[I just read through this and it’s messy and inelegant and I don’t know if I’ll keep it up for long because BLAH it’s depressing and doesn’t really have a point but whatever here goes.]
My mom sent me a piece from the Washington Post the other day. A woman had written about her sister’s suicide. It’s good, you should read it.
She talks about how her sister felt worthless. A lot of people who kill themselves apparently think the world would be better off without them.
I don’t necessarily think the world would be better off without me. I don’t usually feel worthless or like I’m unworthy of existence– at least, those aren’t usually the thoughts that are in my head when I think about hurting myself.
I’m just sick of everything, and I’m tired, and I want to stop.
I’m doing a workbook with my therapist, it’s all about how to learn to cope with all these feelings. And it talks about various ways to distract myself, redirect my attention, cope without harming myself.
They advise drawing on your wrist with a red pen if you feel like cutting. So there are red pen marks on my wrist, tracing old scars. It didn’t help, and now I’ve got ink all over my arm.
This isn’t a cry for help. I just want to give a snapshot, however fuzzy, of what suicidal depression feels like.
Everything feels pointless. I eat because I get hungry. I’m living mostly on bread and butter. What’s the point in eating well? What’s the point in anything? I sleep because it’s a good escape and because my body needs sleep. I manage to sleep mostly normal hours these days. But sometimes I nap because it’s better than being awake, dreading everything.
I feel angry for no reason that I can tell. I feel frustrated. The idea of doing anything other than the bare minimum makes me want to scream. Being alive makes me want to scream. The anger isn’t a usual thing. It’s a special emotion this week, rage. Don’t know why.
I’m tired of being broke, but no one is hiring me, and I don’t know if I could work anyway. I’m tired of asking for help, but I need help.
I wish I could just be left alone to sort of… fade away. I just want to be allowed to subsist on my bread and butter and tea and not have anyone demand anything of me.
Wanting a better life is hard. I don’t have the energy to try right now. And it feels like all the effort does little good or no good at all. All this trying for so few results.
I have a patient and understanding boyfriend, but this is all way too huge to lay at his feet or ask him to handle. This is me. This isn’t his problem and he can’t fix it. Not his circus, not his monkeys.
I stay alive because it would make people sad if I died. If killing myself were as easy as flipping a switch, I can’t say that I’d still be here. But it’s hard, and it’s messy, and I don’t want to do that to people.
My meds were working and now they’re not. They kill my sex drive, which really takes a lot of fun out of life. You don’t realize how important that is until you turn into a cold fish who can’t enjoy intimacy. I’m sure it’s lots of fun for my boyfriend as well.
I had another tooth removed and now I can barely chew. So that’s fun.
I’m sure I’ll feel better soon.
Post title is taken from “Ordinary World” by Duran Duran
Self-Indulgent Drivel 