I’ve only ever been good enough for a moment.
Good enough for me, good enough for my friends, good enough for my wife and for my children. But only for a moment.
When I reach the crossroads I know so intimately, I know I have to turn around and go back. I’ve never been able to turn left, or right, or find another road to go down. It’s always the same; go back to the start and try again.
I’m 30 now, I have BPD and somehow I’ve managed to find a wife and settle into a life with two kids. Kinda funny considering my generation is one that lost these opportunities, not sure how I got so lucky…my deepest sympathies to those still struggling to gain even an ounce of independence. I haven’t had a panic episode or sunk so low into my mind for years, and I thought maybe I’d finally left that person behind. Yesterday I was bludgeoned by depression for the first time in 6 years. Real depression, the kind that makes you forget your commitments and your promises to yourself and the people you love. The kind that allows you to forget that you care about anything or anyone, even your children and your partner, and seek the nostalgic embrace of your darkest thoughts. Mine are admittedly so cliche it pains me to even post this, by here I am. I’m a loving, caring, deeply committed father of two. I love my wife so much I can’t get enough of her. I work hard, have a perfect job. I work out every day, I eat healthy, I feel good about myself most of the time.
And today I wish I would die. Simple as that…my mind decided that today I would fall down so far into my unrealized sadness that I’d leave it all behind, abandon my years of progress and give into a wish I once made in my lowest of lows. I’ve lived beyond the age I swore I’d never reach, achieved more than I ever dreamed, become a person I knew only to exist outside of reality, yet here I am again.
The shame I feel is intolerable; I know now after all these years that what I feel is just a lie. Just another trick being played on me, by me. But something stirs in me, like I’ve suddenly remembered the taste of a cigarette and can’t let go of. Something both menacing and comforting beckons me to retreat into its arms and shut my eyes.
I can only describe it as such; a comforting, warming, breath of fresh air. What’s the reason for this feeling? Why can letting go of everything you love feel like you’re unburdening yourself from everything that would hold you firmly in your place, and allow you to give it all up in return for nothing?
I know I can’t end my life, I’ve tried before and never really gave it everything I got. I could, but I won’t. Even though I’ll just sit here and wish I could, I’ll live another thousand years before I could pull the trigger.
But today, just for a moment, I wish I could…
Please don’t suffer my ranting if you don’t have to. My words mean nothing, especially when I have so much that would mean the world to someone else. If you happen to read this, I’m sorry for what it may do.