I don’t even know where to start explaining this…for that matter I’m not even sure that I’m trying to explain something to begin with.Â Maybe I’m just trying to understand it.Â Maybe some part of my brain is hoping that if I string enough words together someone, somewhere, will be able to explain it all to me.
I don’t even know if I’m suicidal.Â I used to think that “suicidal” was something definitive.Â Something that you’d know if you were or you weren’t.Â It didn’t seem like the sort of thing you’d miss, you know?Â I suppose if someone asked me outright I’d say no, I’m not suicidal.Â Except that my favorite moment of the day is that split second before any thoughts enter my head in the morning.Â Except that some days I am so dead inside that I sit down and drink everything I can get my hands on and listen to the saddest music I can find so that I’ll remember what it’s like to feel.Â And then there are other nights when I wake up in the middle of the night crying, and I can feel that something is so very, very wrong.Â Except that I took half a bottle of Xanax and drank until I was unconscious, and when I woke up the next morning I had absolutely no idea what had happened the night before beyond the pills and the alcohol.Â I woke up in bed to a friend calling me because he said he was afraid I wasn’t going to wake up after the night before…I don’t even remember talking to him.Â It’s hard to explain how I can simultaneously realize just how very very messed up that sounds and still stand there both believing and assuring him that there’s nothing to worry about.Â Except that I found my way to this site after lying in bed holding a loaded gun to my forehead with my finger on the trigger and the safety off, and I got up to google whether or not I’d feel pain if I shot myself in the head.Â But other than that no, I’m not suicidal….
I don’t know how to explain that I can do all of these things and still rationally think to myself that I’m not suicidal.Â It’s not like it’s a “suicidal gesture” for attention or something, because I’m absolutely terrified of anyone ever finding out.Â I guess I think I’m not suicidal because I really, really do not want to kill myself.Â I just want to be dead.Â I prayed to a god that I’m not even sure I believe in, and when I talked to him I put it this way…people die in accidents all the time.Â Good people, people with families and futures and potential.Â Thousands of people every day die…and I just said to god, next time, could you please take me instead of one of them?Â I don’t want to live, but I am too afraid to die.Â But deep inside, I’m more afraid NOT to.Â Because I’m so tired.Â I’m tired of feeling this huge aching hole in my chest that wasn’t there before.Â I’m tired of being angry at people for being happy.Â I’m tired of fighting the thoughts in my own head just to make it through the day without losing it.
I can’t sleep anymore.Â I used to suffer from insomnia.Â Then, for a while, I was at a good place in my life.Â I could sleep nights.Â I felt whole and complete.Â Losing him was when this all started I suppose…it went beyond heartbreak.Â I was shattered, broken in every way that a person can be broken.Â And somewhere along the line it stopped being about him and started being about me.Â It’s been years now.Â I’m just generally, overwhelmingly broken, still.Â I don’t miss him anymore…I miss me.Â I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know why I can’t put myself back together.Â Losing him was just a spark to a roaring fire that I think was already here…or maybe not.Â Who am I to judge really, since I don’t even know whether or not I’m suicidal?
I get tired of not being able to sleep these days.Â I take pills to sleep, and I turn on episodes of Star Trek that I’ve seen hundreds of times so that I have something to concentrate on while I’m in bed that lets me not think.Â If I focus very, very closely on the television sometimes the pills can carry me off before my brain interferes.Â And sometimes they can’t, and I lie awake all night.Â Sometimes, when I’m crying on those nights, I whisper for my mother.Â I’m 25 years old, and by any measure I’m what the world considers a very successful person.Â I’m bright, and articulate, and energetic.Â I smile and I laugh.Â I have what has been called a “dry wit” and I’m good at making others laugh.Â I’m a lawyer.Â My friends love me, my family loves me, and there are people in my life who would be there for me in a second if I called them.Â But I don’t do it, because I don’t know what to say, and I don’t want them to leave.Â If I actually called my mother she would do anything I needed her to, because she loves me.Â But I don’t want to hurt her, and I don’t want to scare her.Â And so this 25 year old hardcore lawyer lies in bed and whispers for her mommy.
I think that’s a big part of why I can’t kill myself.Â I want to die so badly, but I don’t want to hurt my mother.Â I think it would hurt her less if I could just die of natural causes.Â I know my death would hurt her no matter what, but my suicide would destroy her.Â I don’t know what will happen if I don’t die soon.
I’ve called suicide hotlines more than once, but I always hang up when someone answers because I never know what to tell them.Â I have no idea what to say and I don’t know what they could possibly tell me.Â I feel like calling those hotlines is a hoax when I do it…like people will think that I’m just after attention because I don’t really know what I need.Â Of course, attention is the last thing I want, but I feel like all of these resources for people who are suicidal aren’t for me to use.Â Like I’m not allowed.
After all, I don’t want to kill myself.Â I just want so very desperately to be dead.