Being Honest When All You Want Is To Lie Yourself Into Oblivion

I have a couple articles I’ve been working on for the last few weeks and because they’re taking so long I figured I’d write a personal piece. That, and my life kind of warrants a personal piece right now. Because I’m kind of in the ditch right now; unable to claw my way out because just staying above the mucky water so I don’t drown is taking all of my strength, and the few times I’ve tried to climb out I’ve just gotten more stuck.

TW for discussion of suicidal thoughts

I’m almost always suicidal. It doesn’t matter what’s happening in my life or if I’m doing well or doing terribly those thoughts are always, always floating around my headspace. But the last week  or so I’ve seen them go from floating to strategic dives penetrating my consciousness (I know, not a good enough reason to use the word penetrating). It’s been a really rough few weeks, and I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t more than a few moments where those thoughts teetered on the edge of becoming actions.

I’ve started the actual work at my new job. Cool right? I might actually be self-sufficient. I might be able to do something right. Except as cool as it is, it’s not cool. My static level of anxiety has jumped quite a few percentage points and now even on my off days I worry about the next shift, I worry about a mistake I made last shift, I worry about if I can keep it up with all this worrying. It’s honestly been almost unbearable, the constant thoughts about the relief of suicide, the constant anxiety and the constant feeling of being completely alone.

This is where I would normally lie to everyone around me because I don’t want to burden them, or I can handle it on my own, or why should I make them miserable too? This has been my strategy for pretty much all my life. I lapsed one time and that prevented a suicide attempt. I held to it one time and that led to my only suicide attempt. The scoreboard is clear, but I still feel so strongly that I shouldn’t burden anyone with what I’m going through that I ignore the scoreboard and keep risking my life by not asking for support.

Except today. Today I called my mom. I don’t know what the point of everything I was going to tell her was, but I called her, and I told her that I was was having a tough week. We talked about it for a little while, my dad called me afterward and asked what they could do to help, which is a question I’ve never been able to answer. Since I couldn’t answer my dad said that they would call me every day and make sure I was safe. I told him my response would incredibly greatly based on how I was doing. He said okay. Every bone in my body was terrified of this. I suffer in silence, and I will until the end. Or, at least, that’s how it usually is, how I want it to be for some reason, and most likely what’s behind it all is that my suicidal thoughts in their varying intensities come from a deep core that on my good days I’m not aware of, but on my bad days it’s all there is: I want to die. Suicidality is such a part of my life that it’s essentially a personality trait. That’s likely one of the main reasons I cringe at people knowing just how bad things are.

But for the moment, I’ll be living with that decision to be honest, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me. I don’t know what, if anything, it’s going to bring, but I know that it was one of the most difficult decisions I’ve had to make.

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