Please don't expect this to make sense right now. This post will be as disjointed as my thoughts.
Yesterday I made the agreement to give my well-researched {edit: tool} to my therapist. The {Edit:tool} is more than the element of death that I keep as my last option, the final choice which is mine alone. I can make more {edit: of these tools}. They're easy once you get the hang of it, and with some mathematical figures I've discovered the most probably way of {edit: for graphic description}. I have conducted tests. I've revised my plans. Always with the same {Edit:tool}.
My grandmother, the only person who ever loved me unconditonally, killed herself in this manner when I was five. She was my best friend. My family never discussed it again. She suffered, though. I do not believe she had the resources to make it painless as I have studied. But my grandmother knew things that I understand now.
I knew I had to get the {edit for graphic detail: the tool}. I called my therapist (PtWt) this weekend because it wasn't as easy as just putting it in the garage. And don't even think of throwing it away. This is my only logical and reasonable decision I have left. I will not destroy it. But it needed to be in the hands of someone I trust. Pat suggested I lock it up until I saw her again. It was hard, but I locked it in my locker at work (I'm on a leave of absence.) Still too close. I needed to give it to Pat to hold it without destroying it. I envision a time when I can cut {edit: it}with her support, but for now I need to know my final option is still intact.
What she did was take it willingly. She did say, however, that she was not comfortable with a professional {Edit: tool} in her drawer, and asked me if I'd be willing to untie it. With a lump in my throat, I agreed. My hands were shaking, because I was dismantling the one choice left over which I still had control. She knelt before me and said, "No, let's do it together." I don't know why, but that made a difference.
She still has {Edit: it} in her drawer. I know it is there and it is driving me crazy, for while I can buy {Edit: another one} this one has a particular meaning. And I do not have access ot it. It has to be this {edit: particular tool}. It's good that she has it.
She also made an emergency call to the pdoc on his day off and put my on an Abilify pronto. We're back to the psychotic aspects. I've fallen backward. I've failed. I'm lost and I don't know how to crawl back now. I just don't want to be locked up again. I want my old life back.
God, I'm not me right now. I can't stop pacing knowing my one final choice is locked in a drawer twenty miles away. I'm not me, guys. I'm messed up.
Please forgive me. Forgive my weaknesses. Forgive me for the pain I've caused. Or don't, because screw it, at what point does it matter? I told you, I'm not thinking right.
Yesterday I made the agreement to give my well-researched {edit: tool} to my therapist. The {Edit:tool} is more than the element of death that I keep as my last option, the final choice which is mine alone. I can make more {edit: of these tools}. They're easy once you get the hang of it, and with some mathematical figures I've discovered the most probably way of {edit: for graphic description}. I have conducted tests. I've revised my plans. Always with the same {Edit:tool}.
My grandmother, the only person who ever loved me unconditonally, killed herself in this manner when I was five. She was my best friend. My family never discussed it again. She suffered, though. I do not believe she had the resources to make it painless as I have studied. But my grandmother knew things that I understand now.
I knew I had to get the {edit for graphic detail: the tool}. I called my therapist (PtWt) this weekend because it wasn't as easy as just putting it in the garage. And don't even think of throwing it away. This is my only logical and reasonable decision I have left. I will not destroy it. But it needed to be in the hands of someone I trust. Pat suggested I lock it up until I saw her again. It was hard, but I locked it in my locker at work (I'm on a leave of absence.) Still too close. I needed to give it to Pat to hold it without destroying it. I envision a time when I can cut {edit: it}with her support, but for now I need to know my final option is still intact.
What she did was take it willingly. She did say, however, that she was not comfortable with a professional {Edit: tool} in her drawer, and asked me if I'd be willing to untie it. With a lump in my throat, I agreed. My hands were shaking, because I was dismantling the one choice left over which I still had control. She knelt before me and said, "No, let's do it together." I don't know why, but that made a difference.
She still has {Edit: it} in her drawer. I know it is there and it is driving me crazy, for while I can buy {Edit: another one} this one has a particular meaning. And I do not have access ot it. It has to be this {edit: particular tool}. It's good that she has it.
She also made an emergency call to the pdoc on his day off and put my on an Abilify pronto. We're back to the psychotic aspects. I've fallen backward. I've failed. I'm lost and I don't know how to crawl back now. I just don't want to be locked up again. I want my old life back.
God, I'm not me right now. I can't stop pacing knowing my one final choice is locked in a drawer twenty miles away. I'm not me, guys. I'm messed up.
Please forgive me. Forgive my weaknesses. Forgive me for the pain I've caused. Or don't, because screw it, at what point does it matter? I told you, I'm not thinking right.
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And thank you for having the courage to share with us tonight. 
