I feel it creeping up on me. My only solace is knowing I won’t try to end my life as my masochism has heightened since I survived the suicide attempt that should have killed me. Back then, I wanted to end the pain. Now, I prefer to sit with the negative emotions and attempt to become friends with the pain.
I envy people for which antidepressants work. They’ve never given me any reprieve. Docs throw out the term, “treatment resistant,” to describe my depression.
I miss my Cali mmj. Marijuana worked better for both my anxiety disorders and depression better than any prescription I’ve tried in the decade I have been living with mental illnesses. And yet…and yet, so much of America still has it outlawed. I can chain smoke cigarettes and binge drink, but roll a joint and lift from a depressive episode? Hmmm, not without a risk.
If my sister and her family had stayed in TX instead of moving to OH, I wouldn’t be here. My mom is getting older and she is sensing certain changes within herself. She’s becoming forgetful. Her mobility is becoming more limited. She has more pain. I don’t like thinking about her dying. It really fucks me up.
I hope she doesn’t die before I take the pain, trauma, etc, and do something great with it. I just want to do something…anything to make her proud. I’m the family black sheep…loser. They won’t call me that…my family. Try to end your life, wind up in a psych ward, and get diagnosed with mental illnesses and your straightlaced loved ones will handle you gently. They will applaud any and every minor achievement, not because they are impressed with you. No, they cheer out of fear that you’ll try again.
I don’t see myself doing that, suicide. At least, I don’t see myself doing that while my mom is alive. However, if I were to be without any close companions when she dies? I could see myself doing what Alexander McQueen did when his mother passed away. When I look at someone like McQueen- brilliant designer, wealthy, & with a romantic partner – and I just don’t get it…why he chose to hang himself. I have very little money…I am not destitute, but I am also not wealthy. I have no love to call my own. I just have a phone full of numbers of people that either fucked me or want to. Clearly, suicide is no respecter of persons. It can come for anyone…depression and other mental illnesses too.
Overall, I don’t fear death. I should have died ten years ago. I see the time I am in now as extra time.
I scribble all of this randomness here because I don’t have much of any kind of following within this space because the blog is new and I really don’t know what I am doing. I just know that writing things down always seems to help me feel a little better.
In any event, today will be one in which I crawl into my cocoon…my cave…and allow myself to come undone, breakdown, cry, and sleep. There’s more room out than in and some of the tears I shed should have been released awhile ago.
To anyone that has actually made this far into my haphazard drivel, thank you for indulging me. If you are going through rough shit understand that it will get better with time. Treat yourself gently and don’t be afraid. I am right there with you in the trenches. Power on, mental health warrior.