Wanting to Die vs. Losing the Will to Live
Suicidal thoughts, depressive tendencies, substance abuse, disordered eating
I said I wasn’t suicidal.
And I didn’t think I was.
But I just never knew what that actually felt like.
I had preconceived notions based on second-hand experiences and they were all wrong.
I thought it would come on like this overpowering megaphone, broadcasting the darkest parts of myself until I could take no more.
But it was nothing like that.
It was like slipping into a warm bath.
I think Hannibal Lectar also uses that comparison for being stabbed.
It was a comforting suggestion in moments of incredibly irrational dis-ease.
A friendly whisper vs. a stark command.
No actual voice or split reality, just a shift in the internal dialogue that already exists.
It started with a subtle change in the story I tell myself. And I hate housework enough that it came on while washing dishes.
Because I was withdrawing from weed.
And in so much physical pain as a result of my body.
But I’ve already bitched about that.
You’ve already skimmed through that.
And that narrative no longer serves me. That story is full of shit and holes and I need to end that shit hole story and start a new one.
Because this one sucks.
And it needs to be over.
I haven’t said much this year because I’ve been too busy spitting venom into the eyes of my loved ones because my co-dependency issues mean I would prefer to focus on the problems of others in order to avoid making space for my own.
And then when others don’t correct their issues at the inhuman speed I expect them to, I use them as the proxy for the disappointment I feel towards myself for not being able to fix myself at the rate I want.
I let myself down a lot this year. I allowed the weight of semantics to crush me.
What do words mean?
Whatever you ask them to.
Ding ding daddy dilemmas!
But this habit extends far beyond the human I nest naked with.
I believed I would be better if I brought better around me. And that worked to a degree but is also a really lazy way to try and improve yourself.
“I will stand next to other people that do cool shit and love themselves
and then hopefully I will do cool shit and love myself”
Osmosis is not a learning style (yet)
But that method doesn’t fix things like digestion and depression because science:
Or the fact that my skeleton is desperately seeking an open-concept approach, but my muscles will not comply. My framework feels like a briefcase full of jell-o and glass.
And as a result, I have been heavily self-medicating with marijuana almost 24/7 for the last 365.
And it shows.
Not just physically but mentally, emotionally, financially and professionally.
I know a lot of pot-smoking bold badasses with strength and serious skills, but I’m top of all lists for temper.
Robin William’s used to have a bit about how he had never met an angry pot smoker.
We were in the same room once - but we never met. He was wrong.
My first suicidal thought came on while standing at the sink in Dildo, Newfoundland with my human asleep in the other room and no real worry or Wi-Fi in sight.
And after 5 days of being totally sober and curled up in the passenger seat, my body and brain started to revolt against me.
Anxiety set in over nothing -
What order do I do things in?
How do I efficiently make breakfast?
There’s so much to clean.
Will we check out in time?
Where are we staying next?
What will we eat?
Where will we buy it?
You should just kill yourself.
It would be easier.
And like that, the idea existed. It took me a moment to realize what my own brain had come up with and another for it to sink in how scary it was.
And then panic and dread and all that fun stuff that comes with cerebral chaos.
But how did this happen?
And how did it happen again?
I don’t know how long I’ve spent thinking about it or on it or about everything but it since then, but you can assume it was the majority of my waking hours. And regardless of what direction it’s pointed at, obsessing is never a good way to function.
But it did yield answers. Mainly one: I brought myself here.
I refused to feel the full extent of my pain because I was afraid of it.
I used the physical labels handed to me as excuses to avoid it and compartmentalize it.
I don’t know what anything should feel like, so I’d rather feel nothing.
I used the mental labels handed to me as excuses to be a whiny little brat.
I don’t have the skills to deal with this because I’m bipolar.
physical weakness = void of comfort
mental weakness = lack of control
dependency problems = substance abuse
substances = altered states
isolation = altered perspectives
orthorexia = disordered eating
depressive narcissistic toxic self talk
I hate everyone that isn’t me because I’m jealous they’re not me.
I hate everyone that isn’t me because they don’t understand me because they’re not me.
I should be more me because I’ll only ever be me.
I don’t want to be me because being me is hard.
Two humans in my life saw it before I heard it in my own voice: because they had heard it in the voices of others before.
It sounds like apathy and acceptance, not anger and action.
At least I did - when I was giving away the contents of my apartment. I wasn’t doing it because dead people don’t need belongings (though they don’t), I was just doing it. I had made choices to change my reality drastically and zero plans on what would come after that change.
And when I realized that for the first time in my life I didn’t have 12 back up plans for what I would do next with my life and body and brain, I realized it was because I didn’t want to make any.
I wanted to want to make plans, I just didn’t.
I didn’t want to die, but I had lost the will to live because living was hard.
But living is always hard and while it presents many options during, does not have many options for participation.
You either do it or you don’t.
Live or don’t.
Try or don’t.
The middle ground of compromise and comfort was so much worse than trying and failing/struggling/suffering.
Comfort is meant to be a momentary relief from the constant, not the constant. If it were, we’d all wear onesies all day, eat curry and stay inside and believe everything will be fine without effort.
I tried that - it doesn’t work so well.
So now I’m trying something else - trying.