167 days and counting… again

I’ve been reading some old emails to my counselor in graduate school.  It’s a wonder she put up with me.  As much as I felt like she cared at the time, it is easy for me to forget and dismiss the concern.  Maybe she was just telling me that so she wouldn’t have to tell me otherwise.  It’s easier to lie and tell someone you care than it is to tell the truth and tell someone that you hate being around them.  Or maybe that is my own insecurities talking.  I’m not thinking so though.

Even now, I have to gauge how much I write and to whom because I’m afraid that I am too overwhelming.  People don’t get the pain; people don’t get the feelings of everything, people don’t get the intensity .  Hell, I’m not even sure that I do.  All I know is most people would think I was crazy if they knew the real me. 

I still want to die.  I’ve set a date again.  My birthday this year.  As long as I’m not pregnant, I’m going through with it.  E will be taken care of with life insurance money.  Samantha won’t remember me.  E will get on with my sister.  No one will miss me.  No one will care.  Well, besides being happy that I’m no longer around.  I’m ok with this.  In fact, I’m starting to wonder if it is going to be too long to wait?  I don’t want to go through life right now. 

I want to cut.  I want to feel pain again; I think I deserve it.  E would be upset because of it.  My pain doesn’t matter; it’s my fault anyways, right?  

It’s been a long time since I have felt this way, since I was scared and ok with the future of death.  I’m scared.  I have always wanted someone there with me when I go through it so I’m not alone.  However, I know I can’t have that. I couldn’t do that to someone else; put them in danger of being in trouble for not doing anything about it.  I guess I will just have to get through it alone.  Another four months.  167 days until peace.  And if I’m pregnant, I will definitely go through with it after having the baby  I know now that whatever reprieve I have will be short lived and come back with a vengeance afterwards.


I’m tired of crying alone.  I’m tired of the feelings.  I’m tired of living with the pain.  I don’t know where to turn to.  I promised my counselor in grad school I would exhaust all choices before going through with it.  And I feel like I’ve done that.  As childish as it sounds, I really need someone to hold me right now.  

Thoughts about Kurt Cobain…

I’ve been watching the Kurt Cobain documentary that HBO put on. It’s quite a haunting story. I feel badly for Kurt because of the apparent pain he was in, both physically and mentally.  He felt like no one wanted him from an early age. His friends introduced him to drugs. He ended up in a relationship with a woman that he had many issues with, but ended up having a child with. He tried committing suicide, but failed. His next attempt would be successful. 

I don’t know why I keep thinking about the show. I’m not into drugs. I’m not into alcohol. I’m not really into his style of music. And I didn’t really know much about the guy until I overheard some people talking about the documentary at work. 
Maybe it’s because I’ve spent so much time in my life thinking about suicide, wishing for death, no matter how it comes, as long as it only affects me. One of the reasons why I don’t drink is because I had always wanted to get drunk and hope I’d have the courage to go through with it. One of the reasons I try not to count calories is because I had always thought about killing myself by starving myself. I want to feel pain, I deserve to feel pain. Why?  Don’t ask me such a stupid question… I don’t know the answer anyway. 
In a way I’m jealous of him. He was able to do something I have longed for most of my life to do – to work up the courage to go through with it. And the ability to correctly kill himself. I’ve always wondered what would happen if I tried to kill myself and wasn’t successful. What would people think of me?  How would I face everyone?  I’d be a failure. A failure for trying and not succeeding. A failure for the inability to be happy correctly. 

I don’t know where to start.  I don’t know where to end.  Nor do I know what goes in between.  

I’m tired of feeling this way in some ways…  comfortable with it in other ways.  I’m so entirely exhausted, but yet, typically my mind won’t quit enough for me to sleep.  Or I wake up and can’t get back to sleep.  Night time has always been the worst for my depression.  And this time proves no differently.  

I don’t think the feelings hurt me near as much before, when I didn’t remember what happy felt like.  They suck so very much now.  Going from blah to sad to depressed isn’t so bad. Going from I’m on top of the world because I just had a baby to wanting to kill myself sucks.      

I feel so very alone.  I AM so very alone.  I have no one I can really talk to about this.  No one that would understand.  I don’t go to a counselor anymore.  Even if I did, what could they do?  Things might get better for a short time, but I’m just going to end up back here.  I have one friend I feel like I can talk to, but that’s it.  And I feel bad for going to this person all the time.  

