TTSOML #119: Suicide Attempt

A huge reason I made a suicide attempt, at that time, was because of migraines which CWH refused to treat. They were excruciating, and I had nothing. I didn't want to live like that, and it was hardly living, to be in so much pain.

On top of that, the doctors were harassing me, in the middle of my pain, and defaming me in my medical charts and they refused to correct things.

Also, I was losing every chance I had, to redeem my name, through my lawsuits, by proving I had evidence that the Willamette Week defamation was done with a deliberate, intentional motive to cause me emotional distress and ruin my reputation. I was also working so hard at getting information out, and had done everything right on my end, but all I saw of judges and the system, was rampant corruption and discrimination.

At the same time, I started having problems with my family, and never should have moved to Wenatchee to begin with. All the cousins said Loren, my uncle, was jealous of me before I'd even arrived, and was already trying to say untrue bad things about me. He knew I was Granny's favorite and never liked it, and he wanted to be #1 with his parents.

My grandmother showed signs of Alzheimers, which no one in the family said anything about, and which I only really noticed after I was there FT instead of PT. Even PT I noticed a few things, but then I was gone, and would forget about it. My grandmother became physically abusive and we'd have horrible rows arguing besides. Which sounds terrible, because why would I argue with an old lady, but if anyone was close enough to her relative to argue with them, it was me. Granny liked to repeat what I said once, "We fight like Italians and we make up like Italians". On one hand, I wasn't kissing up to Granny because of the inheritance money--I never kissed up to anybody, and secondly, we were truly friends who could make eachother laugh, and we'd be in stitches joking about things together. So it was inevitable we had arguments. But sometimes I forgot about the Alzheimers, and when she would go after me, physically, I would try to leave. Even in arguments, often I would try to leave. But my car broke down once I was there, in Wenatchee (another reason I couldn't get around) and I was trapped at the house, in the orchard, with Granny. Granny would tell me she was going to buy me a "treat" if I did such and such, or didn't do this or that. She wanted to treat me like I was the 6 year old she first fell in love with, or maybe I was younger than that when I became her favorite. Everyone in the family knew Rory and I were Granny's favorites and that Loren was grandpa's favorite.

Half of the car break-downs, I think were normal and from wear and tear. But I question the other half. And later, when I moved out of the orchard, my car was vandalized constantly, in the same manner it was in Oregon.

I finally left the house, because of the stress. My family wasn't listening to me when I told them how concerned I was about Granny and that she was injuring me besides. I had scabs on my neck where she clawed me, she tried to push me down the stairs, and swatted my mouth with the sweeping end of a broom, etc. She would later not remember or deny she did these things, and said I scratched myself on the neck. It was pretty obvious I didn't scratch my own neck in the manner it was scratched. She later admitted to hiting me, over the phone, on a Rivercom call, so this was documented, but it was the only thing. To this day, not one person in my family will agree or admit Granny EVER did any of these things. Someone could listen to the Rivercom call if they want absolute proof, but my family yells at me, insults me, and belittles me when I try to talk about it at all. To this day. They haven't seen Granny act like that themselves and think she's too "sweet" and that's it's impossible. I was the one LIVING with her and believe me, I was just as suprised, but it did happen, and one of her own doctors agreed with me she had Alzheimers.

I was also anxious about the FBI thing and felt it wasn't taken seriously. Instead, I was being profiled by police all the time.

It was a combination of things. I knew what had happened in Oregon. I knew some of those people were frickin' mobsters. I knew my reputation was trashed and I had no way to fight it anymore. Then I was being written up, in the medical record as all kinds of things I wasn't and they refused to make corrections when I confronted them with possibility of lawsuit and harassed me even more. My migraines were not being treated at all and I was in severe pain, for several days out of each month. My family was, I found out after moving closer, a bunch of weirdos. I was being physically assaulted by my grandmother, which wasn't her fault really, but no one listened to me, so finally I moved out. Then, on top of all of that, I got a letter from John Kaempf, which wasn't to ME, but was intended for my grandmother.

Here she was, acting out, and I may have told Christa about that. They probably figured it was a good time to cause further trouble with my family, and Kaempf sent a warning letter to my grandmother, saying if they control ME, and quit my ability to communicate by email, they would hold my GRANDPARENTS liable, legally. Now that I remember, I DID still have the Archdiocese and maybe the federal case against judges in Oregon, pending, but my other lawsuit had been dismissed. I'm remembering now because I wrote back to Kaempf that my grandparents had nothign to do with my legal affairs and that he had stepped out of bounds.

