“There’ll be no comfort in the shade of the shadows thrown”
I feel as broken waking up today as I did falling asleep yesterday. The pain is so real, yet I am not quite sure what it comes from: this is just the way life feels. This is just the way life has been for as long as I can remember. I want the pain to go away and I don’t need it to be replaced by anything in particular. My brain scans options for me to physically release the pain, though there isn’t many options; I only ever use one. And I will go do it, the thing I have to do, to not feel. And I will feel bad again tomorrow.
And today, like yesterday and tomorrow, I am sad that this is what life is.
“Suicide is not chosen;
it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain.”
I don’t see the point of being alive.
I hate myself and I hate my life. I wish I was never born.
” Is there a way to live this life and make sense of it?
I am a slave to this disease. Chained down in a cold, hard, concrete room. Complete darkness. Sometimes, to taunt me, a little light gets in. Just enough for me to feel the sun on my skin, and to see the shadow cast behind me. Just long enough for me to grasp my mind around the truth which is that all this darkness and pain is not me, it’s my disease. Just long enough to give me a small hope that I might feel alive someday. In an instant the curtain slams down in front of me and all light and hope is gone. Leaving me to try and fight my demons in blinding darkness.
I think the reason I’m crying now, is that after all this time I still don’t know if it’s worth it being alive. ”
I wrote this in my diary over two years ago. I’m sad it’s still accurate to how I feel. I’m glad to realize I feel this way a little less often now than I did back then.
It’s been a weird day. I’ve had a good mood. At least I thought so, but it’s like the darkness has been present under the surface of my mind all day, without me really being aware that it’s there. Nudging at me seemingly out of nowhere.
A woman I spoke to said she had a relative that took his life because of his depression. I felt bad for her, and envious of him. Envious? I mean, I know suicide is like a safety blanket to me (like an “if all else fails” sort of thing), but envy suggest I find it desirable, doesn’t it? Or is it the part of him not having to deal with all of this anymore I envy rather than the take your own life part?
It’s like Freddie says; “I don’t wanna die, but sometimes wish I’d never been born at all”.
I’m both empty and full of pain at the same time. It leaves me thinking that I don’t know anything. The thought is on repeat. Why am I sad? I don’t know. What do I want? I don’t know. Do I want to change? Yes. No, because then I would, right? I don’t know. Am I not asking the right questions? What am I doing wrong? Why isn’t this life working for me?
I just don’t fucking know, and it’s tearing me up inside.