I haven't written a blog post in around two and a half years. I gave it up as a medium to express myself. I try to journal from time to time, but my handwritten chicken scratches are very stream of conscious and are rarely worth re-reading. I remember re-reading my blog so I could find solidarity in the person I was at some earlier time. As if each time I wrote, I was this entirely different person and I wanted to understand the secrets of that person, that earlier version of myself. It gave me a sense of comfort. And at the same time it outlined a history, a narrative.
I suppose I don't write anymore because I am stuck in what I refer to as a "narrative loop." The last seven years of my life have been a colossal disappointment for me. Year after year, I go from one bad job to the next, I repeatedly face crisis or undue stress, I relapse and try to recover, and I never meet anyone special to get romantically involved with. Although I have sporadic periods of joy, I have suffered more from three severe mental health relapses, with a number of other "tremors" before and after the quake, that have brought me closer to death, but maybe not far enough. What do you do when you've lost your will to live? Where is it hiding? is it behind the tree? buried in the sand? floating in the sky? I must hang on to some thread of a will to live that gets me to to call the suicide prevention hotline, that gets me to call my doctors, that gets me to check in to the hospital.
I try to cope - I cut, I cry, I clean, I confess. I don't care if my suffering makes me a more empathetic compassionate person, I don't care if my suffering makes me appreciate the good times more than others, I don't care if my suffering gives me creative juices to put into this world.
Please just make the pain stop.
Validating my unfortunate circumstances, acknowledging my suffering doesn't make me resent your freedom to live without debilitating mental illness any less powerful.
Telling me that things have to change, it's impossible to stay in the same narrative loop, the pendulum will shift ---- but once it's done ticking that opposite side, it goes right back to the the other direction, right back here.
Suicide is a dirty word. There has to be a way, a path towards creating a new life, to break free of the repeat cycle. New cities, new people, new opportunities! But same old demons, right? They say you can't run away from your problems, they just follow you wherever you go.
I have repeatedly said that my suicide is an inevitability. And it would not hurt the people in my life because it's been so many years in the making, that they'll find a way to come to terms with it.
But I fundamentally know it's traumatizing. That people would question the sufficiency of my treatment, the sufficiency of the support they provided and I do think they would miss me. Darkness follows a suicide. It strikes people with a trauma that just delivers your freedom from depression and shackles them with it.
So here I am trapped. I'm doomed. I'm hopeless. I'm despondent. Is there anything more to say?
I suppose I don't write anymore because I am stuck in what I refer to as a "narrative loop." The last seven years of my life have been a colossal disappointment for me. Year after year, I go from one bad job to the next, I repeatedly face crisis or undue stress, I relapse and try to recover, and I never meet anyone special to get romantically involved with. Although I have sporadic periods of joy, I have suffered more from three severe mental health relapses, with a number of other "tremors" before and after the quake, that have brought me closer to death, but maybe not far enough. What do you do when you've lost your will to live? Where is it hiding? is it behind the tree? buried in the sand? floating in the sky? I must hang on to some thread of a will to live that gets me to to call the suicide prevention hotline, that gets me to call my doctors, that gets me to check in to the hospital.
I try to cope - I cut, I cry, I clean, I confess. I don't care if my suffering makes me a more empathetic compassionate person, I don't care if my suffering makes me appreciate the good times more than others, I don't care if my suffering gives me creative juices to put into this world.
Please just make the pain stop.
Validating my unfortunate circumstances, acknowledging my suffering doesn't make me resent your freedom to live without debilitating mental illness any less powerful.
Telling me that things have to change, it's impossible to stay in the same narrative loop, the pendulum will shift ---- but once it's done ticking that opposite side, it goes right back to the the other direction, right back here.
Suicide is a dirty word. There has to be a way, a path towards creating a new life, to break free of the repeat cycle. New cities, new people, new opportunities! But same old demons, right? They say you can't run away from your problems, they just follow you wherever you go.
I have repeatedly said that my suicide is an inevitability. And it would not hurt the people in my life because it's been so many years in the making, that they'll find a way to come to terms with it.
But I fundamentally know it's traumatizing. That people would question the sufficiency of my treatment, the sufficiency of the support they provided and I do think they would miss me. Darkness follows a suicide. It strikes people with a trauma that just delivers your freedom from depression and shackles them with it.
So here I am trapped. I'm doomed. I'm hopeless. I'm despondent. Is there anything more to say?
No comments:
Post a Comment