Have you ever wanted to die? Not like I am so embarrassed I want to crawl under a rock and die. The real raw feeling of wanting to be dead. To check out. To extinguish. To no longer feel anything. To be done with life. These thoughts and feelings have been permeating my mind this past week. The thought of suicide haunts me and taunts. It’s a terrifying fantasy. It’s an escape plan. It feels like the only way out.
I went to see some music w my husband and some friends last night. I simply found no joy in being out listening to music. I used to love it, get lost in it, let it take me away from reality. I wasn’t able to stay present enough to get swept up. My mind wondered if I knew how to make a noose. What kind of rope I need. Where to buy the rope. What length do I need? I should pay off my credit cards so my husband doesn’t incur any of my debt. I was then reminded my previous plan was a pretty good one.
On the car ride to the venue I had nothing to say. It’s almost as if I have forgotten how to talk w people on a basic level. The looming feeling I have nothing worthwhile to say, nothing to contribute. I kept my shell in tact. It’s really sad to me. It’s sad to feel like and believe the world is better off w out me.
I am in a dark place today. It’s too fucking familiar. I’m tired of it. I feel trapped in it. Maybe it’s all my fault. Before you start to say it’s not, let me just stop you. It doesn’t really matter. They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It seems like this is true for pain as well. I carry on. Go through the motions. Put on appearances. I make sure I look okay on the outside. While on the inside, desperation screams. Desperate for relief. Desperate for a sense of purpose, of meaning. A sign I do matter. My existence is worthwhile. Yet my scream goes unheard. It is silent. I do not reach out. I retreat. I choose to suffer alone. So you see, it is my fault.
123 RV, SA, JW