[TW: a whole lot of depressing shit, with some mentions of suicide thrown in for good measure]
so, um, it's been an eventful two weeks or so over here, to say the least. thanks to everyone who reached out and checked up, and also thanks to those who expressed their support by keeping a distance because they know that's how we roll. i love y'all for it and i am thankful.
i don't know what's next. i am trying my damnedest to be ok with not knowing what's next, but my type a-minus personality is getting in my way. y'all know i need some semblance of order in at least some areas of my life, and the past couple of weeks have been anything but orderly or ordinary.
(if you have no idea what the hell i'm talking about when i refer to the events of two weeks ago, please go read this and then come back.)
as i was saying, the past 2 weeks have been a whirlwind and i don't really know what's next and i'm trying to be ok with the not knowing.
i'm trying to be ok, period. some days are easier than others. i thought i was doing ok last sunday, but as you'll see below from the stuff i scribbled throughout the day, i wasn't fully back to myself.
note that i'm italicizing last week's scribbles as a way of marking them as separate from this main entry.
10-25 1:51pm
writing for when you look down at your wrists a week after your first suicidal episode in more than 20 years and you think maybe you should get matching tattoos on both wrists because then you won't be as likely to slit your wrists.
yes, this is my life right now. at least i'm still around to write about it, right? right.
~5:10pm
writing for when you play carl thomas' "emotional" at the bar and your friends are excited but they don't really get how true and how real some of the lyrics are for you. you almost wanna say something, but it's kinda taking all you have to keep your facade going and therefore you just sit on it for the moment.
~5:17pm
shall we talk about how i'm trying to be present and have fun and be supportive because a friend is in mourning and it's getting harder and harder to fake it because i am so fucking fed up with everything?
i'm not sure people really get how fucking difficult this shit is and it's sorta kinda my fault for not being able to verbalize how hard things are and it's not fair to expect everyone else to pick up on that shit, and yet...
i'm tired. i had the best of intentions and yet i am so fucking tired. how the fuck am i supposed to be the one who looks out for everyone else if i can't keep my shit together?
amazing how the folks who you would think would know better would be more in tune with what's going on, and yet it's the folks who have enough distance to be observant enough to check up on you like "hey, i know you're not ok, but i'm here if you need me." how does that even work?
how am i supposed to be about this empath life if it's talking all i have (and i really do mean ALL) to keep myself upright? how is this supposed to work? how am i supposed to keep moving forward when all i wanna do is fall down and give up?
how am i supposed to keep moving forward when all i wanna do is fall down and give up?
how am i supposed to keep moving forward when i swear on all things holy and slightly unholy that all i wanna do is fall down and give up?
i thought i was ready. i thought i was better. i thought i could power through this weekend and not fall apart, because other people wanted/needed me to have my shit together so i could be there for them. i'm not even sure how this is supposed to work anymore. i'm tired. i am so very tired. i'm not sure i have the words to articulate just how tired i am at the moment.
this has to stop. i know enough to know that i cannot function well like this. somehow, someway, i need to pull myself together, and not just at work, so i can get back to whatever quasi-normal i was at before, say, last saturday. i don't know how that's supposed to work and, if i'm honest with myself, i'm not entirely convinced i want it to work, but whatever.
this is all part of the work, right? pulling yourself to the side to fall apart because god forbid anyone see your moment of weakness - or better still, they don't see it and you're just like "really? how'd you miss that?" but you can't get mad about it because this is your job. you're the strong one. you're the one who holds everyone else up and when people do bother to inquire about you, it's always in public and therefore you smile and nod like everything is beautiful even though you can feel yourself shattering on the inside, because what else are you gonna do?
i've apologized via email to the friends who got caught up in last sunday's madness. attempting to grin and bear it when they knew good and damn well i wasn't ok wasn't fair to them, and lying and saying i was fine when i clearly wasn't definitely wasn't fair. i fucked that all the way up. if you're reading this, let me apologize again. i'm sorry. i am really and truly sorry.
another theme this year, along with meeting and leaving people where they are, is owning up to your shit. taking ownership of your good, bad, ugly, mediocre, brilliant, nonsensical, whatever moments. being mature enough to say "yeah, that's on me" even when there's no benefit to doing so. faults and all. flaws and all. fuck-ups and all. it's all part of the work, i think.
and yeah, it would've been easy for me to leave all that stuff in my notebook and not share it, but there's a part of me that truly believes that someone out there might be battling through similar shit and their path and pain might be eased a bit by knowing they're not alone in this. i might be wrong, but i'm going with it for now.
have i mentioned how much i love just going with things and not having at least a partial plan of attack? my type a-minus personality is having a fucking field day with this shit. :P
Saturday, October 31, 2015
Monday, October 26, 2015
and now, a selection from the poetry committee
We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!
