As things have become increasingly heavier, I’ve had a lot on my mind. I’ve not only spent a ridiculous amount of time in bed every day since finishing school, but I’ve really gotten deep into thought on so many things.
For example: what the fuck do I want to do with the rest of my life? And that question alone opened more doors than I intended on having the key to in the first place. The thing that ultimately came to my mind was this: nothing. And sure, you’re probably thinking simple enough. How could that lead to anything in depth? But that’s when I realized how miserable I truly am.
Sure, I can sit here and think about how unhappy I am and how much I don’t want to keep fighting these battles, but to literally feel the physical aspects of this misery is a whole different story. This question and answer, themselves, just had my mind wandering. I swear, my thoughts were endless until I ended up on my therapist’s couch not even strong enough to look her in the eye while desperately trying to explain how hopeless I feel. So many things have been running through my head, but a main one being, I don’t know what I want to do with my life (anymore) because I can’t see a future for myself. It’s hard to explain the idea of not being able to picture a future for yourself, but also having to explain that even if you ask me to take death out of the equation, I still can’t see anything but wanting to die.
So after what was an extremely heavy session, my therapist’s endless questions got me thinking. And then I started planning. I started planing on taking myself off the wait list I am currently on for a residential treatment facility. I started planning on canceling my therapy sessions slowly but surely. I started planning on stopping all of my medications altogether. I started planning on saying goodbye. I started planning on literally just letting myself wither away until I finally just ended it all. I just started planning on dying, really.
I still can’t shake those ideas, or the feelings that come along with the plans. I feel as if I’ve done my part in this world. I feel as if I’ve fulfilled my purpose, and then I think, what if my purpose is to break hearts? Because yes, I do know that so many amazing people care about me and love me, and me killing myself would/will hurt them, but sometimes love is not enough. Which brings me to the title of this post, and one of the important reasons I’m writing about my recent struggles. After explaining to my best friend the ideas circling my head, her first response was, “Why would you do that, Natalie?” which lead into her opinion that giving up is completely selfish of me. I think I spent an hour explaining this:
I don’t care what anyone says, this is not selfish. There is not a single soul in this world who has any genuine idea or feeling of what I’m going through. And sure, people go through similar things and so many people choose recovery every day, but I am not those people. I am the one facing these demons day in and day out. Hour after hour, minute after minute, I am the one dealing with every disorder, every addiction, every thought, every temptation, every aching breath. My therapist is not fighting this, my psychiatrist is not fighting this, my best friend is not fighting this, I am doing this all by myself. Which then brought up the topic about her never forgiving me for ending my life. And again, that’s one thing no one will ever understand is that I am doing this on my own. It’s excruciating and it’s exhausting. It’s heavy and it’s impossible. I am defeated, and I’ve accepted that. I’ve truly, truly become okay with letting go no matter how much love I have in my heart for all the people who tried along the way. I know that I am loved, but sometimes that’s just not enough.
Please, never spend the time telling a suicidal person how selfish they would be if they killed themselves. Don’t waste your breath. While most of us don’t see it that way, you could be guilt tripping the small percentage that takes that and runs with it, and making them feel worse. Please realize that this is not about you. This is about the fact that these disorders are stronger than any of us at this point, and by us I mean the person fighting this exhausting war and anyone on earth standing next to them. (You are only standing next to them. You are not fighting with them or for them to help win this thing).
So yes, I know I am loved, but sometimes that is not enough.