73

E offered this morning to go out to the farm to help… but my mom had to get along with him. No, thanks, I think we got this. He doesn’t recognize that he plays any part in how people react to him. Yes, I know my mom is responsible for her reactions. But E called me a bitch in front of her, my dad, and the kids… what did he think would happen. That she would stand there and take it. When I mentioned this to him the other day, he basically told me that he called me a bitch because I am a bitch. Well, ok, thanks for clarifying that.

And I believe him. I believe that I am a fuck up like he called me a while ago. That I am a bitch like he’s called me numerous times. That I am worthless.

And I believe what he says. I also believe that I don’t deserve to live. That not only will no one miss me, but they will be happy I’m not here. I truly believe that. At this point, I don’t know if anyone will be able to convince me otherwise. I had asked him years ago what would happen if I died… would he be sad? He said that death is a part of life, and he wouldn’t be upset at losing me. I figure that is still the case.

I made a marriage counseling appointment for us mid September. I have a drs appointment the week before and I’ll ask to start back on my antidepressant again. I’m going through the motions of trying to get better. I don’t think it will work. I promised my counselor in college that I would do everything I can to survive. I’m trying that now.

A friend mentioned that I was formulating a suicide plan with walking down to the creek. I denied it at the time. It’s been a long standing thought… but truthfully, I am starting to think he is right. I’ve been ignoring how bad my feelings have gotten lately. Not necessarily ignoring… but not necessarily doing anything to move things in a positive direction.

But honestly, I don’t want them in a positive direction. I have fought so long and so hard, I don’t want things to temporarily get better. I’m most of the way down this path. I want to continue walking it to the end. I want to die. I want to kill myself.

I don’t know what is so much harder about tonight. I’ve typed those words before. Everyone who reads my blog knows that I am almost always holding on by a thread. Tonight it’s different. I’m in a different place. I’m connecting words to feelings. Everything is so much more real… so much more intense.

Maybe another difference tonight… it’s not just about wanting to die. The feelings are more than that. They’ve been growing to be more than that for a while. Just like every year around this time, when I start switching over from the mindset of I could never actually go through with it to more of a mindset of maybe it’s for the best to follow through.

But what happens if I fail? What happens if I have to face everyone alive the next day? I would be a failure. A failure for trying to go through with it. And a failure for not succeeding.

I don’t know what to do. I’m exhausted. I’m scared. I want the pain to be over. I don’t care how.

I got 1.5 hours of sleep last night. It’s 9:30 pm here. I’m crying again.

I sat today for quite a while trying to dial the number to the counselor I had picked out. I didn’t have the courage to make the call. While I have a friend trying to convince me to make the call, I couldn’t.

Everything is suspended in time. I can’t move forward. I feel like I’m trapped. Physically trapped. Emotionally trapped. I don’t know a way out of this. Honestly, I’m not sure I want a way out of this. I want to be dead. I can’t take the stress anymore. I’m pretty sure everyone else wants me dead too.

………………

It was Sunday. We were at the Farm, deciding what task was going to come next. We were going to finish up some odds and ends here and there. Then we all thought we were moving to the kitchen. It’s approaching Thanksgiving, and my mom wanted a kitchen by then. That’s what our course of action has been for awhile. E wanted to do the dining room. My mom wanted to do the kitchen next. I took up for her and mentioned that we could have the kitchen done by Thanksgiving if we did it next. E lost his shit. Started yelling at my mom. Went upstairs to pout. I mention to him that my parents are going to have everything contracted out. He went outside and sat on the bench. Wouldn’t talk to me or anyone else. So I packed up. He then starts fussing at my mom again. Calls me a bitch. My mom takes up for me. And he comes unglued.

He was in my face yelling earlier that day. He was in my mom’s face yelling. I was scared by the intensity of the aggression. I could tell my mom was unnerved too.

………………

Later that day, a friend told me it as time to think about being hospitalized. I played it off. He stuck by assessment. He knows me.

I want to die. I want more than anything to just give up. No one will miss me. No one will care. I don’t know what to say anymore. No one cares. I want this more than anything. I don’t want to be stopped.

How do you tell loved ones good by? How do you tell them that you weren’t good enough? How do you go on pretending everything is ok when things aren’t. I’m scared. I’m alone.

Tuesday

We were talking about a house the real estate agent had sent. I mentioned I ran across a house I was interested in. One that is only 300k (compared to the ones E looks at, that’s cheap). It had enough square footage. Enough bedrooms. Enough acreage. All brick. It just wasn’t fancy inside.

I don’t care about a fancy house. What I do care about is that all the bedrooms and the laundry room are on one floor. That when I go to the kitchen to make the kid’s lunches and let the dog out that I’m not having to go back and forth to upstairs because I’ve been gone for two minutes and the kids need me again. I need you to put toothpaste on my toothbrush. Or W is stealing x from me. You guys do realize daddy is up here, right? That I don’t have to come all the way from upstairs just to solve a petty issue. But I take care of it anyway. Because, peace.

E was somehow confused. This isn’t the type of house you are looking for. Of course, I have no clue what he is talking about. Well, if you think we can go down to 300k houses, then we need to let the real estate agent know this. Well I wasn’t aware that there is a filter on houses that are cheap that meet the other criteria. I’m sorry it’s not fancy. I’m sorry it doesn’t cost as much.

