Tuesday, November 12, 2013

TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE (This is how I will go.)

EDIT: If you really truly feel like you may hurt yourself, please please PLEASE take any of the following steps: go to the emergency room, call a trusted friend, or call the national suicide hotline at  1-800-273-TALK (8255).  No matter what your brain (or anyone else) is telling you right now, you are loved and the world is better with you in it.  Take care.

* * * * * *

I wrote this post back in August.  I was at that time, as in so many times throughout my life, in a low period.  I thought of these things and nothing else for a day or two.  I wrote this blog post and then thought, well, it might upset someone if I post it.  And then I knew that I was actually alright, and that this too would pass.

I share it now because maybe it will help someone.  Someone who has these thoughts and thinks that they are crazy or maladjusted or anything other than just really depressed.  So I'm going to share my darkest depressed thoughts and tell you that you can have these thoughts and still be OK.  I promise.  Be well, take care, and ask for help if you need it.

* * * * * *

In my suicide fantasy, I'm much thinner.  In it, I lie back in a warm tub, the big old clawfoot in the hall bath, full of crystal clear water.  My hair is pulled back, tight.  I'm smiling a little.  I lie back, and with a safety razor I cut one wrist.  Just one, just the left one.  And then I watch as red ribbons of blood curl from the cut, pulsing in heart-pushed crimson waves.  And everything is quiet.

Slowly, the pink-red water drains from the tub, because the stopper doesn't quite fit.  And I lie there, naked, wet, and dead, hair matted.  But as I said, I'm much thinner.  I'd have to be, really, to get into that tub.

Others are simpler, even more passive, less visual.  I swallow 100 milligrams of flexaril and a dozen benadryl with my evening pills.  Simple.  Maybe I wake up in the hospital... maybe not.  Either way, not dealing with this fucking life for a while.

And I wonder, if I go, will I get to try again?  Is this how I ended up in this life - paying for the mistakes of a life former?

In some, I wander barefoot into the neighborhoods that still have drive-bys.  Or just lie down in a dark roadway and wait.

And then there are the ones where I drive.  Into a light post, into the lake, off of a bridge.  But if I survived, how would I pay for my car?

I don't want to die.  But on nights like this, I don't want to live.  Not this life.  Not with these feelings.  Not in these circumstances.  Maybe by tomorrow it will have passed.  Maybe not.  I really don't know.

Right now, I'm still worried about hurting people's feelings.  so we're probably OK, for now.

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