I was about 8 years old.
They (the doctors) KNOW I don’t want this, they just don’t seem to get that it’s not because nobody wants an operation but that I’d genuinely rather die, in fact I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t contemplated suicide more in the last week than I have in the last 5 years.
Who the fuck has a life saving operation when they want to die? Talk about hypocrisy. It makes me so angry! 
The husband insists on staying in the city the night before to avoid random car trouble so I can’t rig any screws in the tyres there. The fuckers have gone and put me 1st in the theatre list at an ungodly hour of the morning so I can’t run away from there either. They also do a blood test as I go in so I can’t even pop a ridiculous amount of something just prior to make me die on the table.
Reasons for not wanting this include but are not limited to the list below:
1. Childhood trauma. I have ‘stuff’ relating to surgical procedures, masks and face coverings, being drugged against my will and a terrible fear of abdomen and below regions being touched in general let alone sliced and diced. All of theses things are involved in this procedure.
2. It’s going to make me fat. Yep shallow as fuck and yet true. This tumour has made me lose a little weight and in turn the old eating disorder has been triggered and is intrusively impacting my thoughts a whole lot more right now, removal of the tumour includes a full hysterectomy including one possibly both ovaries depending on if it’s malignant or not. That means menopause and or hormone replacement drugs and from what I’ve been told I can expect to age 20yrs pretty quickly and gain a shot load of weight around my belly. Fuck that.
3. Mood swings. I’m already fucking crazy, how much worse will menopause make it? The husband is pissed off and won’t say WHY, probably because we are sick at the moment but I would rather he just fucking said what he wants to say because the shit I start imagining is probably worse than his real issue.
4. Did I mention I don’t want to be alive?
5. Pain. I don’t like pain.
6. If it is cancer they will want me to have chemo and I don’t want that either!
7. There is supposed to be a check up after the procedure, something nobody mentioned – probably on purpose – and they are going to get the shits with me when I refuse to have it.
8. This is so fucked. If God has blessed me with answering my fucking prayers then nobody should be interfering!!!
9. Breaking an important promise to a part of myself.
10. If I stay alive then I have to face all the things that terrify me about living.
Ugh. I’m sad and angry and exhausted and emotionally depleted.
One Comment on “The hard way out”
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THE COLOUR OF MADNESS 
My hope if I was in that situation would be that they’d accidentally hit an artery or do something else wrong and I’d die on the table.
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