I’m not suicidal in the manner of which I have a plan for suicide but I would still like to be dead. I just don’t think I’m a very nice person. Death is with me all the time. When I think about spending the next 40+ years feeling the same way I have felt the last 40+ years, I don’t think I can face it. I feel things so overwhelmingly, so invasively that it impairs my behaviour and my judgement. To think of the next 40 years still feeling that knot in my stomach, the tears jammed in the bottom of my throat, the panic in my mind, the loathing I have for myself and the impact that has on the people that matter most to me, I can’t see the point. Why would I want to inflict that on other people?
I’m so ashamed of myself. I look back at how I shut myself down and make myself unavailable to people, how is that fair on them? Who would want to live like that? I don’t finish stuff, I give up, I’m irrational. When I see my partner’s pain for example it overwhelms me the point where I can’t comprehend or choose an action other than to shut myself down. I look at what my illness has done to him, I have such regret. Then comes the fear, he will leave me of course because who wants to live with a shadow of a person. It’s lonely, it’s tiring, it’s unfulfilling and endless. How can I ask anyone to live their life like that? When I don’t want to live my life like that. I’m so tired, so scared, so full of loathing. I don’t want to be here in this life anymore.
I’m so lonely and so sad. There is this disengagement between me and people and that space is filled with just scary shit. I should know how to make my partner my best friend but is it my ego, my illness, his ego or am I just not good enough. I see the easy exchanges between people, best friends, husband and wife, parent and child and I feel like such a failure. I feel like a paper doll trying to walk through a cyclone. I hate this illness.
I don’t want to be me anymore. I’m tired of being ashamed, of being embarrassed. I see what my illness has turned my children into, I see what my illness has turned my partner into. I think back over the past and I see how my illness has turned everyone away and I don’t want to go on. I don’t want to keep trying. When you see that light go out of somebody from the stress of dealing with you it’s horrific. I don’t know what to do.
Apparently I’m a smart person, but surely a smart person would find the key to getting rid of this shit. Apparently I am a strong person but then why do I feel so weak? Right now I feel like I am having a heart attack my chest is painful and it feels like my throat is being squeezed from the inside. The upper part of my chest is full of tears that I’m too tired and too afraid to shed. My right arm has tremors, I feel sweaty and clammy and the thought of food makes me ill. There is a scream lodged at the top of my throat but I’m too uptight to let it out.
My head. Oh so full of panic and unkind words toward myself. I am subhuman. I am not skilled enough to tackle the professional world. I should just die and be done with it. I am humiliated, shamed and angry. I feel stupid. I am stupid. I will never amount to anything in this world. My breath wants to rasp in my throat like an asthma attack.
I keep blurting words and phrases out loud over and over. I am going to die. I am going to die. Stop it, stop it. Help me please help me. Which is fine, sort of, when I’m at home. But today I am on the train. So I am trying to distract myself so I don’t speak out loud in public.
I am fidgety. At the train station, instead of waiting quietly for the train, my feet were shuffling constantly, taking me slowly in repeating circles on the same spot. I feel oily and slimy, I keep shaking my head from side to side. No. No. No. No. The clicking of my tongue on the roof of my mouth as I say that is strangely comforting.
There is no room in my lungs for air. I feel lightheaded and buzzy, my face is tingling. The sounds of the people and the train are very abrasive and I find myself jumping at noises and the movements I catch out of the corner of my eye. My neck muscles are tight and sore my shoulder aches like a bitch, making my left arm feel weak and useless.
A lot of the noise in my head is implied, making it difficult for me to capture exactly what is going on in there. It is equally difficult for me to capture exactly how disgraceful and contaminated the sounds make me feel. Way, way in the back of my head there is a little voice telling me to hold on. That this too will pass and I will be back in the land of the living. I crave that feeling of peace and surety that is missing right now.
I am angry with myself for not managing this better. I have felt this building up and have done the right things, yet here I find myself again. While not suicidal, I certainly would not argue if God came knocking to take me home. Why can I not stay in front of this for any great length of time? It is not like I sit on my hands and do nothing to manage it. I have been calling Lifeline, I have been slowly working on my goals. I have been meditating, writing, talking to others. Yet still I find myself here.
I feel like such a burden. My partner already has enough on his plate and I am loathe to add more. I think the strain of me is taking its toll. I feel so guilty for that. He must be wondering what he has got himself into, saddled with this person with big dreams and no runs on the board.
My suicidality must feel like an enormous rejection to the people who love me. In my mind I imagine how overwhelming that sense of powerless to make things different must feel for them. I picture it wearing them down making their world smaller and darker and louder. My solution to that is to not share with them. But they know I am holding back from them which makes them feel powerless, makes their world smaller and darker and louder. So the end result for them is the same. So I can’t see why anyone would want to be with me.