It’s time to share some honesty. Some emotions. With the time I have to do so, because I’ve got less than thirty minutes to write up as much as I can, so, let’s dig in. (There’s a nice chicken on the table, some sweets, some chocolate, lots of us here like chocolate after all).
So, I’ve managed to cry! Multiple times in fact! The numbness of the previous 4 days has shriveled up and decayed as I’ve been crying off and on for a suicidal friend, my own past suicidality and for those who’ve lost their lives to suicide.
My last post last night brought quite a few punches, and I wrote it in response to my friend who is going through a very hard time. Genuinely, I was sobbing as I wrote it and I continued crying before I fell asleep (and woke up with the most loveliest headache). Being across the pond, over the virtual powers of the Internet, let alone when you’re face to face with a friend who is deeply struggling, I felt just that massive impact of loss. Even though she hasn’t gone yet, I’m afraid that she will.
These are no easy words to say. They never are, actually.
In my post I wrote a little about how I had to accept that I’m not the one in control here, that I do not control her actions or anyone’s actions when they are suicidal, unless they are my own, and only my own. That is difficult to sit with. Because it means admitting and accepting that you can only do so much. That you can do everything you can to help, and that you have to realize that you can’t do everything.
It is difficult and it brings up feelings for me like powerlessness and helplessness and fear. It makes me feel loss and grief, and a terrible, aching sadness. It feels so dark and so consuming and I can understand how alone it can feel, when under those spells.
And still, I have to accept, that I cannot be everything. That sometimes, life is not enough. Sometimes the pain is too great, and sometimes people just need to be released.
I doubt that ever gets easier to say, easier to understand and sit with. It’s just difficult. It’s sad. It’s heartbreaking. And yet I remember: That some people make it through these struggles, and some people don’t.
I’m sorry and I cry for those who do not.
However, this is only a small portion of what I wanted this post to be about. I have had my tears for my dear friend, and I have had my tears for those who went to fly free because someone has to notice them, and grieve for them. Someone who may not have ever known them, but feels for them all the same.
This has made me think of my own previous suicidality episodes. How I, too, could have lost my life. How I had wanted to, and while not active today, a part of me still wants to.
I grieve to those who have been lost, to those we are still losing. To those we are yet to lose. I grieve for myself. I grieve to those who are struggling and no one knows, and that I cannot know either, but that I wish that I could, so I could reach out to them, give them a little positive message I’ve made and to be there for them as they release their pain through tears and words.
This is right around the same time last year that I not only wrote my note but that I went into the hospital again.
To continue my honesty, I am feeling that I may need to return to the hospital. I am afraid that because I am not suicidal, that I won’t be admitted. I’m afraid that I am not so called “that bad” to be admitted.
Even though I have self-harmed and relapsed recently. Even with new scars to be on my body. I still feel as though . . . I am not worthy.
I know inherently that I am, I know inherently that I broke my safety contract, again, with my T, and I know inherently I may be going to the ER–potentially even tonight.
I am recognizing that I need help. I need further support and treatment than what I may be able to stir up and provide for myself right now. And I am scared. Scared of going to a place which isn’t all that helpful for me. Scared of having to put my parents into a financial crunch of a situation, of their misunderstanding and further judgment each time I confess I’ve scratched myself again. Worried about the process of getting admitted and that I’ll miss out on some other events in my life due to it, yet also afraid that if I don’t go soon the feelings will pass once more and I’ll still just be struggling and yearning for additional support, support I cannot quite reach out for and take.
I am trying to begin the recovery process again, and it’s tough. I’ve been disillusioned by the OCD for the last two weeks, and I feel myself struggling against it. Sometimes acting against my values, with my head so far up my own asshole. With the inappropriate affect causing me to smile and laugh (creepily as my Mom says) when I talk about the suicide obsessions or the suicidal thoughts. Not that I even am having many, suicidal thoughts that is. They’re more just OCD based.
I did skip my meds yesterday, because that sounded like a good idea, but I have taken them today.
Further treatment is further down the line from here and I believe I may have to just pick myself up myself and dust me off and just struggle through because again, I’m not so far “off” to require an immediate hospitalization.
I don’t know, everything’s a little skewed at the moment. I would like to write a post in advance if I require hospitalization, but I don’t think I’ll be able to write it right now. If you don’t hear from me for a week, that’s where I am. So, I’d be safe there. ❤
For now this is about the most honesty I can put together. My thoughts are jumbled and now I’m chuckling for good reasons, hehe.
Tits going to be okay, guys. Tits going to be okay.
😀 ❤ ❤ ❤
Sending much love into the universe for you all and boomerangs of hugs while I’m at it, too! ❤ XXXXX I’ll be in touch! ❤
Stay safe!! ❤