Grey Area

It’s hard to remember that there is never truly a ‘right way’ of dealing with suicide, whether it’s you or a family member that has attempted. People will always get hurt, there will always be those feelings of shame, pointing fingers, those that will calls us melodramatic and say things that could tighten the noose a day sooner.
So knowing that, why not just buck up and take on that added shame when you reach out? I tell myself. Why am I so afraid of uttering my deepest secrets to the person that I’m expected to do that with?

Because the moment I do, he will remind me that people that are truly suicidal will actually follow through with it. And even if there is truth to those words, I feel ashamed. Perhaps he’ll call me dramatic again, tactlessly point out that there is a small part of me that does want to live but in a way that makes me dread myself. More shame. And then the pain comes with the reminder that doing this just hurts others around me, that it hurts him, makes him not feel good enough for me. I don’t want to hurt him, nor do I want to seem like an attention seeker..

Like many people here, suicide has plagued my mind for as long as I could remember and like everyone else I have good days and bad days. Some days I can push it back in my mind and focus elsewhere. Other days though.. they are excruciating. I have fought the urge to cut because I know I have no way of hiding it from my lover. I have attempted to end things again and again, waking up to a spinning room that smells of vomit (which thankfully doesn’t raise any suspicion since throwing up isn’t exactly unusual for me.)

I have failed, and although there are those few days where I am grateful that I have failed, I am drowning more and more in shame of that failure. Now I lay here, unsure of what to do. I can’t live, can’t die, so here I am.. just laying in grey.