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.

Make it Stop…

Why do you stay alive? I’m sure that most people can think of a whole laundry list of reasons to keep going, to make it through another day and wake up the next. Most people would be devastated if they learned they had but just a little time to live. Most people live by default, and think of reasons to die if they are suicidal.

As normal, I’m backwards. For me, dying is default. I have to think of reasons to stay alive. And I can think of none. Well, I can think of just a few:

1. I’m afraid of failing, and having to face everyone. If it would be a guarantee, then it would make it easier to go through with it. Nothing in this life is a guarantee. And it seems like my luck is always running out. I would likely live through anything I tried. Mainly, because I’m a failure. I can’t do simple things right. Simple things like dying. I don’t want to face people and tell them how I feel. I don’t want their pity. I don’t want people feeling sorry for poor me. I don’t want them thining I took my life becasue of situational things going on right now. I want someone to see the YEARS of pain I’ve gone through. To know that this was truly a last resort. To know that I’ve anguised over this decision, and it wasn’t one I took lightly. That I’m sorry I let people in. Letting peolple in only means that I will end up hurting more people. And I didn’t want that. I don’t want anyone to suffer anymore because of things I did.

2. I don’t want to die alone. I want someone there with me when I die. But I don’t want that person to get in trouble for being with me when i kill myself. I also don’t want the few people that know to get in trouble because they didn’t report me.

More than anything I want this to stop. I want to die in peace, because I haven’t been able to live in peace.

I feel so numb. I need to cut. I know that most people won’t understand. Erik figures out where I cut, then I’ll get yelled at. I would have to cut somewhere that he won’t notice, inside.

I’m scared of the intensity of the emotions. I honestly don’t want to keep going.

I don’t want to go to a counselor . I don’t want the counselor trying to convince me otherwise to keep going.

Old feelings…

I found a counselor last night I am going to attempt to get in to see both for couples counseling and for individual therapy.

She’s with a group that focuses on counseling those who are hard to counsel. My husband and I as a couple qualify for that. Even more so, I do though. They also specialize in DBT. DBT was what the counselor I opened up to previously suggested for me. It’s used for those who have chronic issues with suicide, someone like me.

I’ve opened up almost completely to one counselor. Completely to none. Partially to five counselors and three psychiatrists. Or something like that; it’s hard to remember anymore. If I had more time with that counselor it would have been completely. I trusted her. I didn’t trust myself. I knew I was teetering on the edge at that point. More so even than I do now. I lived by myself. I was extremely suicidal. The only thing that kept me alive was the fact that I cried myself to sleep before I was able to do anything. Living alone away from my parents meant that they likely wouldn’t be the one to find the body. I regret not going through with it then.

I did a lot of crying back then. I still cry a lot now, the tears are just on the inside. I can’t cry now without questions. And I don’t want to answer questions. Hell, I don’t have the answers to the questions. It’s not even that I don’t want to answer them, I actually can’t. Even back then, the crying was when I was by myself. Now, I’m never by myself. I never cried in counseling, although I wanted to so much.

Want to know what’s sad? More than anything, I just want someone to hold me when I cry. Simple, right? I just want to be held. The emotions are so intense. Even if i could get someone to hold me, I don’t know if I could live in the moment. As in, the emotional overload from someone holding me while I cry is too much. So as much as I want it, I can’t go through with it. I would have to separate the feelings that I desperately need to feel from how I feel for a simple hug.

My birthday is less than four months away now. It’s the day I keep planning to go through with it. Every year it is harder to get through. Every year I make the promise that I won’t see the next one. Every year I fail.

I want to tell someone all this so badly. I want to actually have the courage to TELL them, not have to chicken out and write everything out or not tell them at all. Completely. I want to talk and tell someone my past. Tell them what I’m planning on for future (or lack thereof). I want to have that candid conversation and tell them about how absolutely terrified I am about any possibility. I want to tell them that I really want to go through with it. I want to tell them how terrified I am. I want to tell them how incredibly intense the feelings are.

Old habits are resurfacing to cope. Or at least I have to fight them. I want to cut. I know Erik will be pissed if he sees that I’m doing that. I just can’t let people see, which isn’t hard given where I cut.

