Yesterday I was skippy and giddy. I went online and spent money. I bought five scraperfoils and four sock creature kits. I was going to buy a kit of every sock creature available but in the end I was quite restrained and only bought the sock pony, sock unicorn, sock elephant and sock giraffe. Today, of course, I’m wondering what on earth I was doing even buying those. The likelihood of me actually making the things is minimal. And I have a room full of art and craft materials that I’m not using, I didn’t exactly need more.
Today I have still been full of energy but it has had a darker edge. I have been restless and confused, pacing the corridor all day, exhausted but unable to stop. Now something is trying to get me to hang myself. I have worked out a way, you see. And it’s not that I am thinking “I want to die”, it’s not even that I’m hearing voices, it is that something keeps pushing me, urging me to do it. It feels like an compulsion, like some external force influencing my mind, driving me towards an inevitable end.
And yet within this I still want to spend more money. I want to sign up for an online writing course I found, however ridiculous it might be to take on a commitment like that when I am mentally all over the place. I want to buy a whole range of pretty notebooks, I want to buy some new boots to stride up and down the corridor in, and I want to buy a marble run. Actually I want to buy several marble runs that I can combine to build a huge one. These desires also feel close to compulsions. I’m not sure I will be able to stop myself ordering these things, just as I am not sure I will be able to stop myself killing myself.
But in the end I will kill myself not because I am ill, but because I have an illness. It’s an important distinction to make. These last couple of days have just demonstrated how impossible my life is to live, and what a rational act suicide is.