Life Note:Suicide Not

I have been wanting to try something new with my writing for a few weeks now. I am struggling to sit and try, to take the time to allow a new process. I can hardly breathe as I am typing and I am not sure if it is anxious feelings or me just finally losing my grip. Although I hang on to things so tightly I am often white knuckled, it never feels like I have a clean grip. I just spent 20 minutes tearing the house apart for something that was under my chair. My dog is laying on the carpet in front of me quietly with her paws crossed. I have been busting my ass for months trying to get everything just right so I can live my life, do what I do and be a mom to my kids. According to the lists  in my head and on any given blank piece of paper – I have achieved what I intended. Given those facts,  I really don’t know why I feel so horrible.

The first time I overdosed on pills I was in fifth grade. I was trying to kill myself. I stole a bunch of Dexatrim from the store down the street.  Dexatrim was popular at the time for stuff I guess. I didn’t know what at the time, I only knew people took it. I got the extra strength (still always get extra strength) and took a box. I ended up in the hospital for a few days. I remember being drowsy and the I.V in the back of my hand backing up with blood in the middle of the night. The blue cotton blankets covering my legs so neatly and the glare of light in my room from the nurses station in the hallway. Mostly what I recall from that time was the sad feelings. Simply put I felt so overwhelmingly sad, pitiful and lonely. The act in itself only made me feel more of an outcast in the fifth grade. I can’t imagine the pain and confusion my mother must have felt – being a mother myself now.

{I just looked up the side effects for Dexatrim and it is pretty disgusting and fairly disturbing}

I am afraid of dying. I do not like blood and I can only tolerate controlled pain. I do not have any delusions of me acting out any sort of dramatic suicide. Imbedded beside all of the important reasons I cannot kill myself is this –  I am afraid I will look disgusting in the box and people will say fake things and I will be a literal dead failure.

Guilt plays a pretty big role in my struggle to write any of these words. What gives me the right to feel sad and doomed and lonely when I have so many things to be grateful for? I have so many blessings in my life and opportunities for success and yet I still sit here in my pretty flowered chair feeling detached and worthless. I kind of wish to have a blanket thrown over me and let me sleep it all away. Sometimes when I am driving in my car alone I get so overwhelmed with my head, I think a lot about driving into poles. Smashing the car and hearing the crushing of metal scream through my ears. I am afraid to do that. I am sure I couldn’t tolerate the consequences of acting on those thoughts. I would also pee myself and somebody i knew would most likely see the entire thing. I would be the freak. Chris McCandless had it right when he went for a walk. Talking to strangers and sorting out his mind. His death was an accident as mine would be. I am too much of a wimp to just take off and leave all of my responsibilities behind. I should have done it 20 years ago. I can’t walk out on my kids. I love them and they love and need me. Fucked as I am.

I feel small and thin physically. It makes me feel more vulnerable and more in my natural state of hiding. I want to be picked up and cradled, I want to be told it okay and you are going to be alright. Like a baby for christ’s sake. I want so bad to feel that sort of love reciprocated and cannot feel it. I feel misunderstood and snarky. I snap at unknowing people who misunderstand me or worse – cross boundaries that I have and they don’t know about.  Twice this weekend I told off people who I should have either ignored or answered appropriately. One I full-out gave the finger too and almost assaulted. That really isn’t a feeling I can afford or act on. Seems pretty useless.

What feels even worse is that most people do not even understand the words I use against them. I know for a fact they are not under the impression that I may smack them at any given point. I had to leave my beautiful office to come and work at McDonalds. There is something almost impossible about chronicling my dark thoughts while my children are climbing over and around me. I am pretty sure that my children, the ones that I wouldn’t have had under different circumstances; are the only thing that keeps me hanging around.

{I love my friends; I know they would be fine without me. Better off in the long run}

What I really need you to understand is that I am in love with the world. I adore people and places and have so much love and desire inside of me, I cannot comprehend why I keep falling back to a unlovable state. Like a baby left in a dumpster. Or a hooker left in an alley. Or both. Yes, I feel abandoned and dirty. And I am sad, sad, sad.

Tomorrow, I will go see Steve, my therapist; first thing in the morning. I will rehash the week and probably say much of the same that I said here. I won’t worry that he will judge me or think I am crazy and I will gain an hour of reprieve. Money well spent for a change. I can only keep taking these steps in hopes of any recovery and solace in my soul. “They” say it’s the right thing to do. See the therapist and talk, see the Dr. and take the medication. Take care of my kids and get them to school. I am trusting “them” today that I’ll feel better another day.

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