I want to go the nitrogen route, but am inept. My brother is an expert welder and pipefitter who is just brilliant with this mechanical stuff. He could rig something like gasmonkey and has the money to do it. I could never approach him. Wouldn't want to get him in trouble and he would never in a million years help. Might even narc on me.
My second method would be a gun. I live in a place where it's very easy to buy a gun -- day of purchase -- but not with an involuntary commitment. I was for the first time involuntarily committed just last month.
My other brother has my dead father's guns, powerful handguns. (.357) I have begged him for one. My father said if he ever got bad off I should shoot him and I said likewise. Dad laughed, but now I am so much worse than he ever was. Worse off than anyone I have ever heard of (please read my story in first post
and judge for yourself).
I adore him. He is desperately trying to help me. He is all magical pie- in -the -sky thinking. He thinks I can retrain my brain and overcome my severe physical illnesses, pain and disabilities with meditation. He thinks just contemplating suicide is causing me pain, more than my actually arthritic and broken back. He thinks what's causing brain damage is my way of thinking, not dementia, not all these criminally over-the-top psychiatric drugs all these years, not ECT, and not the blows I have taken to my head.
He only listens to my husband, who also is a Pollyanna; he tells this brother that I am going to be mostly fine, my problems are serious but not worth dying for, that we're not losing the house, we're not broke. The eye dr told me today that my eyes are worse than previously thought; he won't tell this brother that. I found out today that my hysteroscopy got postponed today for 2 months and I am bleeding more than ever; he won't tell my brother that. He will just tell him how bad off I am psychologically. They all only see the depression.
They really don't see how dire things are. I can't talk to this brother because he keeps telling me to breathe and meditate. As if I didn't start with that years ago. Meditation is no match for cancer, severe depression, vision loss, SIADH, incontinence and poverty (to name just some of my issues) for me.
He is lovely though, sends so many vms with encouragement, music, meditation clips. Several times a day. I don't listen to them because his hope gives me pain. I don't see him or talk to him. (same with my beloved dying mother: too painful --another post at some point, about how deeply I have hurt everyone in my isolation. They think it's depression but I can't see my mother because one look at me like this would kill her. And I can't handle that no one believes just how objectively unlivable my life is).
All I want is my father's gun, sitting in the closet an hour a way. I don't know how it's possible life has come to this.
My second method would be a gun. I live in a place where it's very easy to buy a gun -- day of purchase -- but not with an involuntary commitment. I was for the first time involuntarily committed just last month.
My other brother has my dead father's guns, powerful handguns. (.357) I have begged him for one. My father said if he ever got bad off I should shoot him and I said likewise. Dad laughed, but now I am so much worse than he ever was. Worse off than anyone I have ever heard of (please read my story in first post
and judge for yourself).
I adore him. He is desperately trying to help me. He is all magical pie- in -the -sky thinking. He thinks I can retrain my brain and overcome my severe physical illnesses, pain and disabilities with meditation. He thinks just contemplating suicide is causing me pain, more than my actually arthritic and broken back. He thinks what's causing brain damage is my way of thinking, not dementia, not all these criminally over-the-top psychiatric drugs all these years, not ECT, and not the blows I have taken to my head.
He only listens to my husband, who also is a Pollyanna; he tells this brother that I am going to be mostly fine, my problems are serious but not worth dying for, that we're not losing the house, we're not broke. The eye dr told me today that my eyes are worse than previously thought; he won't tell this brother that. I found out today that my hysteroscopy got postponed today for 2 months and I am bleeding more than ever; he won't tell my brother that. He will just tell him how bad off I am psychologically. They all only see the depression.
They really don't see how dire things are. I can't talk to this brother because he keeps telling me to breathe and meditate. As if I didn't start with that years ago. Meditation is no match for cancer, severe depression, vision loss, SIADH, incontinence and poverty (to name just some of my issues) for me.
He is lovely though, sends so many vms with encouragement, music, meditation clips. Several times a day. I don't listen to them because his hope gives me pain. I don't see him or talk to him. (same with my beloved dying mother: too painful --another post at some point, about how deeply I have hurt everyone in my isolation. They think it's depression but I can't see my mother because one look at me like this would kill her. And I can't handle that no one believes just how objectively unlivable my life is).
All I want is my father's gun, sitting in the closet an hour a way. I don't know how it's possible life has come to this.
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