I just don’t understand why I’m like this.  What am I missing that everyone else seems to understand?  Why can’t I do something as simple as being happy correctly?  Why the heck is this so hard for me?Why can’t I just put on a happy face and be done with it all?  I feel like such a failure for going through this.  And I don’t know what to do about it…  

It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way – that my life isn’t worth living anymore.  But I do again. And honestly it isn’t as bad as I thought. At this point maybe I’m at acceptance. Acceptance that this is how life is going to be for me. Acceptance that I’m not perfect – and that for some people the pain is too much. I’m too weak to handle this … And since I’ve done what I felt is all I can do to be better – for years – I don’t have anyone to blame. 

While I’ve never been in this situation… I would liken it to someone with cancer accepting that some things are inevitable. That you can only fight for so long and then biology will take over and you will lose. 
Only my scars are on the inside and no one knows except me and the few people that are so bored that they have nothing else better to do than to read my meaningless gibberish.  No one knows the pain. And even if they knew about it, I doubt anyone could understand it. Hell, I can’t even understand it. 

I don’t know when the time comes if anyone will be on my last call list. I’m still holding out hope that my will power to die overwhelms my will power to eat and that I’m actually able to lose some weight before I die. I’m half tempted to set my final last day as my birthday this year. Well at least unless I’m pregnant again. 

What’s the point???

I come across as happy but I’m not.  Happy = smile on my face = less questions. So I just keep a smile on my face and no one will know, right?  That’s the easy solution. Or at least the one that will leave me with less work.

And I have no idea where to go for help. Or even if help is worth it. Going to counseling or getting “help” just means I will struggle with whether or not to live. And honestly I’m not sure that I want someone to plant false hope. I’m tired of feeling better just to feel like crap not long after that. If this is the only thing I have to look forward to, what’s the point?  No matter how long I’ll feel better, feeling like this isn’t worth it. I honestly have no idea how to describe it and I suppose if you haven’t been in this spot you wouldn’t understand.

I want to feel the pain… I feel like I deserve it. Like I deserve to not only die, but to die a slow painful death.

I know I’m f’ed up right?  I’m ashamed. I fit in no where. At least with dying, the pain would be over and people can get on with their lives and not be around me. I feel like people put up with me because they feel sorry for me. I’m fat and ugly and stupid and awkward. Who would really want to be around me?

I’ve been giving a lot of thought to how I want to do this. I’m back to my old plan. I want to starve myself. Slow painful. And at least I’ll be skinny and pretty for my funeral. My life insurance will pay off the house. Then my husband doesn’t have to work. Samantha would be too young to remember me, so I won’t hurt her. My husband can have my sister. I know he doesn’t want to be with me. Why would anyone want to be with me?

I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of being tired. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of crying. I’m scared and completely alone.

Tomorrow it may change (or not)

And I wanna believe you,
When you tell me that it’ll be ok,

Yeah I try to believe you,

Not today, today, today, today, today…

Tomorrow it may change

– Tomorrow by Avril Lavigne

I absolutely love this song.  It speaks a lot to me.  I have been told quite a lot that things get better.  But I have no reason to believe this.  No proof.  And even if they did get better for a day or two, or even a year or two, I still end up back at this spot.  I still end up wanting to die, and not knowing what to do about it.  I’ve thought this out so much, and I always come up with the same solution.  I always come up with wanting to go through with it.  People that have never been here before don’t get the feelings, leaving me even more ostracized.  I’m supposed to snap my fingers and everything be ok.  Right?  I feel talked out.  Like no matter what I say, the pain won’t go away, so what’s the point?  I just wish I had someone to talk to that would at least keep an open mind.  Someone that doesn’t have an agenda already.  That would actually listen, and treat dying as an option.  It doesn’t help when I have to be careful and choose my words because said person thinks I don’t have the right to kill myself and therefore takes it away from me.  I want to have an honest talk with someone without being afraid of being locked up.  Why is this so difficult?  Why am I considered stupid or insane or crazy if I want the battle to end?  Why is it considered brave for an end stage cancer patient to take her life before her time, but for someone who struggles with mental illness much of their life it isn’t.  They have x rays and images backing up that they have a right to die.  What do I have?  Messed up thoughts that I struggle with every day.  And that makes a cancer patient who dies prematurely brave and a person with depression a coward.  Brave or coward, it doesn’t change the intensity of the feelings.  It only changes how alone and estranged I feel from the world, and only feeds the feelings I have.      