I told him I knew how they had harassed ME for years, but that when they decided to HARASS my 70 year old GRANDMOTHER, they had crossed the line. The email I shot off to Kaempf and Whittemore stated I would be filing for Anti-Harassment against them. I told Christa the same, and told her which courthouse I was filing it at, and all about it. But I was too tired and sick to do it. I was still recovering from bronchitis, and I was extremely tired and ill, and I believe I had a horrible migraine as well. I was so stressed out, I'd meant to do it right away, but didn't. But they knew I was going to.

Suddenly, I got word and a notice that JOHN KAEMPF had filed for Anti-Harassment, against ME. I looked at the order and petition, and the date from the fax showed it was faxed to Judge Warren in Wenatchee, AFTER I warned him about what I was doing. I could prove it, with email dates and times. I sent my warning and notice to Kaempf, and then he decided to go ahead and try to get ahead of me and file one against ME, to make ME look like the bad party. If he did it first, it would look like I was just retaliating.

After everything they'd already done to me, which he KNEW they'd done illegally, dishonestly, and immorally, he was trying, AGAIN, to get a criminal record started against me, when both he and I knew I was the innocent party.

I was innocent.
I had been innocent.
I was still innocent.

But for all of my trying to obtain justice and accountability, I'd been abused and harassed to no end. I didn't know such cruelty existed in the world. I wasn't always "good" and I reacted, after extreme levels of harassment, but I was very patient, for such a long time, and I never lied.

I wasn't drug seeking.
I didn't try to seduce a monk.
I didn't commit any misdemeanors or crimes or most of the traffic and parking violations.
I was repeatedly set up and date raped and didn't even know it at that time, just knew about some connections.
I'd been followed and stalked and then they tried to claim I was "paranoid".
I'd receieved threats and warnings, and some regarding my life.

Despite all of this, I knew to be in college FT was one of my best defenses. How could I be "paranoid schitzophrenic" when I was seen everyday at college and doing well, and handling the litigation, and holding PT jobs? In every way, I tried to defy what they meant to be my fate and future.

They just hated me more and got more jealous and wanted something to satisfy their tooth for destruction.

But no one understood and I had gone through it alone. I didn't have support from my family. I was left out there, on my own. I didn't have good legal counsel besides. Or money, or power to change the tide, even though, God knows, I tried.

I wasn't mad at God. I knew, God was my only witness. And, I felt secure in the idea that if I took my own life, it would bring an end to my suffering and that God knew me already, and knew what the truth was. If there was a Hell, that's not where I was going, and if there wasn't a Heaven, I was at least going to be in peace. I was tired of the bad guys and women getting away with everything. Incredible things that no one believed me about. And I saw it was just going to continue.

When I decided to take my own life, it wasn't "a cry for help". It wasn't a practice trial either. At that time, the migraine pain was extremely severe and I had also gone to Columbia Valley Clinic for Valium after receiving the Anti-Harassment order from John Kaempf. The clinic, Columbia Valley Community Health, refused to give me anything. She claimed I was "drug seeking" even though it was the first time I'd shown up with a panic attack. She wrote as much in my chart. Instead of treating my anxiety, as they had refused to treat my migraines, they told me to suffer.

So, I tried to kill myself. That would put an end to that.

I would never hurt a fly, much less a person. But I felt it was my right to hurt myself so I turned inward. I was never danger to anyone else, and never have been, in my life. But I would hurt myself.

Either before or right after this attempt, was when I pulled out leg hairs with tweezers. Which actually didn't just start out of the blue. It was more like, I remember one day I was really stressed out, and I had an ingrown hair on my leg. I got the tweezers out and pulled it out. Then, I thought, I wonder if this is like epilady? sort of? Or like waxing, and would prevent leg hair from coming back as fast. So I was going to do a little section as an experiment and I just kept tweezing and sometimes I'd have a tiny bit of blood from it. I didn't scratch my legs, I just tweezed and as I was doing this, I realized it was relaxing in a weird way so I'd just sit there and tweeze. Which, is totally weird, but after I discovered it, it worked to relieve my stress at the time, and then after many months I stopped on my own.

I decided I'd take a bunch of aspirin. I thought it would just make me fall asleep and would be painless. If I took enough, I imagined I'd pass out. They weren't sleeping pills, but I thought it would have the same effect. I didn't take enough to just give out a "warning". I took half of a very large Costco bottle. If I was going to do it, I was going to do it right. I felt brave in my own way, and I've always been brave. So I was later told, I took more than enough to kill two large men. I think it was something like half of a 500 tab bottle or half of a 1,000 tab bottle. I just kept swallowing, and then I went out into the orchard to die in privacy.

