Please note that this is not a “letter”. I am just descending into a really dark place right now, and I need to write it out. I need the space to flesh it all out. So please do not race to report me because when the time comes, words won’t be even written down. Everything will be left to the privacy of my loved ones. I am serious.
I have been really reflective as of late. It’s a bit surprising considering how numb I felt the last few weeks. But my emotions are on the rise, and I feel like I am affected by more things – by words, by people, and things happening around me and to me. I heard something dark and beautiful, or what I felt was dark and beautiful the other day, and I have been thinking about it ever since – “We live many lives, each one inching closer to Nirvana….or perfection. Maybe, just maybe, this is far as I can get with this one, and it’s time to take that leap to that next one”. And maybe this is true; maybe I have lived my full potential with this life; maybe I do need to get to my next life, because maybe – it will be almost perfect. I say almost perfect because I just do not believe in perfect. It does not exist. And maybe that’s what’s wrong – I am trying to find this “ideal” or “perfection”, and I just need to let go, and suffer through the perpetual cycle of numbness and depression (with the once-a-year period of mania). Maybe I just need to accept everything the way it is, and let go. Who knows?
I just don’t know if that’s what I am supposed to do. Going back to this life, I have found my deepest moments of happiness at points in my life, and experienced the truest of love with family, friends and loves (because they are all perfect, and I do not know what the hell is wrong with me that I cannot see their faces clearly against ideations). And seriously, that’s all I can ask for. But right now, I cannot process how to make this current life work for me (and not for the sake of others as selfish as that sounds) against all the doctors, all the meds, all the books, all the classes etc. If I take the selfishness out, I still want to think negatively, because I am truly of the belief that the people I love most, despite a tough period in their lives, will recover, will find happiness, and will start over. How to find meaning, purpose, and happiness remains a mystery to me, and I am getting exhausted with trying to find the answer. Some people have experienced this search all of their lives, and I am sitting at 5 years, so what would I know? What do I know? I guess you could say I am weak. I cannot do the life-long search….it just hurts every single part of my mind and body. I am literally breaking some days. A lot of people (not necessarily my doctors) have said to me that motivated change would dictate the ending to this story. But I am not sure. I am not sure a change in scenery, or job, or anything would fill that hole in my brain, soul or heart. I have tried change in the past few years, and I wouldn’t say it has necessarily made me better….at all. So maybe the issue is just that I am okay with my reality – or what I think is my reality.
I am just really okay with dying (intentional / non-intentional) – okay?
Despite hesitation, I have joined a suicide survivors support group. It’s a 20 week program where I am supposed to learn safety / survival skills, and maybe (despite my skepticism) lift myself up one day from writing these types of words, thoughts and scenarios. Today’s exercise involved debating a number of statements starting with “I have a right…” – “I have a right to make a choice”, “I have a right to express my feelings”, I have a right to live….”. “I have a right to live” was the last statement after 23 statements, and we only got through 3. But, my eyes were drawn and distracted to that sentence for the full 1.5 hours because I was thinking about the opposite. I feel “I have a right to die”, and that ties in hand-in-hand with “I have a choice”. I do not actually think that anyone – doctors, family, friends, loves, etc. – has a right to make me stay if I do not want to stay. If I want to give into my demons, and the fucked-up 24 hour-images of shit in my head, I have that choice. It is my choice. It is no one else’s right to say – please live (I am sorry to my loved ones – yes I do have a soul). I feel, in some ways (and it can be argued), “I have the right to live” does not actually apply in any suicide / attempt situation because I always have the choice to live. You do not have to say that I have a right or not. I am not living in a situation where that right is not available (apples versus oranges). I can fight voices, I can fight thoughts, and I can fight through it all if I had the willpower to do so. And maybe that’s the problem. I have lost my will to live. I have lost my will to fight. I am simply going through the numbest motions right now, and the reason I am still sitting here writing this is because – every day I am just grasping onto some pockets of light because I do not have the nerve to go through with a third try with the possibility of yet another failed attempt.
I can walk through all the various fucked-up scenarios available to me because they are ever-present in my mind varying in different levels and intensity. As I am working, as I am reading a book, as I am running, as I am talking to you, whatever I am doing, these images are continually de-railing my thoughts:
- The 20th floor jump from my building
- Jumping in front of the subway
- Throwing myself in front of a car
- Drowning in the lake
- Jumping off of the DVP bridge
- Sitting again on my kitchen floor in quietness and counting out pills
- Travelling somewhere with a desert and dying of dehydration and heat exhaustion
- The “actual” plan
The problem (or solution?) right now is that a part of me is always still scared. I was scared before the first overdose. I was even more scared before the second overdose, despite the way in which I carried myself out – calm and collected. The way the pattern is going, I think I will be horrified this time. Right now, my hands are shaking writing this and my head is hurting because I am literally at the crossroads some days of deciding between life and death, and I know this feeling all too well. Me and the ‘fine line’ are best friends at this point. And believe me when I say it’s horrifying – it’s horrifying. So, to the one or two people who are reading this, I can say to you unequivocally, I do not have the nerve yet for a third try. The most nerve I have is to pick up a razor and dig into my skin a few times until it bleeds – my pastime last night. I guess I am not sure if that’s because I want to feel pain, or if I am conducting a test rehearsal for my brain. I am not sure. Honestly, I am not sure about anything anymore.
Anyways, I said it above – right now I do not have the nerve, but somewhere deep down, I feel like the time is coming (not sure when – could be tomorrow, could be in a year, but it’s a gut feeling). I am trying to balance the feelings of not wanting to live, not having the will to live, but not having the nerve. But I guess, the latter is holding out for something (who knows), so I continue onwards for another day. I guess that’s something for ‘hope’ right?
Mania – can you perhaps please return? Time to take my bazillion meds.