Lots of talk about suicide this week.
Even Robin Williams came up again.
I see notes where people say their door is always open. They are there for people.
If only it was that easy.
I’ve battled depression and have had multiple suicide attempts throughout my life. First one as a tween, last one 3 years ago.
I don’t have the answers.
I appear as Suzy Sunshine to others. I have success in business. I have 3 beautiful boys. I have many friends.
I am also an empath. I feel the weight of the world sometimes. I strive to do more, do better. I beat myself up for my poor choices. I invite others in my life under the guise of love who instead of filling me up, drain me.
I then bear the responsibility of that choice and continue to wonder why the fuck I don’t just get over myself and move on.
I beg the universe to allow me to float through life without such intense feelings.
I give myself a stern talking to in order to jump start another day.
Sometimes I cave and retreat.
Then I get upset with myself again for being an asshole.
I roll with alot, and then one seemingly little thing will derail me.
It wasn’t that one thing.
Telling me your door is open doesn’t help. I can’t even walk out of mine, never mind into yours.
I wish sometimes I was blissfully ignorant.
I put my game face on and get shit done. I know how to do that. I show up and clean up, only to drive myself to empty and crash.
Occasionally I hit the flow. Times are good and I feel like I can accomplish anything.
They tell me it’s in my early childhood where this all stems from. Where those coping mechanisms came from. I’m supposed to write about it, sit with it, explore it, and unravel my tangled emotions.
I’m exhausted though.
Some days a shower seems like a monumental task.
Other days I complete a week’s worth of work in just hours.
That’s where I beg for the middle. Why can’t I just have a smooth ride?
I try. Omg do I try so fucking hard.
I read, I exercise, I journal, I go to therapy, I share, I hide, I do reiki, I attend classes, I take meds, then I quit.
I don’t have the tools necessary to get through this thing called life.
The pain overwhelms me.
There are times when I feel my kids would be better off without watching me suffer.
They deserve a happy mom. Or at least a stable one.
My mom is bipolar – untreated for the majority of her life.
Am I creating a life of struggle for my kids having them grow up with my baggage?
Raw and real – I have no answers. I look for them often, I’ve spent tens of thousands of dollars and countless hours in pursuit of peace.
My brain knows it is within me – not out there. I am dumbfounded as to how to access it.
How would I find it if I did know?
I’d walk more. Drink more water. Remove toxic people and have positive routines.
So I push my boulder up the hill another day.
Secretly wishing it would just roll back and go away.
I’m sharing because I know without a doubt that I am not alone in feeling this way.
I am not suicidal today. I am not in the sticky dark. I am still fighting the good fight.
Maybe someone who has been there has a path out. Maybe if it was safe to talk about collaboration holds the answer. Maybe we are stronger together.
Then again, maybe not.
My mind is willing to do anything to grow out of this. My heart is still crying, cracked open and furiously building walls to protect me. My body is tired and can’t participate in either activity at the moment.
I wish my mind could tell my heart how to heal instead of how to build walls.
Ah, and my inner critic just awoke to tell me to quit my fucking bitching, how ungrateful can I get?
Makes me think of that Matchbox 20 song…
All day staring at the ceiling
Making friends with shadows on my wall
All night hearing voices telling me that
I should get some sleep
Because tomorrow might be good
Hold on feeling like I’m heading for a
Break down and I dunno why
I’m not crazy
I’m just a little unwell
I know right now you can’t tell