I’m scared to open up to someone. Scared to move forward. Scared to stay in the present. Just scared.

Somethings got to give though. I either have to work up the courage to move forward, or work up the courage to go through with it. The limbo isn’t working.

Drama

It seems like my life is riddled with drama. Mostly caused by work and one other person.

Our little boy ended up getting stung by a wasp today. We got some medicine put on it and he was back up going at it outside. My husband went to kill the wasp and its nest and the little on tried to follow. I picked him up and moved him away so that he wouldn’t follow. Little guy got mad and head butted me. I now have a bloody lip and a broken tooth.

We got home and I tried to show my husband my tooth. He said there was no way the little one could have chipped my tooth head butting me. Well, dang it, at least try to look at it. He kept telling me there was no way he could have done it. I kept saying ok to him. I’m not going to sit there and argue about my chipped tooth. If he doesn’t want to believe it, fine, don’t believe it. Then he basically got mad because I shut him out.

That was almost hilarious!? I shut him out… how ’bout him shutting me out. Telling me over and over again that there was no way it could have happened. He doesn’t believe anything I say. He shut me down … all I did was refuse to argue with it. I’m tired of arguing with him. He wants to spew his trash, he can do it, but I’m not going to agree with it necessarily.

Then he sat there on the bed and pouted for quite a while. I’m tired of having to deal with our oldest who throws temper tantrums just like him. I’m tired of her learning his bad habits. I’m tired of having to deal with three kids (including husband), and an old dog.

When is someone going to care for me? Maybe that is selfish, but for once, I want someone to take care of me.

Breathe

I ran across this in one of my Facebook groups.

I’m pretty much alienated at work now. Unless someone *needs* something from me, I don’t see folks.

I sit in my office and pretend that I’m happy.

Pretend. Typically I’d say that it’s so much easier to pretend to be happy. To put a smile on my face

because that means I wouldn’t have to face the hurt that I’m feeling. Or to face the questions from people. But honestly, at this point, no one is asking how I feel so it is even more lonely.

It feels this is never-ending. Right when I get to a point where I think everything is going to be ok, it changes. I go from rock bottom to I’m going to make it through this, to rock bottom again. It’s just a cycle. I had just recovered enough to think that my life was worth living; starting to be happy. Then all this happened at work, and I realized that it really isn’t worth living.

Things get better folks say. I’m not really seeing the proof behind that. And at this point it wouldn’t take much to convince me things could get better. Things are so bleak that any light would be helpful.

Anytime I didn’t have to argue with folks at work. Or argue with people at home.

So what happens when the chapters start running together? When life feels like one big long chapter, with no break? When one chapter really does make up my whole story? Or what happens if there are different chapters but they all end the same way?

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter which scenario it is. It matters that I’m unhappy. That I can’t breathe because I’m so focused on just staying alive. That I have absolutely no clue who can handle the intense emotions. I want to talk to someone, but not sure who I can turn to.

I keep wondering… do things get better?

Will I be strong enough to end the struggle? Or will the struggle end me?

It’s been a while…

I’ve been reading some of my old blog posts. It occurs to me that not much has changed in my life. I have no hope of my life getting better. The kids and my husband are asleep on the sofa. It’s not even 7:30. I want to sleep but can’t. I can’t stop thinking about life. Or, rather,  of wanting to die.

I’ve been fighting these feelings since I was a little kid, well over 20 years now.  You would think the feelings would be easier to cope with. The feelings of wanting to go to sleep and not wake up.

I have two kids to take care of. They would miss me if I went through it, right?  But would they really?  The youngest is 16 months.  If I do it soon then he won’t remember. The oldest is nearly five. I can’t remember things that I did or that happened to me when I was five.  I don’t think she would remember me.  I don’t want her – or anyone – to remember me once I die. My birth was a mistake and I wish it were to never have happened.

I have no one in “real life’ I can talk to. No one understands what it is like to have to convince yourself to stay alive everyday. I’m tired of that. Mentally tired. I don’t know where to go to. I don’t know if anyone would care anyway. I also don’t want anyone to “tell”. If I decide to go through with it, I want peace for myself and acceptance from others. I don’t want someone to try to talk me out of it.