That feeling you have so much to say it feels like pressure in your chest.
You have to write, need to write, it’s a gnawing nag that won’t let up, it feels necessary to your existence.
You don’t know where to start or even what it is that needs to be said.
Your brain feels deadened by depression, your body revved by anxiety mixed with panic. You want to hibernate in your cave yet you must get out and walk to alleviate the toxic mixture of sensations, thoughts and moods.
So you write it out, you untie the knots with your words. String them together until your being finds the balance it needs to go about the day. You take it 10 minutes at a time and don’t berate yourself, don’t compare yourself to others or to your past self who you naively believed to be tougher than this, stronger than this.
You face the feelings of vulnerability and nakedness as you read over past blog posts. The embarrassment hot on your cheeks. The admittance of imperfection. The uncovering of how deep you’ve been choked by countless intrusive thoughts. Sticky, negative thinking patterns, ignored by going through the motions of living.
You see the pattern woven into the years you’ve walked upon this earth. Presenting yourself as balanced, good natured, sane and put together. Under the façade the lava runs hot bubbling through the cracks. Widening the cracks until you eventually break wide open into a volcanic episode that screams “I’ve been dying this whole time and I can’t contain it another second.”
I’m not ok, and that’s ok.
You put it out there, not for your sake, but for the sake of others. Countless souls walking about too afraid to speak up, to embarrassed to admit their pain, too conditioned by an unaccepting society, buried under the weight of the stigma. A society that buys into shining up their exteriors into looking like the perfect package, too afraid to be authentic. Fooling themselves and others with falsehoods of achievement and success.
Hoping that if you speak up, if you share the rawness that you carry, it may help even one soul. That by exposing the deepest parts of yourself, you’ll give others permission to do the same. Even if they don’t speak up, maybe it will ignite a hope and a knowing that they are not alone, and maybe that will be enough to keep them going.
My worksheet from this morning. Am I 5? I suppose a 5 year old would have worded it differently. Why did my immature scribble feel so good?
I woke up angry, depressed and overwhelmed. My “hot thought” being “I hate life.”
Some day’s I feel like a preschooler. Throwing unintellectual tantrums in my head. A philosophical dead zone.
When Jase woke up he brought me down a few notches and had me write out a list of things I enjoy.
Then, I got on a rant about seeing the quote “The quality of your life is in the quality of your habits” and the white hot anger came spewing out of me on how I viewed it………………
He said “Honey, this time has taken you, you have not taken it. This time has chosen you to work on your mental health. It is the most productive thing you could be doing right now. Wouldn’t the world be a much more peaceful place if we would stop commenting on other peoples lives and just focus on living our own? Does it really matter who’s doing what with the time they have?”
Living on the sidelines, clinging to ideas and systems that promise to “fix” you.
Holding tightly to a regimen you believe will make you normal, dare you think perfect………..
Spending your life trying every new method that crosses your path, all the while your own thoughts, emotions and traumas pile up, suffering neglect underneath the years of clinging yet never experiencing.
Eventually the smoke clears.
You see the carnage surrounding you. The years of telling yourself to try harder. Don’t give up. You’re going to find your “home”, you just haven’t worked hard enough.
It’s painful to see, yet simultaneously the most beautiful sight your soul has ever beheld.
It can not, will not, be covered up by Christianity, meditation, manifestation, new age spirituality, endless workouts, perfect nutrition, pod casts, spiritual audio books, moving across the country, changing jobs, endless new hobbies…….
Such valiant effort is to be applauded.
Eventually you fall to the ground. A puddle of sweat and elbow grease.
It’s time to face the beliefs about yourself you’ve carried in a burlap sack since childhood. The years have been hard on you and have added weight to the mental load you carry.
Oh my dear, how you’ve clung, held on tightly to ideas, spiritual beliefs, practices and lifestyles.
Through it all you never experienced yourself.
It’s time to meet the being that is you and I assure you she is beautiful beyond measure.
I got a souvenir for my failed attempt at offing myself a few days ago.
This is not a post for sympathy, pity, “feel better”, “I’m so sorry” or judgement of any kind etc….etc….words fall flat when you’d rather be dead.
Suicide is a real thing. It’s a monster that hides in unseen cracks and pounces when you’re not looking. It puts you in handcuffs and controls your actions. Actions without feeling.
No one saw it coming, I didn’t see it coming.
Yes, dead……..and if you’ve never felt the yearning for that final peace, consider yourself lucky. If you’ve never felt hopeless to the point of seeing only blackness, consider yourself lucky. If life has never felt so heavy that your tired body can no longer carry it, consider yourself lucky. If you have felt these things I see you, I understand you…………..
Something snapped in my brain. Broke into a million shards of self hatred, discontent, unanswered questions, an ocean of shame that is no longer swimmable.
I was on a walk, came home and……….
I slammed a handful of klonopin, a handful of sonata, and an entire bottle of muscle relaxers. Downed them all with a glass of wine.
I sent my 4 kids a text letting them know I love them more than life and I will forever be sorry for the may times I’ve hurt and disappointed them. They are my world.
The next thing I remember is waking up in a weird place with magenta scrubs on. My first sentence “Where the FUCK are my underwear. Which one of you assholes took my underwear off?”(being a rape victim your undies are your most prized possession in life)
Then a squad of police officers put me in a van. The driver was a woman and was listening to heavy metal music. If I had the energy I would have pounded on the glass and screamed “Bitch! I just tried to kill myself, enough with the death metal you stupid cunt.”
Once at the mental health facility I had to completely undress in front of 3 nurses so they could check me for bruises. It was humiliating and I told them to just let me fucking get dressed.
They put me in a room with nothing on the walls, 2 plastic beds (think crib mattress) 1 pillow and a chair. The blankets on the bed were thinner than my favorite threadbare t-shirt. I cranked the heater up to 90.
The first doctor came in. She began her spiel that was clearly scripted. You know the one she says to every new patient. I said “Have you ever slept on one of these shitty beds?”
Her face went blank. “um no, I haven’t”
“Well, it should be a requirement for all the staff to sleep in one for at least a night. We are people here, not animals that can sleep on anything. And by the way I’m done listening to your scripted spiel, kindly get the fuck out of my room. This place is depressing and disgusting and I can’t believe you think you can actually help someone who’s hurting by putting them in a prison cell.”
“Um, we’ve been told this is a very nice facility.”
“Well it’s not, now get out of my disgusting room”
I was there 2 days. Refused food, refused meds and refused vitamins. At one point I tried to escape.
They let me go because I’m on Medicaid, government cheese. I lied to all their questions and said I was fine because people on Medicaid are treated differently than those with higher paying insurance.
Our landlord is pissed that I’ve been “exposed” to the coronavirus. He wants us out by the 1st because I’m now a liability. He doesn’t want to be responsible for a dead body. All the neighbors know and god forbid he’s embarrassed I’m here.
The terrible truth is that I’m pissed someone found me too soon. Life gives me an exhaustion to heavy to bear. There are too many problems to fix and I can’t see a way out of them.
I don’t care if you think suicide is selfish. It’s not. It’s an answer for problems that are too big. It’s rest. Maybe you think I’m a whiny ungrateful bitch, so be it.