The Day of the Flood

(Written five years ago, but wanted to share)


Sunday morning my husband woke me up. The creek is rising! No big deal to me though. Did that yesterday, and everything was fine. The rain will slow and the creek will go back down. Except the rain didn’t slow, and the creek didn’t go back down. 30 minutes later he is waking me up wanting me to help carry stuff upstairs. The creek is risingfast. Looking out the window shows our street with water gushing down it. Apparently one of the culverts got blocked, and the water back flowed. Finally the pipe cleared itself, and we could divert our full attention to the creek behind our house that was rising. We woke up neighbors on both sides of us. They weren’t concerned; it will go back down. So, we continued to carry important stuff upstairs. We didn’t get it all though. No where near enough. I guess we got the important more expensive stuff. But not the stuff that can’t be replaced; the documents, business cards, baseball cards, etc. We left the house about 8:30 am. We packed up some food, some clothes, and the dog. Luckily we had given our cats to my parents quite a while ago, so we didn’t have them to worry about. On our way across the interstate, water was getting right up to the edge of the road. We went to the Bellevue exit. I wanted to get a hotel room right off. My husband thought we would be able to get back to our house that night; so heK wanted to wait on the hotel. After we got off the exit, husband realized his work laptop was at home. Even though it was on the second floor, and free from flood water, he wanted it. So back home we go. We stopped at home for about 10 minutes. Watching the water get higher and higher. We never thought it would get that high. Or at least I didn’t. We left again when I started getting excited about how high the water was getting. I didn’t want to get stuck there. A neighbor offered to let us stay at their house, but they were further down the street than we were. While they were protected from flooding, that didn’t mean that we would be able to get out of the subdivision if something happened. In that little amount of time, the water had gotten up quite a bit. Back through to the Bellevue exit, there was water starting to creep up the road, on to the shoulders. We went down and hung out by Krogers. Went back about an hour later. The exits were under water. The movie theater, Shoney’s and gas station had flooding. I started to wonder how our house looked. Every way to get home had been blocked by the Harpeth River. The concrete dividers on the highway had been overtopped. The soccer field was inundated with water. What was once field was a raging river. The Harpeth River had taken over Bellevue.

May 2. 2010

Five years ago, at 5 am in the morning, my husband woke me up from a sound sleep (on a Sunday) to help him move things upstairs because water was getting close to the house. I thought he was crazy, but I helped anyways. Then we went outside and cleared storm drains, and went door to door letting neighbors know that it was starting to flood. Most said that it always did this, and that it would be ok. 



We left, got to the next exit on the interstate, where Erik realized he had forgotten his work laptop. We went back grabbed it, some clothes, and food, and headed back for what we thought would be a couple hours. Soon after the Interstate was shut down. Right before we left, I emptied the rain gauge, 6 inches in 5 hours, 13 inches in a 24 hour period, with it still raining. Sunday night we ended up staying in a shelter, sleeping in our car. There weren’t enough cots and pillows, and the truck was somewhat comfy, so me, the hubby, and the dog slept in the truck. We woke up the next morning, and since we were able to make it in to work, worked. I-40 West to our house was shut down, so it wasn’t like we could go home. All the backroads were overtopped, so we could stay in the shelter or go to work. So we went to work, we washed up in the bathrooms. I found online where a news agency had done an aerial shot of our house. It was interesting to say the least, seeing our house surrounded by water.   

Nothing could have prepared us for stepping in to our house. We were able to get home Monday afternoon when they opened I-40 back up.

We started out by helping our neighbors do some stuff, then stepped in to our house. The refrigerator was laying on its back. I suppose water picked it up and it fell backwards. The sofa was rearranged. Things in the kitchen were now found in the bathroom, or in various other parts of downstairs. Everything got jumbled around. We were able to save some stuff. The fish tank stand and fish tank were ok (as were the fish at first). The sewing machine cabinet my grandfather had made was ok. The dining room table and chairs and various other things were ok. The new sofa was out. I guess that was not nearly as bad as losing all the books we used to have downstairs, that we had just several weeks before the flood taken upstairs. We still haven’t checked out a lot of the electronics. I don’t have high hope for them though. All my hard drives got wet. My Wii, the DVD player, the stereo system. I don’t know where to begin putting them all back together. Right now we have to focus on the house, but at some point I will have to start repairing everything else. I guess it’s better than what a lot of the other neighbors are doing.