I still have moments when I wonder if this is a good idea. Me sharing what's inside my head. Mainly because it's a car crash in there most of the time and who needs that? Apart from other people like me.
I know right. More people like me. Doing proper jobs, raising families and everything. Fucked up souls with responsibilities trying to keep it together and hoping to wake up just once feeling happy to be alive.
That paints a picture of every waking second being a nightmare. It's not. Personally I have moments of lucidity where the promise of how life could be provides me with the motivation to keep going. These glimmers of light burn a little brighter every day but when they're eclipsed the darkness is suffocating.
Taking the first step and coming clean about how I was feeling was hard. Having spent so long covering up the truth I'd almost forgotten what it's like to just be me except for the fact that the only me I can remember is miserable as hell a lot of the time and I'm happy to forget that. It gave me the opportunity to share how I feel. To accept that if other people have a problem with my condition I need to live with that. But in the main they don't. Some of you have been exceptionally supportive. That in itself makes me feel guilty. And reinforces why I'm in the place I'm in.
The reason for calling this post 'It's not you, it's me', isn't a cowardly way of breaking up with you. After all I need all the help I can get. It's because of some of the comments I've had about suicide. When I was 17 my boyfriend's uncle (in his 20s) killed himself. It was the first, although not the last, time that I experienced this type of death and the repercussions it has. It was heartbreaking to see the pain they were going through. Their inability to answer that most simple and yet complex of questions: Why? I can't speak for other people. My experience of depression could be very different from someone else's but I do know that when I was considering suicide as an option the why was all about me. It really wasn't about anyone else. Of course there are people who suffer abuse - verbal and physical - which can lead them to take their own lives. That's not the case for me. That's why I can't imagine that anything you might say to me would lead me to take this step.
I'm working very hard to make sure I don't reach this point. It's not easy. I remember sitting at dinner with two very good friends talking about the dramatisation of Lisa Lynch's battle with cancer. I had only just sought help and the world still felt a little hazy. I'm embarrassed to admit this because it illustrates my selfishness but it also highlights how the people who know you can really help. As we sat around the table talking about this incredible woman and the tragedy of her death I could feel myself growing tense. It was tragic. It was a waste. She was brave and bold. And all I could think was I wish that was me. I didn't want to say it out loud because I was ashamed. So my friend said it for me. We didn't talk about it anymore but I felt relieved that he got it and grateful that they didn't pussy foot around me.
Some people believe that suicide is selfish. I can see why. The people left behind, like my ex boyfriend's family, never truly get over it. But for me I thought it was more selfish expecting my family and friends to live with me the way I was. Happy one minute. Cold, angry and distant the next. It's not rational. Then neither was I.
What I'm trying to say is that I feel the way I do because of me. Not because of any of you. The problem is mine. It's my lack of self esteem, my guilt, my need to make other people happy before myself. If someone tells me I've done a good job I think they're being sarcastic. If someone asks to speak to me I assume it's because I've cocked something up. All of these factors are a result of my insecurities. That's not to say you should treat me like crap because it doesn't matter, that would be ludicrous. But here's the 'tell it like it is' moment: I'm not going to kill myself because of something you say or don't say; do or don't do. I honestly hope I'm not going to kill myself full stop. It certainly feels less likely every day*. Plus I have a really low pain threshold so my options are limited. I'm kidding! Not about the pain threshold.
Just keep doing what you're doing. Unless it's something you shouldn't. Being depressed doesn't mean I'll turn a blind eye to everything but the pills certainly make me less inclined to care.
*One of the questions my psych nurse asks me is if I have any plans. At the start I used to say no. Which was a lie. Now I say no and I usually mean it. I really hope it stays that way.
