It’s been a while since I have posted anything. I’ve had a rough month and a half.
Today is a day where I just feel like crying. I am numb to everything but sadness. Some of you may know that I lost my cat, Fiz, last month. That is proving to be insanely difficult to deal with. Everything reminds me of him. Even now, as I sit here at my computer, I have an empty void in my lap where a cuddly black kitty should be.
This is just one thing in a mountain of issues that I have. I am so overwhelmed by my own mind that I feel useless. I feel powerless to stop the emotions that bubble up and overflow. They send me into a spiral each time.
One tiny thing begins the destruction. Like dominoes, each thought knocks into the next and before I know it, I am falling over.
The more that I think about it, the more signs I see of it in my childhood. This goes way back. Honestly, I’m surprised that I’m alive right now.
I remember asking a friend in middle school if she had ever thought about suicide before.
Middle school. Fucking middle school and I was already wanting to kill myself. I had gone through several friend transitions by that point. Social status is a rough thing when you’re a kid. The problem wasn’t that honestly. It was me. I always felt out of place. It was like I just existed, and that people could only tolerate me for a little while before moving on.
That sort of social anxiety remains true today. I constantly feel like I’m just a phase in people’s lives. It’s like I’m ok enough to talk to, but not hang out with. I’m a permanent acquaintance in most instances. That feeling is my own. I alienate myself from society because I don’t see how I fit in.
I am a body taking up space. I am a body wasting resources. I am just here.
Face it, people with depression and suicidal thoughts are the philosophers of society. We question why we are here. We question everything about ourselves. We are left without answers.
This is what depression does. You can sit and question your value, your reason, your life and always end up circling back to “What’s the point?”.
Feeling like you just take up space is a horrible feeling. Knowing that plenty of others go through the same thing does nothing to fight the demons in your own mind. In fact, for me, it makes me jealous.
I hear about others committing suicide and I get jealous. That is truly fucked up. I know I shouldn’t feel that way, but I do. I end up feeling worse about myself because I see courage in others. They went through with it and I never have.
I am not encouraging suicide. I am not saying that people who go through with it are my heroes. I am simply stating what is in my mind. It is horrible and I don’t wish it upon anyone.
Yes. I have thought of suicide countless times. Sometimes it pops up in my mind several times a week. Whether there is something that sparks the spiral or not. It’s just there. Slice the wrists. Down a bunch of pills. Don’t wake up in the morning.
Those thoughts scare me. They scare me so much that when they surface, I end up shaking. On the really bad days, all I hear in my head is “Do it. Just fucking do it. Get it over with.”
I have never attempted. I have only thought about it. A small part of me recognizes that there are people who need me to be here. I stay for them. I stay for my husband. I stay for my cats. I stay for others, but not for me. My own desires seem unimportant in the long run. They always have.
I know it’s stupid. I know these thoughts in my head are ridiculous. It does not get rid of them.
I think of suicide. It happens. I’ve stopped being ashamed of it. It’s part of me. A very shitty part, but it’s still me. If you actually want to get to know me, then you’ll know that part too.
Today I just feel like crying. Maybe tomorrow will be better, maybe it won’t. Either way, I’m still hanging on. My grasp might be weak, but I’m holding on to what I have.