But then, over a half hour into it, I changed my mind. I realized death was one thing, but that I might be in for slow torture. My ears were ringing and I was losing the ability to hear. I was feeling sick besides. After awhile of this, I decided I didn't want to die like that and changed my mind. So I went back to the house, and my grandmother refused to call 911 and called my mother instead who said nastily that she didn't think I had really taken these pills and was just faking it. Oh, that's another thing that had been bothering me. My mother thought my father was divorcing her and she took it out on me and had already sent me an email telling me she didn't love me anymore but cared about me in a general way. In the meantime, I'd been trying desperately to reach my father for help and they were withholding his phone number (they--my mother and Granny) from me. When I finally got ahold of him, I asked if I could move in with him to the new house they'd bought, which was being remodeled, and he said "no". No one took me seriously or even cared enough. My parents were never guilty of being over-sentimental, that's for sure.

So, I'm yelling at them to shut the fuck up and give me the phone so I can call 911. I was dying and my mother is sitting there mocking me with my grandmother, telling me I need to get back into church. Either someone hung up, or I yanked the phone away and hung up, and called, and then someone was still, I think, trying to persuade 911 that it wasn't "for real".

It was unbelievable.

I was trying to take my own life, and then I was the one in my family to save my own fucking life.

Well, who at least had a part in it, as I would give most of the credit to medical people.

All things considered, though, while I've never been one to lie about my damages and who is responsible, and while I have included a number of contributing factors, I would put harassment and illegal activities by the Abbey attorneys at #1 on my list.

When they first were claiming I had "issues", I had no issues. I didn't have "issues" until years of harassment, and the only "issues" I ever really had were related to PTSD from what THEY DID TO ME.

A few of the things I experienced were depression, panic attacks, and some minor maybe OCD, but I don't think I can really count OCD. It was more anxiety than anything, and directly related to their actions.

So if they want to be proud now, and take credit, without worrying about being sued for damages, they can. They used to try to blame my family and claimed I had a bad childhood. I did NOT have a bad childhood. My childhood was fine, and my life was fine, until they were involved in it. The Bairds, yes, are mainly nuts. Like in any family, you have the nuts. But I wasn't around "the nuts" until after I'd been traumatized by the monks, clergy, and Abbey attorneys.

I have never been "paranoid" in the clinical sense. To be paranoid, you must have no cause for fear or unreasonable fear. My fears were real, and I responded accordingly. I've never been schitzophrenic either and anyone who knows me will tell you that. I've never been bipolar. I've had people claim my bursts of creativity are "mania" and that's a bunch of garbage. Creative people, and artists, MAY be creative AND bipolar, but there is something about the artist other people just can't seem to understand and until they become an artist or creative type themself, they should shut the fuck up about it. I never had a "psychotic" break. Wenatchee CPS claims thats what the whole thing was, about my computer hacking and what was happening to me and my son, and it's not true. I didn't imagine anything, and it was real, and my son and I both have damages to prove it and there are individuals with motive and resources who could have done this. It's not like I didn't make anybody angry.

I'm not "delusional". I like how people like Dr. Parnell think they can slap a label in a chart without knowing the facts. He told me he didn't believe I even knew anyone in the FBI. With an idiot like this for a doctor, obviously, there's going to be a problem, and that guy has bad news written all over his face.

I'm not "borderline". I didn't have a traumatic childhood and I don't bond instantly with people and then push them away. I have friendships that have lasted over 15 years, and the people I've shut out, I've shut out after giving them second chances a million times, or after realizing they're not safe and that they assaulted me or took advantage of me when I was vulnerable. I'm also not a needy or jealous person, so being possessive of men and romantic relationships has never plagued me.

I'm not depressed. Despite everything, I should be, and it should be a sign of health that I'm NOT.

I don't abuse drugs and alcohol. I didn't use ANY drugs and very seldom drank at all, until my son was taken from me. Prior to that, doctors in Wenatchee cited narcotic use, which THEY prescribed, and I sometimes turned down, to have them pressure me to take it, which I'll get into soon enough. I was never addicted. I have NEVER felt compelled to drink or to abuse alcohol, to this day. And now, I know my limitations and tolerance levels better and how things affect me. As for pot, I never once tried it until maybe 5 months ago, after my son was taken from me, and it has completely prevented the need for me to access ER for migraine, because it works for menstrual migraine, and it a time-old cure which is well documented.

I don't have generalized anxiety, and I haven't had a panic attack in forever. I thought I was having one the other day, but realized I was dizzy from drinking WAY too much coffee. I am not anxious, on an everyday basis.

