Suicidal Thoughts & Me
I'm suicidal.
Almost every day.
But I'm not actively suicidal.
That means I almost always have suicidal thoughts, but I don't act on them.
There are times when I have acted on them, but for the most part, they are
just there, lingering in the background of my mind, just there through everything
that I do.
I have a complicated relationship with thoughts on life, morbidity, suicide and the pursuit of okayness. I don't like to say the pursuit of happiness because I think that's kind of overrated, childish and far-fetching. I don't want to be happy, I want to be okay. I want to be content. No, I want to be comfortable.
I'm not really sure when I became aware of them. I had negative, dark thoughts as a child, but I kind of thought it was a part of growing up, part of the situations I was in. I didn't think they'd get worse. I was wrong. I've spoken to roughly 20 different therapists from all walks of life, different educational levels, area of study and background about these thoughts and not one of them have a concrete answer for where they come from. Brain chemistry, my childhood and other life events help make up the reasons, but there has to be something more. On days where I've gone out, had a brilliant time, met amazing people I could walk away from them feeling so empty I could throw myself in front of a speeding car. I don't. The feeling is there, but the will to carry out the action isn't. Sometimes, even for me, it can be difficult to distinguish suicidal thoughts vs suicidal intent. The two are extremely different. I just need a little bit of time to sit back and think about all that I'm feeling. It's extremely confusing at times because I know I'm not depressed in that moment. I'm not even vaguely unhappy. It used to bother me for the longest time. I thought that most people lived like this, that they all were just pretending that they didn't; there was some kind of bizarre social norms in place that would somehow make them alienated if they said anything about it. I truly believed that compartmentalising was a part of everyone's everyday life. It was a shock to me when I found out that it wasn't; that some people don't have these feelings at all and they never have.
Suffering in silence. I mean, that does happen. The stigma around mental illness is, I think, at least a decade away from any kind of real acceptance. I'm hoping things improve, but the progress so far has been so slow, I don't hold out that much hope. I used to be ashamed to have these thoughts. I thought that I was really fucked up and that no one would love me if I ever told them. I've met some amazing people who've experienced the same kind of thoughts as I have and they have different diagnosis than me. It really takes a village. Through talks and exchanging stories, I learned that I'm not alone. That I don't have to be afraid or ashamed. Am I going to be showing every single person I meet my self-harm scars or exclaiming that I have an illness? No, of course not, but I'm going to be open with others when they ask me about it, rather than hide it. Hiding it only increased my levels of misery. Hiding increased the sense of isolation I felt.
I'm not really sure when I became aware of them. I had negative, dark thoughts as a child, but I kind of thought it was a part of growing up, part of the situations I was in. I didn't think they'd get worse. I was wrong. I've spoken to roughly 20 different therapists from all walks of life, different educational levels, area of study and background about these thoughts and not one of them have a concrete answer for where they come from. Brain chemistry, my childhood and other life events help make up the reasons, but there has to be something more. On days where I've gone out, had a brilliant time, met amazing people I could walk away from them feeling so empty I could throw myself in front of a speeding car. I don't. The feeling is there, but the will to carry out the action isn't. Sometimes, even for me, it can be difficult to distinguish suicidal thoughts vs suicidal intent. The two are extremely different. I just need a little bit of time to sit back and think about all that I'm feeling. It's extremely confusing at times because I know I'm not depressed in that moment. I'm not even vaguely unhappy. It used to bother me for the longest time. I thought that most people lived like this, that they all were just pretending that they didn't; there was some kind of bizarre social norms in place that would somehow make them alienated if they said anything about it. I truly believed that compartmentalising was a part of everyone's everyday life. It was a shock to me when I found out that it wasn't; that some people don't have these feelings at all and they never have.
Suffering in silence. I mean, that does happen. The stigma around mental illness is, I think, at least a decade away from any kind of real acceptance. I'm hoping things improve, but the progress so far has been so slow, I don't hold out that much hope. I used to be ashamed to have these thoughts. I thought that I was really fucked up and that no one would love me if I ever told them. I've met some amazing people who've experienced the same kind of thoughts as I have and they have different diagnosis than me. It really takes a village. Through talks and exchanging stories, I learned that I'm not alone. That I don't have to be afraid or ashamed. Am I going to be showing every single person I meet my self-harm scars or exclaiming that I have an illness? No, of course not, but I'm going to be open with others when they ask me about it, rather than hide it. Hiding it only increased my levels of misery. Hiding increased the sense of isolation I felt.
Sometimes I'm suicidal, but I don't really want to die. I want my current life to end. I just don't know how to explain it. It's like I'm drowning in all of these negative thoughts, in hopeless situations and I don't know how to get out of them, I'll think about suicide. I'm not going to attempt it or even hurt myself in that moment. I think it's the calm knowing I have that to fall back on if I get to a point where I really can't handle things. Sometimes the urges, the desire is so strong to hurt myself that I feel it in my veins. It's as if every fibre of my being is screaming at me to do it, it doesn't matter, no one loves me anyway. I can't even step back from that and see that I do have at least one person who deeply cares about me and loves me. I know these things hurt them when I tell them about them, but I want them to know. I need them to know. I think it's important. They know all about my mental health struggles. It's not a good way to live, I know this. For the longest time, I was content with it, accepting that this was just me, that I didn't really have any choice in the matter. I didn't think that I did, but I do. I've been taking new steps, being who I am has helped with so many things. Am I running away from who I was? Yes. I'm running into a better future; one where I can be who I am, have real and healthy relationships and maybe find a level of comfort where the suicidal thoughts will visit me less often.
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