I went to the psychiatric emergency room this afternoon because I have the brutal combination of being wicked anxious and at the same time doing a nosedive into the deepest, darkest of voids one can imagine. I want so badly to drive a knife through my heart. Â Not because I want to die, but because I want to live. Ever feel like your entire chest cavity, especially your heart, is being cinched tighter and tighter, bringing more pain with each breath? I need to stab my chest to let some of that out.
It’s so hard, living in order to spare others the pain. It sucks that my only choices are to continue bearing all the pain myself or to thrust it upon those about whom I care most. Â I went to the psych ER hoping that somebody would help me, could help me, but I was just sent home to fend for myself. It helped a little bit, for a while, speaking with the social worker and just not being all by myself, but it’s a fine dance, deciding what’s “safe” to share and what must be withheld or denied in order to avoid being thrown into a cold, locked ward. I’ve been inpatient so many times, and some hospitals actually treat psych patients with a bit of respect, but the majority immediately strip them of all dignity, and, although I am secretly yearning to be contained in a safe and supportive unit, it’s too risky not knowing where they’d send me. So, when the doctor asks if you’re suicidal or thinking about hurting yourself, you look down and quietly say “no” with a shake of the head and an ounce of hope that they’ll see through it and get you the help you need. But, they never do. And, god, it hurts.
I want so badly to be dead. It’s all I’ve wanted for years (maybe even ever), but the only way for me to escape the crushing weight is to toss it on people I would never, ever want to hurt. Â I can’t believe people say that suicide is the easy way out. Â There is NOTHING easy about suicide. Chronic suicidality presents an ever-present and deeply burdensome dilemma. I feel like I can barely breathe. Â I’m all alone, just me and all my little demons. Trying to decide what to do. I need somebody to help me. Â I just wish somebody would help me. Sometimes, I wish somebody could hold me and rock me and tell me it’s gonna be okay, even if it’s not. It’s just so goddamned lonely in this little world of mine, even when I do seek help. And, god, it hurts.