My bills are paid. I have food to eat, a place to live (I wanna move so badly!) and a decent car. I have great people in my life who love and care about me.
I own at least 25 pairs of fuzzy socks. My dogs are loyal (although oftentimes difficult for me to care for due to my chronic pain ick) and I love them dearly.
Then why, I ask, am I so damned anxious and still experiencing suicidal thoughts, especially in the morning?
That’s a great question and I betcha that there’s a few of you who are reading this that might relate to what I am putting down here.
Some days are much better than others.
I’ll notice myself recoiling at the thought of dispatching myself. I have too much to do! It’s not over yet, I’m still kind of young. I still have a chance to make up my past mistakes and being so miserable for the greater majority of my 15 years with asshat.
I have dreams to fulfill, jokes to laugh at, hugs to give and to receive. I might even have a grandchild someday, you never know. I’ve got tons of love stockpiled up to dole out to a good man who finally wants and deserves it.
I should want to be alive!
Living with fibromyalgia isn’t easy, in fact it’s downright exhausting. But seriously, it’s far more pleasant than fighting with a brain that just won’t get the fucking hint that life is still worth living.
I’ve tried it all going on close to ten years now. Group therapy, one-on-one talk therapy, outpatient, inpatient, drugs, supplements, kale suppositories…yet I continue to deal with this unwanted pest that keeps whispering of dead and morbid things.
Since I was just a kid, might I add. Is this just the way that I was made? Is there no hope to rid myself of these intruding, destructive thoughts?
Should I just learn to live with it and hope that perhaps in my next life I’ll be a perky, happy person who has never been depressed a day in their life?
*True story, I had someone tell me that a few years back and that they had no idea how I could feel the way that I did. All I could do was restrain myself from saying, “bite me.”
It’s the worst feeling to chronically daydream about all of the various ways to off yourself.
I have a “suicide buddy” that I contact when I start to get overtaken with these thoughts. It’s pure mutual understanding and no judgement, no overreacting and no threatening to call 911. We’re able to be as detailed as we’d like, without any restrictions.
It goes both ways. Usually one of us are in better form that particular day to help talk the other one down.
It’s not an easy topic to openly discuss at the family get-together or with someone who will freak easily and call the funny farm.
I’m excellent at hiding it…after all, I’ve had over 30 years of practice.