I want to die.
I spend minutes, hours, and whole days plotting my demise.
I rationalize how the world would be better without me.
I see pictures in my mind; almost like gruesome crime scene photos where I am the victim.
I think up new ways to die on the daily.
I lie in bed night after night wishing I wasn't breathing.
I just want to be done.
I want to give up.
I am exhausted by the fight that I must fight day after day.
I see pictures in my mind; almost like gruesome crime scene photos where I am the victim.
I think up new ways to die on the daily.
I lie in bed night after night wishing I wasn't breathing.
I just want to be done.
I want to give up.
I am exhausted by the fight that I must fight day after day.
I convince myself that everyone who loves me is lying to me.
I am sure that I am the worst.
I know that I am a burden to everyone around me.
I am terrified of my mind.
I am terrified of my mind.
I am a problem that needs to be solved.
There is only one solution I can see.
That solution leaves no room for a future.
That solution is putting myself 6 feet under.
That solution leaves no room for a future.
That solution is putting myself 6 feet under.
This is how I feel like 90% of the time.
These are the thoughts that own me when I fall down that rabbit hole.
This is what I'm trying to fix.
Because, honestly, I want to live.
I want to watch my niece and my nephews grow up.
I want to hear those munchkins' names on graduation day.
I want to see the world.
I want to change the world.
I want make everyone's life better.
I want to see you smile.
I want to see me smile.
I want to know what joy truly feels like.
I want to walk in the light that went out so many years ago.
I want to see me smile.
I want to know what joy truly feels like.
I want to walk in the light that went out so many years ago.
The thing is that all of that gets lost when I am cloaked in utter darkness. Nothing feels real and nothing matters, because I am ruining everything. Please don't take this as an invitation to tell me how great I am, I'm not looking for that. I'm not really looking for anything, I'm just trying to explain. I know that there are people in my life who look at me and wonder how I could ever be suicidal. My life is, admittedly, great. I am loved. I am cherished. I have everything I need. I am educated. I have held my dream job. I have had the opportunity to better the worlds of many people. I try to be there for others as much as possible. I try to give of myself. I try to appear put together. I try to be ok for all of you. The thing is though, that you just never know.
I live every day with this chasm of nothingness inside my chest and unfortunately no amount of love can fill it on the bad days. On the good days, I hear my baby boys say, "I love you" and I want nothing more than to live to hear it even one more time. On bad days, though, I can't even bring myself to so much as talk to them on the phone, because nothing matters at all; those little boys would be better off with such a mess of an aunt. My mind is a complex and frustrating place. I often tell my therapist that I feel as though I live in the middle of a tug of war; between wanting to live and wanting to die. Both sides pull at me constantly and sometimes one side or the other gets the upper hand. I think this will just always be my life.
I've come to accept the fact that the darkness is just part of me; but I've also come to know that the fact that it's there doesn't mean I have to let it win. There's a thing called Acceptance Commitment Therapy that has been absolutely revolutionary in my thinking as of late. ACT says that you don't necessarily get rid of the bad thoughts. What's important is not letting the bad thoughts take over. ACT is simply accepting the fact that you're having the thoughts and that that is OK.
Being suicidal is often something I feel guilty about; I beat myself up for wanting to do something that I know would rock the boats of more people than I can possibly imagine. Obviously this just leaves me feeling worse and wanting to die even more and it is so dangerous. But through ACT, I have realized that those thoughts will not end me unless I let them. I accept that I have those thoughts. I accept that I may never be free from those thoughts. But I also accept the fact that I have the power to let those thoughts roll on. I accept that I have the strength to climb out of the rabbit hole before I find the bottom of it. I accept the fact that even though a thought seems more than real, it may not be true. I accept the fact that my brain is sometimes an asshole and the answer is to just to say, "fuck off" and turn it off for a while.
I accept the fact the what I really really want is to live, even on the worst of days.
Rereading this is strange for me. I was in a good place in life when I wrote this. I was still in residential treatment for my mental health and felt like I was finally making some progress in life. It was so nice to be in a bubble where all I had to focus on was getting better. I've been back in the real world for a few years now and it's not the same. It's not all sunshine and rainbows and helpful therapy and groups and living in a community that truly understands what I go through because they have been there, too. I've, unfortunately, lost touch with most of the people that I spent those 5 months with and feel alone in my struggles again.
Mental illness is a bitch and I'm still struggling to find a foothold in life. I have since been hospitalized another 5 times. Fortunately, I have come to a point in life where I can tell when I'm letting the thoughts take over and I know to get my ass to the hospital before I do something that cannot be undone. I haven't attempted suicide in nearly 3 years and I'm proud of myself for that. I also haven't self harmed in about 4 months and I know from the past that I can keep that up for longer and I fully intend to .
At this moment though, the thoughts are starting to get the best of me again and I am in the scary part of my mind that seems to always lurk around the corner when I start to do well again. It hit me hard recently while sitting with my family and enjoying a night together. The idea of ruining their world is absolutely crushing to me, but I still have that part of me that is ready to leave this world. I hate that about myself. I feel so very selfish for thinking the things that I do.
