I don’t talk about it much. Especially online. I battle with suicidal thoughts on a regular basis. I have learned to try to get through those feelings and fight them off through my passion of art, through hanging with people who make me laugh and through the love my partner gives me.
I don’t know how else to handle it. Other than by reaching out to others who can relate and being a help to those who are also hurting. That small bit of appreciation or knowing that I can help someone else, even if just by offering a kind word, offers me a small bit of energy to hang onto. It helps me get through another moment.
Often, I spend a lot of time on here because it’s easier for me to express myself through relating to others. So I offer my heart through my understanding of other’s situation. I share my experiences and my knowledge. How I handled what they are going through. How I got through it. It’s the only way I know how to truly be open.
I don’t know how to come on her and say how awful I’m feeling. How each day is a fight to get out of bed. How most days I don’t get dressed. Taking a shower feels like a major chore, let alone cleaning up the space around me. It’s hard to admit that I look into the mirror and I hate what I see. I hate the things I’ve done. I hate my body and I hate how broken I am. The health issues I battle. It’s hard admitting to the public that the only reason I haven’t taken my life is because I’m afraid of failure. I’m afraid of pain. I’m afraid of suffocation. I’m afraid of the process. And I’m afraid of messing it up, ending up in the hospital, with a bill I can’t afford and hating myself even more.
It’s hard to admit and share how I begged my partner to stay home from work with me yesterday because I could feel the mania coming on. I felt crazy, restless, scared and like I just wanted to put a gun to my head. I needed to not be alone.
It’s scary and hard to tell people the truth of how I am feeling and I know that so many others battle with this same feeling. The fear of being a burden. The fear of people not knowing what to say or how to help. The knowing that only I can help myself. The fear of being told to stop being negative, be more positive and be thankful for the good things I have.
I am not ungrateful. I am so grateful for the few close friends I have, for a partner who is so compassionate, patient and understanding. I am grateful for the things that I have that I know I don’t deserve.
But I hide secretly in a corner behind the screen, behind the scenes, behind the online laughs and giggles, hurting. I have fought suicidal feelings for so many years that I know some people don’t even take me seriously anymore. And I’ll admit there are days where I want to force myself to take my life just to prove to people how much I mean it. So they can see how much I genuinely hurt. I know that sounds terrible. But fear always stops me. But feeling like people don’t take that pain seriously feeds a motivation to do it in a way I don’t know how to explain. I guess that comes from a life time of not being taken seriously. And being tired of it.
I don’t know how to explain this fear. But it’s there and it has held me back for so long.
I don’t like sharing things like this here. Because while I want to be understood and want people to be able to understand what I am going through and fight off every day, I don’t want it to make people think that I’m incapable. Incapable of being professional. Incapable of being good at the few things I am. Incapable of doing the few things I enjoy. I hate sharing because I fear it will turn people off from me in the places I am trying to be of help. In places I’m trying to be a positive force in. I don’t want people to think poorly of me for battling these things. I don’t want people to think less of me because I am hurting.
Why am I sharing this? Because everyone on Twitter right now is saying to speak up. If you’re hurting not to be afraid to reach out. Because even though I don’t want to admit it, half of the time I don’t feel safe with myself. But I continue to fight the best I can to keep hanging on. I make myself paint. I make myself reach out and help others. I make myself do things. But there is always that fear that I’ll lose my drive and will. That I’ll grow too tired of trying when I know deep down I carry a deep hurt, a deep sadness, a deep pain that I can’t let go of.
I’m hurting. And I have been fighting for my life more than ever the last 3 years. Seeing doctors, therapists, life and family counselors and taking the steps I need to get into a better environment and better relationship. I stopped fighting against medication and accepted that maybe inpatient is worth trying. Even if I’m terrified. I haven’t given up even though so many times I wanted to. I kept going. Even though when I finally listened to my therapist and went to the hospital to seek out inpatient care…they turned me away. I still kept going. Even through I sat crying in the parking lot with my partner because I finally worked up the courage to ask for help and I was rejected, I still went home and kept trying.
But, even with all of that trying and continued effort of helping myself, I still lie here at 3 AM in the morning wondering, what am I doing? Why am still here?
I can’t share everything that has lead me to feel this way. It’s too much. But I carry so many skeletons and so much hurt. It’s heavy. And so often I just want to turn off the lights, let darkness fall and let the silence put my mind at ease in an eternal sleep.
I know this is long. I’m sorry. This is another reason why I don’t post. I have too much too say and no filter.