I get emotional. I might need that. You might too. Read more.
I find it difficult to write when I am emotional. There are simply too many tragedies, great and insignificant, to document without losing myself to sadness. In the end what I want to be coherent becomes a tempestuous mess, just like me. Never have I been okay with articulating my sorrows. I don’t think people want to know. I’m usually right.
Currently, escape seems thin unless escape is death but then that requires audacity and even in suffocating sobs I know I’ll never have that. The people I would leave behind mean too much to me to say goodbye to let alone permanently cripple them is horrifying to me.So never would I do it but still I do consider it. Often do I think of it in passing as I would the state of a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile, wondering of a thoughtless time without such anxiety and emotional pain as I scan through ten packets of breadcrumbs and ask for cash or card. I’ve accepted it and keep it well pruned.
I have a morbid, deathly sense of humour and I believe that stems from all this. I didn’t intend for this entry to grow so intense and just then I was about to apologise. No. This is what anxiety and depression do to people and these are the thoughts that keep them from crying out at night and placing a locked door over such difficult emotions. Feelings and thoughts such as these need to be examined and healed however you need only drop the word ‘suicide’ and you’re essentially a ticking time bomb who needs to be shut down. The sometimes ignorant (people may have never been thought about this as an issue before), confusing (and they don’t know how to feel about it), and disappointed (to think they didn’t know you were in pain or their actions are responsible for it) reactions are frightening to someone whose mind is already at a point of meltdown. I know this. Numbing the wound seems easier at the time.
If your experiences are a cousin to my own in their gentle likeness, then I must say hello. I’ll tell you that getting professional help is actually a good thing despite the doubts your mind may cook up or the dreadful fees a single hour consultation can be. It’s scary to tell a complete stranger the things you think of though, in a way, it’s liberating and the weight that comes off you from every session is near tangible. And though the darkness may crawl back it’s about shining the light on these thoughts and peeling away the sorrow to reveal something you might not have expected. It’ll take awhile. I’ve barely scratched the surface of my barnacle encrusted shipwreck and I’ll be out of pocket a fair load before I finally find the unscathed hull.
This wasn’t meant to be a post directed at people. I don’t like those. It feels much too like I’m telling you what to do. However with a tag like ‘suicide’ and ‘depression’ I feel some of you may need a reminder of the hand on your shoulder. My words will differ to your own scenarios but I still hope you find some help in them. Reaching out is sometimes the most terrifying thing of all to do with the lingering fear of those you love and who see you in anguish will not reach back. Sometimes it takes time and always it will be scary. Nevertheless you need to reach out in order for your trusted person to reach back. Just take some deep breaths. And one more. You can do this. You don’t have to get it right in one try. There’s no right way, simply your way.