Le Petit Chaton est Mort

Today, one of the kittens I was part hand-rearing, died.

Three of them came in a few days ago. Supposedly newborn, but their mum had been scared away. So, the first afternoon they were tucked up with me while I fed them every couple of hours. They were then introduced to one of the mum's who had older kittens so that they could feed naturally. She took them on beautifully. 

However, the following day, for some reason, one of the staff decided to split the 3 babies between the two nursing mum's. So the first mum was confused and looking for two kittens she'd been looking after, whilst in the second nest the older kittens were very roughly pushing the little ones out of the way. Both adult cats were (and still are) excellent foster mum's.

Today though, when I went in this morning, the mum of the rougher kittens had moved the entire litter out of the nest and into the litter tray. She looked terrified. Something had clearly spooked her. I put the babies back in the nest; she inspected each one and seemed relieved that they were ok and settled down with them.

I had put the two little ones in my lap for their hand feeding. I noticed that the female was kind of listless. I fed the boy first, then turned my attention to her. As I stroked her she came to and I fed her a little. I gave her back to the mother, and put myself back to bed. (First feed is about 5am).

I had a text just after 8am, asking me to go to the cattery. Thoughts running through my head, was the little girl dead, had I not locked up right, I couldn't think. They just said to me that they thought something wasn't right with her. I went to check and again she was listless, but this time when I touched her she screamed. 

She just kept screaming. At first I assumed she was constipated, so I spent a few hours trying to get her to pooh. Tummy massage, back massage, stimulation obviously, a tiny bit of oil, watered down feed, gently drumming my fingers down her back. She was falling asleep every ten minutes or so, and when asleep she was clearly dreaming about feeding.

I spoke to two vets and read as much as I could online. I don't understand what happened, but all I can think is that she either inhaled a little of the milk last night, or swallowed an air bubble. It could be neither, but I can't think of anything else.

She died. I had a nap this afternoon, and when I went back to check on her she'd already passed away. Still warm, but CPR did nothing for her.

Her foster mummy cat was distraught. She kept calling her. Poor mum had already lost one of her own litter last week.

And me. I cried as if this tiny soul was one of my own. I cried for Seth, and Mitten, and Rufus, and this little girl, all in one go.

That is to say that I'm still crying, but it's more of a weep now. The cry from the pain of having my heart wrenched out has passed for now. It'll return.

And this evening I kind of started to understand how people bond to their babies. I have no maternal instinct whatsoever. Human babies freak me out. But a few days looking after this little mite, and she had me completely invested.

The really weird thing is that each time I hand rear kittens my boobs get big. When I took on these babies I even had a weird mid cycle bleed. So maybe I'm just naturally attuned to the pheromones from baby animals, or even just kittens, rather than human babies.

Stoopid Meds

So, for complex reasons, I wasn't able to take my medication last night. Often when this happens I'll sleep unusually well, and feel a bit over sensitive the following day. This morning though, I had an almighty nightmare that just won't leave me alone.

It was incredibly intricate and detailed, as mine usually are. There was stuff about moving into new flats, and My ex husband's parents moving someone into the same building, and my flat being burnt down, and my parents were in it but I can't remember why, and the was a shop that I was in with a friend but I'm not sure.

In part of the dream that seems to be blocked from me now remembering the actual details, I was raped. By the same person that did it to me in real life in 2015. 

The dream was then kind of about seeing him everywhere, and him taunting me that no-one will ever believe me; and then for some reason I was shopping with him, buying him greetings cards that I was kind of using in a passive aggressive way to show him that he was a nasty person. 

I can see the expression on his face. I'd forgotten what he looked like really, and especially forgotten the snide, smug, expressions he makes. I don't want to see it again. I want them to go away.

Passive Suicidal Ideation

I can't really write about most of today's therapy session. Mostly because I spent half the session having a meltdown over the subject we were trying to broach. Also because if I try to write about that subject I'll have another meltdown.

I learnt two things in that session though. Firstly, it became apparent that my memory has written off an entire year without me realising it. I can't really elaborate on that until we explore it further. Secondly, I experience "Passive Suicidal Ideation".

All. The. Time.

I had never heard of it before. This goes some way to highlighting how absolutely terrible mental health services are in the UK. I've seen NHS councillors. I've had counselling through MIND. I've had councillor with a mental health nurse for several years. I've seen a psychiatrist. None of them mentioned Passive Suicidal Ideation. Even when I was in suicide watch it didn't crop up.

Most people understand the notion of Suicidal Ideation meaning that someone wants to kill themselves. Passive Suicidal Ideation is basically wanting to be dead, but not wanting to do anything about it.

I'm not sure of my reason for not wanting to do anything about it. I usually tell professionals that it's because I don't want to cock it up and make life even worse for myself. That is true, but I don't think it's my whole reason. 

I've felt so strongly sometimes, that I want to be gone, that I've wished that someone else would just kill me. I've been through phases of walking the streets at night in dodgy places, in the hope that someone would get rid of me. I sometimes take stupid risks, or behave what would seem irresponsibly to people who don't understand. 

I can't say that life isn't worth living, because it is; if you have the brain chemistry for it! I've experienced genuine happiness a few times. Those times have made me so incredibly envious of anyone who experiences glimpses of happiness, joy, contentedness, most days. I just generally feel blank.

My current reason for not behaving so erratically is my cats. I genuinely love them, and feel responsible for their well being. There are 9 of them. It would be difficult to separate them into groups without breaking any bonds. I'm well aware that humans are selfish arseholes and wouldn't home them according to their needs, anyway. There's also the fact that they've been through a lot emotionally already. They're all very strongly bonded with me. I don't want to cause them another heartbreak. 

Maybe it sounds like excuses. Maybe that's what the mental health professionals I've talked to previously hear. I have often felt judged because my type of suicidal wasn't good enough for the professionals. Not real enough. They can't see it until someone is vomiting pills or slits their wrists.

For the record, I do know how I would end it if I decide to do it myself. But I won't write it here, because I don't want to give other people ideas.

I've felt this way for as long as I can remember though. I remember as a child holding my breath to see how long it took to die, trying to drown myself, holding a pillow over my head to see if it suffocated me.

I suppose that's actually active ideation though. I'm not sure when it became passive.

I can't speak for other people who experience it, but it really is something that is with me all of the time. When a professional asks how often I think about suicide they won't accept that as an answer though. It's always there - at the back of my mind - in thinking every day thoughts "when I die ..." or "when I'm dead ..." is constantly mixed in there. 

I'm often thinking about how I'd want my funeral to be, too. I usually dismiss myself though, as I don't really believe anyone will want one. No one really has any interest in me when I'm alive, so I don't see why they would when I die.

I've made sure I won't cost anything by donating my body to research. I'm utterly useless in life, so hopefully I'll be useful in death. 

Well, I'm totally rambling. I think you get the idea.