Suicidal Tendencies?
Oh, I’m sorry, was I somehow deluding myself into thinking I was feeling better?
Apparently so.
My last post, back in January, was when I was in the middle of an upswing. The pendulum has moved to the other side now, and I’m in the midst of a crushing depression. I mean crushing, as in hopeless, despairing, painful, and…well…depressing.
Now, I’m going to head off any possible alarm at the pass. I feel very certain that I will not kill myself. I repeat, I feel very certain that I will NOT kill myself. So there’s no need to alert the authorities that I’m an immediate suicide risk.
The honest truth is, though, that I think about suicide a lot. I mean a lot. I wonder what it would be like to actually go through with it. What would it be like to overdose on pills and booze? What would it be like to jump to my death? What would it be like to put a gun to my head and pull the trigger? I even emulated that little act using my fingers as a gun, and trying to believe with all my heart that it really was a loaded gun I was holding, putting my fingers to my head and trying to imagine that being my last moment on earth.
Yet I’m sure I wouldn’t do it. Somewhere in me is that little glimmer of hope that things will get better, that one day I’ll feel better, and that I’ll be glad I never killed myself. Besides, I’m passively killing myself with drugs and alcohol, and a complete disregard for how I eat, or weight gain and it’s associated dangers. I won’t go to the doctor even though I know my blood pressure is up, and that something has gone awry with my reproductive system. And obviously, I won’t go to the doctor about my depression or my substance abuse.
What does this make me? Am I being melodramatic? But then, I don’t air these thoughts to the people I know, so is this just a cry for help? Is my posting these thoughts on my blog a cry for help?
I’m so unbelievably miserable, and even more so because of Seamus. He occupies my every thought, especially the part about our relationship really being over. I can’t come to terms with this. I can’t bear to live my life without him in it. Despite the emotional and verbal abuse, I’m so miserable without him. And I know that there’s something deeply dysfunctional about feeling that way for someone who’s treated me as he has.
It’s just sheer torture, and I don’t know how much longer I can take it. But don’t worry…I won’t kill myself.