It's now mental health awareness month and I all I hope is that my words bring some sort of strange comfort to another in knowing that you are never alone and that you can, in fact, keep going even when the fight is utterly exhausting. All I have ever wanted in life is to make a difference and help people. In my mind, I have already done that and perhaps my job on this Earth is done. I don't know why this is my thought process and why my death makes so much sense to me when everyone else thinks my life is worth saving.
All I know is that I'm still here right now. I still get up everyday and fight my biggest enemy; myself.
I'm trying so hard to fight my mother fucker of a brain. I'm trying so hard to do this for my family. I'm still not at a place where I see the point in getting better for myself, but I can fight for the people I love. I fight for those 2 little boys that deserve to have their aunt around to see them grow up. I fight for my mom who has always worked her ass off to give me the world. I fight for my dad who loves me so well and is always there when I need him. I fight for my big sister who would fight anyone and anything for me. I fight for my step-dad who came into my life and loves me like his own, no questions asked. I fight because it's not fair to put them through the pain of just seeing me deal with these illnesses and it would be even more unfair to put them through the pain of losing a daughter/ sister/ aunt. I fight because I don't want to be just another sad story.
I'm just questioning of that fight is really worth it.
I live every day with this chasm of nothingness inside my chest and unfortunately no amount of love can fill it on the bad days. On the good days, I hear my baby boys say, "I love you" and I want nothing more than to live to hear it even one more time. On bad days, though, I can't even bring myself to so much as talk to them on the phone, because nothing matters at all; those little boys would be better off with such a mess of an aunt. My mind is a complex and frustrating place. I often tell my therapist that I feel as though I live in the middle of a tug of war; between wanting to live and wanting to die. Both sides pull at me constantly and sometimes one side or the other gets the upper hand. I think this will just always be my life.
I've come to accept the fact that the darkness is just part of me; but I've also come to know that the fact that it's there doesn't mean I have to let it win. There's a thing called Acceptance Commitment Therapy that has been absolutely revolutionary in my thinking as of late. ACT says that you don't necessarily get rid of the bad thoughts. What's important is not letting the bad thoughts take over. ACT is simply accepting the fact that you're having the thoughts and that that is OK.
Being suicidal is often something I feel guilty about; I beat myself up for wanting to do something that I know would rock the boats of more people than I can possibly imagine. Obviously this just leaves me feeling worse and wanting to die even more and it is so dangerous. But through ACT, I have realized that those thoughts will not end me unless I let them. I accept that I have those thoughts. I accept that I may never be free from those thoughts. But I also accept the fact that I have the power to let those thoughts roll on. I accept that I have the strength to climb out of the rabbit hole before I find the bottom of it. I accept the fact that even though a thought seems more than real, it may not be true. I accept the fact that my brain is sometimes an asshole and the answer is to just to say, "fuck off" and turn it off for a while.
I accept the fact the what I really really want is to live, even on the worst of days.
Rereading this is strange for me. I was in a good place in life when I wrote this. I was still in residential treatment for my mental health and felt like I was finally making some progress in life. It was so nice to be in a bubble where all I had to focus on was getting better. I've been back in the real world for a few years now and it's not the same. It's not all sunshine and rainbows and helpful therapy and groups and living in a community that truly understands what I go through because they have been there, too. I've, unfortunately, lost touch with most of the people that I spent those 5 months with and feel alone in my struggles again.
Mental illness is a bitch and I'm still struggling to find a foothold in life. I have since been hospitalized another 5 times. Fortunately, I have come to a point in life where I can tell when I'm letting the thoughts take over and I know to get my ass to the hospital before I do something that cannot be undone. I haven't attempted suicide in nearly 3 years and I'm proud of myself for that. I also haven't self harmed in about 4 months and I know from the past that I can keep that up for longer and I fully intend to .
At this moment though, the thoughts are starting to get the best of me again and I am in the scary part of my mind that seems to always lurk around the corner when I start to do well again. It hit me hard recently while sitting with my family and enjoying a night together. The idea of ruining their world is absolutely crushing to me, but I still have that part of me that is ready to leave this world. I hate that about myself. I feel so very selfish for thinking the things that I do.
It's now mental health awareness month and I all I hope is that my words bring some sort of strange comfort to another in knowing that you are never alone and that you can, in fact, keep going even when the fight is utterly exhausting. All I have ever wanted in life is to make a difference and help people. In my mind, I have already done that and perhaps my job on this Earth is done. I don't know why this is my thought process and why my death makes so much sense to me when everyone else thinks my life is worth saving.
All I know is that I'm still here right now. I still get up everyday and fight my biggest enemy; myself.
I'm trying so hard to fight my mother fucker of a brain. I'm trying so hard to do this for my family. I'm still not at a place where I see the point in getting better for myself, but I can fight for the people I love. I fight for those 2 little boys that deserve to have their aunt around to see them grow up. I fight for my mom who has always worked her ass off to give me the world. I fight for my dad who loves me so well and is always there when I need him. I fight for my big sister who would fight anyone and anything for me. I fight for my step-dad who came into my life and loves me like his own, no questions asked. I fight because it's not fair to put them through the pain of just seeing me deal with these illnesses and it would be even more unfair to put them through the pain of losing a daughter/ sister/ aunt. I fight because I don't want to be just another sad story.
I'm just questioning of that fight is really worth it.
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