Life’s been heavy recently, and I’m seeing myself being slowly at the end of my rope. I try to do the things that I need to take care of myself. I try to rest… or at least learning what it means. I’m on therapy. I step out of my comfort zone to enjoy new things. I basically try to do the things I keep sharing here. But in the background, everything feels so heavy. And it costs so much energy.
Until now, 2020 has been like riding different waves that feels like a constant grief. And when I stop looking only at 2020, it feels like my life has been a constant grief. Right now, I see myself falling again in one of those overwhelming waves. It’s been a couple of days. I still don’t know how to handle it. I still don’t know how to describe it.
I’m struggling with suicidal thoughts and I’m writing this to try to break the cycle. I see myself giving in in silence. It costs so much to reach out and be honest, as it means to step away from what feels like an exit door, a relief, something that helps my heart to be less heavy, and more at peace. I made a plan, some time ago. I checked every detail. I decided when. But I also try to keep in mind all the things I know about suicidal crisis. I spent time on crisis lines. And I don’t want my partner to live with the image of finding my dead body.
A couple of days ago, I cried my soul out when I realized that I wasn’t able to remember how it felt to hold my brother’s hand before he passed away. I closed my eyes, I tried so hard to remember. It was a comforting feeling until now, because I felt so much life. It was an ultimate connection to him. But it’s gone now. And on the other side, the memories of violence I’ve been through are overwhelming, like I’m still there. I hate my mind. This keeps haunting me. Sharing doesn’t change what happened or what I did. I still feel disgusted when I see myself, even when I’m not to blame.
I try to be rational, even if it doesn’t make any sense to me. I know where the truth is. It just doesn’t resonate with my heart. I’m beyond the pain again, beyond tears. I’m numb and I see myself as if I was a stranger.
I feel stuck with a “tunnel vision” made of overwhelming thoughts of death. But I’m aware of it. I spent two weeks thinking about it almost constantly, going back and forth and pushing it away. I’m not even sure if it’s really about death. I just need an ending. I need a new cycle. A fresh start. I need hope. I need to feel alive. But all I can see are the memories stuck in my head and all the obstacles to overcome in order to try to heal, without any guarantee to get there.
Life shouldn’t feel like a constant battle. It just shouldn’t. Yet it keeps feeling like I’m allowed to get a taste of it just to miss it more when it’s gone. How cruel is that. I keep wondering why. I can’t blame God as I probably definitely gave up on him. Or he did. I can’t blame myself. I can’t blame anyone except… “bad luck”? Awesome to navigate in a life that seems to be nonsense… I crave so much for hope that even just a small joy, event, or step is enough to make me full of it. But it goes away so easily. Always.
I guess I’m just defeated. I’m afraid to sound like victimizing. Again, I’m safe, and my mind knows where the truth is. But my heart feels differently. And this truth never brings any guarantee about the future.
It was easier when I was convinced that something was wrong with me. Now I feel the injustices I’ve been through. And even if I begin to understand how to change the narrative, I’m not sure if it’s not too late. Everything feels heavy.
Trying to keep some clarity and hang on to this thought I know too well: “it’s temporary”. But where’s the comfort if I just keep hitting rock bottom? These days, what’s supposed to be temporary feels like a lifetime. I fear to be stuck at the same place in one or even ten years. Again and again. I can’t project myself. Then how am I supposed to keep hope without feeling like I’m blinding myself? I need a direction. I need something real. I need proofs.
I always thought, and felt, that I’ll die at a young age. That I won’t be able to go far in life. It’s part of the things that are deeply stuck in my mind and I’m trying to change that. But in the end, is it about the amount of years or how the time given could have been used? I also hear the empowerment speeches. The self-motivation words about perseverance and holding on. But it’s frustrating to me. Holding on is not always about being proactive. Sometimes it’s not glorious, full of pride and glitters. Sometimes it’s about being passive and enduring. I’m in the midst of it.
I want to live. I want to break down this mountain of walls in my head that prevent me to embrace love, joy, beauty. I had this taste of life. I know how it feels. I know it’s real. Sometimes I wish I didn’t.
There’s just so many walls, I don’t even know where to start anymore. And I wish I didn’t feel like I actually start over and over at square one without any sense of progress.
I guess this is just a vent.
“It will pass.”