Most days I want to end it. I don’t have a plan. I don’t dwell on a way out. I just want it all to end.
When I was 12 (I’m 30 now) I first thought about suicide. It seemed romantic. Maybe I’d come back as a ghost – if a somehow fashioned a guillotine then I’d haunt my house like Marie Antoinette. Maybe I’d get to meet god, the real god. As irrational as it sounds, I was curious about death – what was it like on the other side? IS there an other side? That being said, I was also looking for a way out. I had a sheltered childhood (my parents no doubt see it differently) and I was expected to be a ‘good girl’. I felt that I was scolded and chided frequently, and if I had a problem with it, I was being ‘foolish’. My parents would try to bond with/support me, but only the ideal me. The me they liked and that fit with their idea of a good daughter – confirming that they were good parents. Ugh. So, if I was sad? Smile! Be happy! If I had a problem, they would try to fix it! Good intentions, but I still begrudge them.
I tried to kill myself seriously when I was 13. I thought I had no more reason to live. I had developed an online relationship and thought it was legit. We chatted as if we were in love and meant to world to each other, but when I stumbled upon him chatting in the same was with another chicka (presumably, ya know, who’s really behind that screen name anyway?) I was like, “Well fuck this shit! I was thinking about killing myself before, now I really want to end it!”
Since then, I’ve been trying to “fix” myself and gain “control” of my emotions and my life. I’ve been trying to live but still have feelings of deep despair, loneliness, and disconnection with the rest of the world. It’s a struggle. I feel inadequate and fear that no one will ever truly love me for me, because part of my psyche is entrenched in sorrow. To get through day-to-day life, I pretend to be happy, and sometimes I am. But when I get home, at the end of the day, I cry. I wish I was someone else. I wish life was different. I wish my whole past could be erased. I wish my thoughts were less critical (of myself and others) and I feel angry (lots of different reasons) and ‘wrong’ for thinking so damn much.
I have put some energy into therapy, into journaling, into identifying negative self-talk… etc… which is O.K. but I’ve noticed the majority of people in my life aren’t really, ehm, interested in this. Why would they be? So, I’ve got all this wonderful self knowledge and insight, but no one cares. What’s the point? Etc. I pendulum between telling myself that the nihilistic perspective is liberating, or telling myself that it is, well, nihilistic and hell bent on destruction. I’d love to be able to make my mind up. I’d love to just choose life. Which maybe I have… after all, I’m still here… it would be nice though if my life didn’t include mountains of self-doubt, low self-esteem, and the devaluation of all things. Yep. That would be nice. =/