No words left in me, only tears. Rivers of tears streak and stain my face. I can’t account for this deep despair. I did not lose a loved one, or my job, or my husband. It’s far beyond sadness. It’s soul wrenching pain. I am tethered to darkness. It follows me, breathes into me, consumes me, becomes me. I feel so insignificant. So unloveable. So desperate for a way out. The pain is unbearable. I know often times you do not see it. I carry on with the illusion all is well. Meanwhile on the inside I am dying.
I see people going about their day light in their step. Laughter and a smile come easy. Sit comfortably. Just be. Breathing. In acceptance.
There was a time I felt that way. Maybe 6 yrs ago. It was about a year after my first hospitalization and then 30 day treatment center for alcohol. I was sober and my mental health issues had stabilized. Hallelujah! I gladly woke up at 5am to hit my bootcamp class. People called me to play tennis. I was at the top of my game literally. I picked up my racket after not playing for 10+ years and quickly became one of the best players in the valley. I had energy, drive, motivation. I was social, felt comfortable in my skin. Witty and sarcastic. I believed people actually wanted to be around me.
Then I guess the medications stopped working. The darkness came for me like a rolling fog. My racket is dusty. My sarcasm and laughter missing. My desire and drive plummeted as did my mood. I had a taste of the “good life.” Then I had another debilitating depression. Lost my sobriety. Committed a desperate act I will never forget. This beast is insidious.
Here I am 6 years later curled on the floor sobbing. Not able to function at work-AGAIN. Needing to attend an intensive outpatient program. I stand and stare at the river. I picture myself going under, complete silence, compete darkness. A short struggle for air, but then no need for air at all. No need to beg for relief.
I admit it’s a scary thought. To picture the whole process, or how I imagine it to be. Sometimes I can feel it in my body. I think I can feel hitting the water if I were to jump from a bridge.
I visit the river often. I think about ending it all often. Sometimes I wonder if all these thoughts are messages from god that I should follow through. Maybe it’s a sign I’m not wanted here. I’ve been on my knees this week. But I was never taught how to pray. I was never taught I am worthy or good enough. Why would god want to help me? Deep down in the recesses of my existence I am sad to say I do not feel worthy of his love. It’s the truth of the matter and it hurts.
123 RV, SA, JW R.I.P. Jason