***Trigger Warning: Suicidal Thoughts***
The weird thing about suicidal thoughts is that when they come back, it feels like they never left.
It's as if they have been here this whole time. That this is all I have ever felt or ever will feel. That all of eternity exists in this suffocating and numbing sorrow.
So I know, logically, that I was not feeling this way a week ago. I know that I have spent the last several months with varying degrees of highs and lows, but nowhere close to the dreaming of and praying for death that I feel today.
I also know, logically, that by this time tomorrow I will (probably) no longer feel the way I do now. That even just a good night's sleep and a brief respite from my physical ailments will do wonders for my tumultuous brain.
But right now, at this precise moment, I would like nothing more than to not exist.
It's raining and Thelonious Monk's cover of "The Way You Look Tonight" is playing and my apartment has only the cool light of a bulb that is about to burn out.
On another night, this would feel poetic and romantic and joyful. I would bask in contentment and peace.
But tonight the ripple of muscle spasms throughout my back, arms, and legs, mixed with a certain degree of heartbreak, a hell of a lot of anxiety, and a general feeling that I am wasting all of my potential and will never be heard or seen or loved is all fogging up the windshield of my brain.
I can't see where I am driving.I need to pull over and stop or else I am going to wreck.
What's interesting this time around with these thoughts is that I am no longer interested in reaching out for help.
All people will do is try to make me keep living, so why would I want their advice?
I am also no longer at all concerned about my parents and their heartbreak. They are already the unhappiest people I know, what the fuck would it matter if they actually had a reason to be sad?
No one else is really all that close to me. Oh, sure, people will be sad. They will make it about themselves.
How they should have...
How it reminds them of...
How it makes them feel like...
But I will be forgotten in time.
Years ago, when I was building up the nerve to end things, I started systematically cutting ties with people and isolating myself so as to make it easier.
And though I have done a lot of work on myself these last few years, I haven't really rebuilt all of the relationships that I lost.
That's neither here nor there. It's just to say that if I were to do something, it would be easier now than ever.
And that should concern me.
But it doesn't. Not really.
And that concerns me.
Nonetheless, I'll be fine.
I will wake up tomorrow. I will go to work. I will come back to my empty apartment. I will get a little high. Maybe write a little. And then repeat.
And that's okay. Because eventually I am going to want to live again.
Until then, I am just holding on.
9:06 p.m. - 2017-05-21
Recent entries:
An odd sort of reflection - 2017-06-26
New Writing Desk. - 2017-06-25
I am finally starting to understand the things I have long proclaimed - 2017-06-16
Sorry. It's another suicide post. - 2017-06-11
Opening my eyes, stretching my arms - 2017-05-27
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