Never ever tell anyone that you’re going to kill yourself. No matter how much you want to. Don’t do it. Just do it unless you’re not certain.
Then be willing to accept what they will do to you in order to ‘help’ you.
Pope John XXIII died the year I was born. Coincidence? (wink) I love my dogs (and animals in general; most people suck). I'm tired. â€œSome people are just not meant to be in this world. Itâ€™s just too much for them." - Phoebe Stone, The Boy on Cinnamon Street Okay, now, go away.
Seriously. When you’re as depressed, unable to trust, wounded, afraid, anxious, angry, and lonely as many of us are, can we really be helped by a therapist? I used to think so but it almost seems like it makes things worse because the therapist thinks they want to help but have no idea what they’re in for. Once they find out they can’t handle it and start taking things personally and then react instead of guiding.
I’ve been coming here / posting for several months now. I’ve read many of your posts and many posts from those who have followed through. I have found comfort and shared sadness. I’ve shared my pain and felt everyone else’s – even if I didn’t always comment. There were many times I wanted to write something but I was just too depressed so, I’m sorry.
I always thought I would leave a note or say goodbyes. I’ve said goodbyes but am no longer certain about a note. What’s the point? Who will really care or moreso, who will I hurt by doing so?
I always thought that when my time came I would go silent. That I would stop talking about it. I’ve talked about it a lot but I think maybe now there’s nothing more to say. Now it’s time to think and choose. Plan and perfect. Be quiet about it.
I’ll try and keep you posted – those of you who are interested – if I can. Maybe I will coward out once again. I hope not.
Peace to all and always.
When you think about it, it’s a funny yet sad answer. At least to me it is. Because for me, the answer is that there is no point.
Was life supposed to be enjoyable? Fulfilling? For me it really hasn’t been.
Was I supposed to matter or contribute to something or someone? I really haven’t.
I’m sure some would disagree but for what little I have accomplished and for how shortly it lasted, the majority of my exsistance has had no meaning. No value. No worth. No point.
When there is no longer any point to something you quit. You cut your losses and just let it go – free.
I wanted to, I think, sometimes.
But in my heart, I knew I couldn’t.
Some people are just not meant for this world.
Not meant to be here.
I don’t want to, I know, now.
In my heart, I know I can’t.
I am one of those people who is just not meant for this world.
I am not meant be here.
But maybe you are there… the place I now want to be. Maybe we will meet, glass_music_cup… finally. Maybe you will be there and I can tell you. And, you can tell me. We can finally share without shame. We can embrace and feel at a level that others won’t until they do. Bliss.
Call for me. Reach for me. Tell me what to do… please. I am broken. Unloved. You know what I mean. Ready and prepared. In order… it’s all in order.
Meet me there. Please.
See you on the other side. Soon. Let this be the way out. Please.
The last couple of days have sucked. I don’t know why. I just feel like crap and everything I try and do takes such effort. I have to force myself to do anything. I have meetings all week and a therapy appointment that I feel like blowing off. I doubt it would matter – but the other meetings, well, I would feel awful if I didn’t go. I am just so tired of sucking it up and smiling that fake bullshit smirk.
I wonder if anyone else gets scared by their thoughts. Like, when they start thinking they might actually do it – kill themself? I get like that when I don’t want to talk to anyone – like the last two days. I just have been sleeping a lot and thinking about it… again.
Back and forth. Up and down… again. Yeah, and down again.
Okay. So I finally found another therapist. And, she has way better creditials than the last one. Way fucking better. Plus, she has a way cooler office and she’s way better looking – hehe and 😛 and 😉
So anyway, I’m going to try and hang on. Try and give therapy another chance. I’m sure I’ll keep coming here as I go because the crap I’ll be sorting through will bring me back. SP is a safe place for me – I know some feel otherwise but – it gives me a place to write about the darkest places and thoughts without being judged. Without some dip shit sending the Po-Po to my house. I find support here and I always hope that we all find that here. That we find it and that it helps us hold on another day – even if we really don’t want to or think we can’t.
So, thanks everyone for reading and for being here. WOOF.
If I died today, if I finally did it, what would you say?
I didn’t know (that’s a lie).
I didn’t think she really would (that’s because you didn’t want to be bothered, to make time just to listen or help me).
How selfish (how selfish of you to be so absorbed in yourself not to at least call or to avoid me because I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be).
All she had to do was get medication (which I tried to do but cannot afford and can find no assistance programs for).
All she had to do was try harder (you have no idea how hard I did try or how many times I faked it for you).
Depression is real. People are cruel because they think since they can’t see a wound that it can’t be all that bad – that it’s imagined or someone just wanting attention. I wouldn’t wish this feeling on anyone but for some, maybe just 24 miserable hours. Just so they can know.
Then, what would you say?
It’s happening again. The elevator is going down again. The weather outside is gloomy again. I woke up this morning and wished I hadn’t… again.
I was feeling a little better the last couple of days. Now, well, back to crying a bunch and just wanting to sleep all the time. Wanting to die. (Smile) My first thought this morning was a big knife stabbing me in my chest. The depressed mind has, well, a mind of its own.
So, I think… maybe if I can get back to sleep, back to the quite, when I awake again later I will feel better. Maybe the sun will come out. But, I doubt it. The forecast is gloomy for the next several days.
Earlier today I posted this: If you wonder why
Now, I want to post this. Because, you see, EVERYONE can help someone:
I was here. It was 2 in the afternoon and I was still in bed. I got up to feed my dogs and let them outside.
I got a glass of tea for myself and sat at the kitchen table. I was going to drink it as I waited for the dogs to finish eating. Then I was going back to bed. It would be safe there.
All of a sudden my neighbor was at my front door – screaming and crying. She was hysterical. I opened the door and she came running into my living room: “I ran over my cat, I ran over my cat, please help me!”
I am standing there, my hair is a mess, I have on a t-shirt, sweat pants and no bra. I stink. I haven’t even brushed my teeth.
I didn’t ask for her insurance. Instead, I chose to hear her and to see her. I chose to help her knowing there was nothing in it for me and in spite of the fact that I feel like a worthless – yet invisible – pile ofÂ horse shit otherwise. I did it in spite of being in the middle of my own problems. In spite of knowing that my already PTSD-mushed-up-brain would take on more by involving myself.
So, I ran around getting dressed and making sure my dogs were inside – in under a minute.Â Â I grabbed a towel,Â locked up the house and ran over to the cat. It had dragged itself under some bushes. All the while my neighbor is crying and blaming herself. “I’m going to Hell for this”, she said. “No. No you’re not”, I told her. I smile inside and think, “If anyone is going to Hell, it will be me.”
I wrapped the cat in my towel and we took him to the vet. I hope he will be okay but he’s very old. I don’t know if she broke his leg(s) or just bruised them. Either way though, I think he should make it.
She reached out. I reached back.
If you come here wondering why we do it, here’s some answers:
We tried to stay.
We reached out for help and were told we couldn’t be helped. We were told our insurance wasn’t accepted or we couldn’t afford treatment. We were treated less valuable than others who could hold a job and / or were able / willing to go into debt.
We tried to tell someone. Here. In emails, letters, text messages, phone calls. Sometimes it was just a few words but it was the best we could do. It was hard to know just what to say.
We tried to show someone. We cut. We starved. We were angry. We cried. If you ever thought it was for attention, you didn’t understand which is very different than not caring. Had you understood I’m sure you would have cared, too.
We tried to stay. For ourself and for you but we couldn’t. No one reached back, no one heard and no one saw.
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