My Brain Wants Me To Die
But I fight it
I want to preface this by saying this is not a cry for help
I have no concrete plans to hurt myself, and my therapist is well aware of these thoughts that I have. This is going to be a morbid read, so please skip if you are sensitive to discussion of suicide and suicidal thoughts.
I have dealt with suicidal ideation for a very long time
When I was 15 I attempted suicide by taking a lot of pills and hoping that I wouldn’t wake up. I did wake up and I am here 15 years later struggling with the same feelings of hopelessness that I did back then.
I have been experiencing a lot of grief recently about not having a support system
Work has been draining and burning me out to the point where I dread my time on the clock and struggle to find joy while off the clock. I still see my ex-husband on a weekly basis to co-parent our dogs because I can’t keep them full-time in a one bedroom apartment and that brings up a lot of grief and shame. I look at my siblings who have savings accounts and still live at home and I feel so much envy. I wish that I had a home that I could go to knowing someone will take care of me if I need to rest. Being neurodivergent takes a big toll on how much I can do, and I am constantly having to push myself past my limits to provide for myself. I am drained, I am exhausted, and I’m sure others view me as creating all of this mess myself, because well I have. I am a mess and this is my life.
I’m better off dead
I have thought about death extensively, ever since I was a small child. At points in my life I feared death, but now I view it as a chance to rest. I don’t know about you, but I did not ask to be here and clawing my way through this life has taken a toll on me.
Why Do I Want to Die?
I know this is morbid, but sometimes I really wish there were those suicide pods from Futurama to make the process quick and painless. Thinking about suicide makes me feel like there is something that can ease the pain that I hold inside every day. That’s the key to my suicidal ideation, my body is screaming at me that I am past my comfort levels and that I can’t keep going on the way that I am. I have experienced prolonged trauma throughout my life, and at 29 years old, I am tired. I was tired at 15, but I still had to keep going.
Surviving is not easy
Waking up day after day is exhausting.
Existing is exhausting.
Being strong is exhausting.
Being resilient is exhausting.
Surviving is exhausting.
How I work through it
I’ve been reaching out to my friends more and letting them know when I am getting suicidal thoughts. This is very new for me and it feels really awkward, but it does feel nice to let others be aware of my inner world and can help me carry some of my pain.
I try to stay active by working out and stretching. I also go to therapy and am seeing a psychiatrist.
I am trying my hardest to stay alive, but it is an every day practice. If you pray or believe in a higher power, I’d appreciate your thoughts and prayers. It’s hard for me every day and I could use all the positivity that you have to give.
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B, it breaks my heart that you feel this way and don’t deserve it. Don’t feel shame for struggling through life. Keep fighting. 💜
Death and I have our own little dance that we have been playing out for longer than I can remember.
I remember, intensely, being 7 or 8 the first time I tried killing myself by swallowing paint thinners that clearly said on the bottle *danger may cause death if consumed* and was devastated to learn about false advertising in what at the time seemed like the most brutal fashion: the continuation of my existence in that hell of my parents' making.
That dread. The inability to fathom how one continues on in this fashion. Or to understand why one would want to. Once your brain goes through those motions, no rationale on earth can change it from seeming like the only rational response to an irrational and intensely painful impulse.
Even now, a decade beyond the last time i tried to do something like that, 6+ years sober, and uncountable hours and days spent trying to work my way through the labyrinth of, well me... And there are still moments where the crushing force of what has come before, coupled with the intensity of the chronic pain, and the seemingly never ending fatigue that refuses to leave me no matter how much i rest - where all of that gets to me and makes me think the whole thing is going to topple over now im fucked- but doesn't. I let myself cry and feel my feeling. Horrible as they may be.
There are no fixes here. Not to my knowledge. There is managing it. And staying alive. I'm glad you are here. Even if being here exacts a cost that you, and only you, can ever know.