I get it

Know what’s worse than any diagnosis, loss, or environmental or economic situation?
==> Understanding.
I’m good with words. Ironic that when it comes to explaining to someone that the once functional, upbeat, charismatic person they once knew is now someone who cannot even string together “I’m suicidal”. Life is showing me the door….yet I remain standing in the doorway, like a guest that’s overstayed they’re welcome….not leaving. talk about crazy.
Apparently, my curse is understanding. There is no blame here. No rant. No anger. Just understanding. I understand I do not belong. I understand I don’t belong anywhere or to anyone. I never have. There (literally) is nowhere for me to go. Nothing for me to be. I don’t sleep. My chaos is quiet. I know I won’t make it much longer. It’s too bad, seems like this is wrong. My bouts of mania pop out of nowhere and I do silly things in reaction to them. Sometimes I don’t realize I’ve done silly things for a day or two. I break down less these days (up to 4-5 times a day for awhile there, ugh) I push away from people. I snap. At big things at little things, at the loss of control in every aspect of my life. I laugh at how long it took me to realize my hallucinations were….well, hallucinations. Visual and auditory. So many, I look back and just shake my head. I panic. I scream. I laugh. I cry. I drive. I eat. I freeze sometimes in stores, or walking outside. My life haunts me. Sometimes I can’t get out of my car. Don’t know why. I cannot cannot cannot no matter what I think or say, cannot shake my thoughts. No one sees this. Any of this. I’m very good at covering my tracks. My job ended abruptly. I lost my home. Then my mind. Then my sanity. It all went out the window. No sob story, just the truth. Best part is I didn’t know how bad off I had gotten.
You might be stressed. You might be alone. And you’re probably, like me, broken. I wish I could tell you it gets better. But from where I’m at all the doors are locked. All windows are shut. Maybe you have a way out, but I’m being bricked up one brick at a time. I’m drowning. I know there’s no way out. I have yet to find a person that understands, so I don’t talk about this to anyone. I won’t blow smoke at you, or convince you life is worth living. I hate that. I do believe that some lives would be worth living. They have purpose and I’m guessing: money. I see them around me. But like all biological things, my life has run its course. It’s been years now and I keep wondering: why oh why am I beating my brains out trying to make things work that CLEARLY are not working? Is anyone else doing this besides me??
Wouldn’t it be enough to realize not that you’re giving up, but that you’ve just had enough?
I’ve also never understood why people say suicide is cowardly. They’re wrong. Life should not be torture. Living should not be a continual death. I just want to go home and am crushed every time when I realize: I have no home.
Maybe you can relate, maybe not. If so, for whatever it’s worth, whatever your story or event or situation: I get it. I hear you. I see you. No judgments here.

I will not tell you what to do. I will say if you do anything—be honest with yourself. Truly honest. No one knows you like you.