I reached the point of suicide only one brief time in my life. It was 5 years ago this week in November of 2013.
I had gone into “an existential crisis” while preparing a photo memory collage of myself and others during my time as a teenager in the 1990s for my 20th Class Reunion. I was sleep deprived, overworked, lived a toxic lifestyle, and was harboring years of repressed trauma.
My life at that time included a past of many years of antipsychotic drug ingestion (approx 15 years), high levels of GMO food, bad town water, overtoxicity from extreme makeup use, massive quantities of caffeine (up to 6 espresso Biggby Carmel Marvels each day!), toxicity from massive honey use, toxicity from mold in my basement, toxicity from household cleaning chemicals (I had a fetish for polishing metal knick knacks) and the unsafe removal of 4 MERCURY AMALGAM FILLINGS which were in my brain and body tissue.
After I was released from the psych ward in July of 2013, after missing that 20th class reunion, I then, upon advice from someone, made an appointment with a local homeopathic specialist. This was within days of having been pumped full with many neurotoxins in hospital.
I went home and although I was still somewhat gone, did this homeopathic remedy that included 23 or so vials of mysterious stuff. The instructions said to have someone sit with you during the entire day of doing the first set of vials.
I don’t know how many vials I went through that day, but I did take the one that said it was for the BRAIN, specifically to detox metals from the brain; metals including Mercury.
Upon completion of that vial, I turned into Bugs Buggy, literally, and my boyfriend at the time saw me go completely and utterly berserk. He was scared to death. Our relationship ended, and I was left alone after escaping from the ER he brought me to, before they committed me again.
Over the next several weeks, the devil appeared in my house, and I endured being completely batshit crazy. I started to look for a way out. There was no way out…the only help would have been getting locked up again, away from my cats, Mazzy and Beega, and unable to smoke, my go to self-soothing coping mechanism.
So I went to my friends’ shop and asked her for some styrofoam. I told her I was blocking off my upstairs to save $$ for the winter. I went home and attached it to my kitchen doorway, intending to gas myself with the stove fumes in my little kitchen.
I somehow stopped. I really wanted to live. I was truly messed up but I did not want to leave my cats, Mazzy and Beega, or my family up North. And I really, really wanted a cigarette.
Today, as a result of this information, 2020 Hindsight, and more info than I can put here, I now truly feel that this “Bipolar” label I was given 20 years ago is pure bullshit. I feel that I was (am) toxic from the neurotoxins given to me (and then FORCED on me from Nov 2016- Nov 2017 by LAW) to correct a ficticious “chemical imbalance”, AS WELL AS toxicity from several other areas. I think a LOT of people labeled are suffering purely from toxicity.
I know I was (am).
„A History of Mercury Poisoning“