I don't have OCD. I never had it before I met the monks and was abused by their comrades. I have had minor periods where something could have looked that way, but it was one time, and I would say that was the tweezer thing. As for my writing, I've been a writer since I was a kid. I have always written volumes, I just never sent it to people, or I sent it out in letters and notes before email. This has ALWAYS been who I am. I may not be the best writer, but I am a writer. That is different from OCD.

I don't really know what's left. The above are the ones people tried to throw out, who only wanted to discredit me. The only things I can relate to, in ANY way at all, are minor symptoms of PTSD.

Which means, guess what?! That something really did happen, and that it was not biochemical or a personality disorder.

My personality is great. I have gotten by, on my personality alone, in person or over the phone, for years. I don't have any mental disorder associated with it.

Considering all things, it is amazing I have NOT had a "breakdown" and that I do NOT have a mental illness, but the fact is, I don't.

Even my PTSD, is directly related now to things that are present and happening NOW. Such as the improper removal of my son and attempt by the state to snow me and refuse me the right to REASONABLE public discovery, and even, I might add, DISCOVERY.

I have never hallucinated either, by the way. When I speak about "images" and seeing things, I speak as an artist, as scenes I can visualize in the mind's eye. Again, only those who have never known an artist would dare to say this is a disorder or unnatural.

So, back to the suicide attempt. What was that about? It wasn't the result of mania, or of a stupid "breakdown". It was a conscious and thought-out decision. I probably had some anxiety or depression but honestly, it was more of one of those, "I'm fed up" things. I just decided, fuck it.

And, the mental health person who saw me in the hospital, agreed with me, it was more of a one-time thing. I wasn't depressed when I saw him. I told him about what had happened, with tears, and told him I realized my life was important and that I would drop some of the things I was pursuing. He was like, wow, it sounded great. At least that's what he told me. They couldn't "hold" me for anything because I didn't exhibit anything which indicated it was anything other than a one-time deal. Which is was. Obviously, because I'm still here and the thought hasn't crossed my mind since. Not once. It's more of a desperate act, or was for me, like a banker jumping off a bridge in the 1920s Wallstreet collapse. It was just a desperate attempt, which I resolved, having tried it and learned from it, to not do again.

So, I have never been technically "hospitalized" for mental illness of any kind. I've never been admitted to a psych ward either, and I'm not going to be, to the great chagrin and disappointment of some.

The things that happened, happened, and I have held up. And for Wenatchee CPS to try to claim I had a "breakdown" and a right to have one, I would agree that yes, I did have a right to have one, especially after they took my son away from me, but guess what fuckers? I haven't had one, and there is no shame in admitting to it if one does. I have a lot less shame (here, here!) than most people, and I've admitted all kinds of things other people hide under the bed and in the closet, and if I really thought I'd lost it or had a breakdown at some point, I would be just as proud to speak of that as I am to be able to speak about my suicide attempt and other things. I have nothing to hide and I am not ashamed or embarrassed to admit to anything.

I love sex. I don't cast certain men as abusers and rapists because I have "religious issues" with my sexuality. I love men, but that doesn't mean I have to have a long term relationship with one or be married to one to be normal or healthy and I would argue it's a better sign of health, if one can feel "whole" without having to become a "part" of something. I choose me. (I can see a good script for Ellen in that line, or Cho).

I love honesty. I don't have issues with speaking about the defense mechanisms my body produced to keep me sane when I should have been going insane, and I don't need someone else, who hasn't been through what I've been through, to tell me they don't believe everything is "fine" when they don't know what it is like to come through what I've come through and still be fucking "fine" (albeit with new and enhanced proclivity to use the word "fuck").

I don't need people insulting me about how I'm "not all that" and couldn't be very smart, and then turning around and saying I'm actually so smart that I manipulate people and can manufacture my truths with a brilliance that defies reason.

On to other things...

So the ambulance came. I would say, there was a good guy and a bad guy in that ambulance that day. I think there were 3 altogether, one with me, one at the wheel, and then a passenger. One of them, I disliked immediately. He was cocky and seemed to be actually enjoying the whole thing, taking satisfaction out of it. Going on and on about how many fucking aspirin I'd taken, and laughing about it. I wanted to tell him to take two himself and shut the fuck up. Some hispanic guy. Then there was a normal one, or normal enough, and then there was a red-haired guy who, for whatever reason, knew what to say to me so I would fight to live, because even I was at the hospital, they didn't know if I was going to live, because I'd waited so long before calling the ambulance. The regular ipecac or whatever, charcoal, didn't work. It had already been digested.