As always with conversations with E, it blew up. I’m never good enough. I don’t care about moving. Basically, I am a mean incompetent lazy person.

I got W to sleep; and went out on the front porch. I cried. I cried deeply. I thought about getting up and walking. I knew the walking would take me along the creek. I knew that the intent was to not come back. I stayed outside for an hour, trying to decide what to do. I knew what I wanted to do. I pulled out a text from a friend who had basically told me not to go through with it. To live.

It was hard to read. Life is hard. I’m worn from the arguing. From never measuring up. From not being what is expected of me. Why would someone want me around? Maybe the person was just saying that to be nice? I mean, seriously, what are you going to tell someone who is wanting to die? Go jump off a cliff. Even if that is the way you felt, you likely wouldn’t.

In this case it helped. Did it make the ultimate difference? Likely not. Given the number of times I almost did it combined with the fact that I’m still here, I likely would not have gone through with it. However, that text made things easier. It gave me something to focus on. A reason to go on. Even if I couldn’t believe that someone would want me to be alive; there was something there in text form telling me to keep going, That someone cares.

I heard from the friend that night. He offered to take me to the hospital if I needed to. He stayed up with me until I could doze off. Things are much easier because of him. And I have no idea why he would want to be my friend.

91 days…

I was talking to a close friend last night. Someone I can tell everything to. Or at least I thought everything.

He asked me if I had a suicide plan. No was my official response. Maybe should have probably been the answer.

Do I have one pinned down for this time? Not exactly. Do I have working ideas? Absolutely. I’m just… as normal … indecisive.

I vividly remember the plan from junior high. I had everything laid out. My goodbye letters were written. I had picked the clothes I wanted to be buried in. Pink jeans and my favorite pink shirt. I had figured out songs I wanted sung at the funeral. I was going to wait until my parents were asleep for their Sunday afternoon nap. Sit in a chair in the middle of my room,,, and shoot myself.

After that, my go to plan was to starve myself. I was wanting to get down to 98 pounds. I only got down to 112. I ate just enough so that questions wouldn’t be asked. People told me how great I looked. I got discouraged. I wanted desperately for someone to ask how I was doing. Someone I could trust and talk to. I didn’t have the courage to go to someone and tell them how I was feeling. I was hoping someone would be concerned and ask if I was ok.

Once I moved away to grad school, my plan changed. I got the fact that I was never going to lose enough weight to actually kill myself. I didn’t have a gun to shoot myself. By that time I had started cutting. So one of the two plans I had was to slit my wrist. I wanted to be in the bathtub, to watch the blood go down the drain. Or I wanted to get drunk and swallow a full bottle of pills. Probably more than one bottle of pills.

So what’s the plan now? Honestly, I’m going to play it by ear. Don’t know at this rate if I’m going to be able to keep up the plan to make it to my birthday. Everything seems so overwhelming now. Every day is harder to get through then the one before. I have 91 days left before my birthday. I do know I don’t want to have a funeral anymore. I want to be cremated, but ashes dumped in the trash. I think the trash would be fitting place for me.

Bad Day

Thing 1

Thing 2

Thing 3

Any of the three things by themselves I could have gotten through. Guilt. Broken lunch date. Finger pointing meeting. Together was insurmountable. My mother in law is here so that makes this weekend even worse.

I’m hurting. A lot. I feel like crying but the tears aren’t coming. I’m overwhelmed. I feel completely alone in a crowded room. I’m drowning. I don’t know if I can get past this. Even if I could, I don’t know that I would want to.

I want the fight to end. I want to give up and not have to do it anymore. I don’t want to be happy for a few hours and then spend a few months paralyzed with sadness.

And no one would care. No one would miss me. I don’t matter. They win. I lose. I’m ok with this.

I want someone to hold me while I cry. And then I want to escape. To slip away. To not be here anymore. Please just let me peacefully fade away. I want this to be over.

Crossing Lines

There have been a handful of times in my life when wanting to die moved towards wanting to kill myself. All these times actually gave me hope. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel if I go through with it. The pain will stop. The continual struggle that I go through will end.

I’m fast approaching that time again. I don’t want to keep going through with life. I want everything to end. I honestly don’t know what I’m waiting for. Why haven’t I gone through with this by now. After decades of wanting to die or wanting to kill myself, I’m still here. But why?

I was thinking of this question the other day. Something hit me. I just want someone to tell me it’s ok. I want someone to tell me it’s ok to kill myself, that people won’t love me less when I’m gone. I know… theoretically, I won’t know. It doesn’t matter, I’ll be dead; yet it does. It matters more than anything to me to know that I made a difference. That the struggle I’ve endured for years was worth it to someone. That when it’s all over, someone will miss me. I don’t know that I can say that.

Everyone is replaceable. Everyone, including me. If I’m replaceable, why do I still need to be here? Someone will replace me at home. Someone will replace me at work. There’s no reason for me to be here. I can be done.

I had a friend in college that told me that I needed to make up my mind what I wanted to do and follow through. Do I want to live? Then get help and move on. Do I want to die? Then go ahead and kill myself. That might sound cruel but it’s probably the most real answer I’ve gotten in my decades of working with people to make the pain stop.

There’s 102 days until my birthday. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared and alone.