Monday, October 19, 2015
tired of being weak and sick of being strong
[TW: suicide]
saturday night was the first time i have seriously contemplated suicide in more than 20 years.
it started innocently enough. i'd booked a staycation weekend b/c i wanted a bit of a break from real life. i was having a drink in my hotel room, as one does on a saturday night while watching sports, and i felt my old friend anxiety trying to creep in.
"ok, fine," i said. "let's go ahead and have all of the anxiety. i don't have to worry about my right hand burning up with tension because i'm not typing anything and if i start shaking, no one's around to see it."
do you know how difficult it is to watch a hockey game while you're sobbing on the floor? i literally slid out of the chair and onto the floor at one point and when i tell you that this was a particularly ugly cry, please believe me. i cried so much that i was dehydrated and had to down half a bottle of water as soon as i was mobile again.
i got up, though, and i kept drinking (and hydrating) and watching sports, and i figured that mini-breakdown was the end of it. but it wasn't.
"remember me? i came to hang out with you on your 17th birthday! let's talk."
oh for fuck's sake i am not THAT drunk. go away.
"no, really! it's been decades! you're in a hotel room. who cares if housekeeping discovers your body on the floor or in the tub?"
are you serious? i think i have a couple of xanax and my migraine meds and maybe some other OTC meds and a bottle of whiskey. do you really think i'm gonna consume all those just so i can get my stomach pumped later? what sense does that make?
"what sense does it make continuing to fight a battle you're not sure you can win?"
......
"why are you still trying so hard? who really gives a good damn if you make it?"
.......
"see? you can't even answer me! i was right all those years ago, and i'm right now. break one of those glasses and cut your wrists."
yeah, no. i don't like the sight of blood and i'm not a big fan of pain.
"you sure you don't have any other pills with you? just take all of them and drink all of that whiskey and hey, do those windows open?"
i'm on the 3rd floor.
"ok, so take the pills and drink the booze and jump anyway and sit outside and freeze until someone finds you later."
i...i don't think i want to do that.
"who's gonna notice? have you really left that large of a legacy to think you're important enough to be missed?"
..........
"no one cares. no one cared about your poor motherless child shtick when you were 17, and you've said yourself that your current path is difficult and adulting is bullshit."
yes, those are things i have said, but...
"no buts! do it!"
no.
"i'm sorry, what did you say?"
no. i am unsober and therefore i am susceptible to making poor decisions but i'm not that far gone. no.
"you sure? you really think people are gonna care enough to keep you around?"
yeah. yeah, i do. now go away and let me finish my drink in relative peace.
that was part one. after hockey was over and i went out for a greasy dinner because i knew i needed something to soak up all of that booze, i eventually went to bed.
_____________________________________________________
1:30am.
hm. a little early for a panic attack, but i did pass out before midnight and therefore the timing might be a bit off.
oh, this is one of those panic attacks where i can't stop crying. ok.
no, wait, i have to start pacing around the room while i'm crying. can i sit down now? it's kinda hard to remain upright when i'm crying so hard i can barely see straight.
dammit, panic-induced nausea, who invited you? good thing this bathroom floor is nice and cool. i'll just curl up here for a moment until i can stop crying and my stomach feels like it's done contributing to this panic attack party.
ok. gonna drink some water and some ginger ale (way to be prepared, past me) and go back to bed.
"o hai!"
fuck me running. it's *squints at clock* 3am. are we really doing this right now?
"yup! who cares if you wake up crying in the middle of the night on a regular basis? you know there's a way to end this once and for all."
didn't i say earlier that i wasn't ready to give up yet?
"yeah, yeah, that's what they all say, until they see things my way and give in. you're just like them."
no. i am many things and i am very vulnerable at this point, but i am not just like them.
"sure you are. why else would i be here?"
...........
"gotcha! now go grab those pills and let's party."
no.
"DO IT!"
no. i am going back to bed and i will eventually fall asleep once my heart stops racing and i will get up in the morning and go to brunch and continue to live my life.
"you're faking it, you know. you're not really happy."
of course i'm not really happy. that's not news.
"you wouldn't have to worry about this shit if you were dead."
this is a valid point, but i'm not quite ready to concede the battle just yet.
"ok, if you say so..."
i do. please leave. it's late and i'm sober and exhausted and i would like to get some sleep now.
_____________________________________________________
at some point, i did manage to get some sleep, and i did get up the next morning and go to brunch, and i am continuing to live my life, as evidenced by the fact that i am able to share this with you right now.
the title of this post came to me earlier on saturday before the anxiety really kicked in. it's true for so many of us, i think - that we're tired of being weak and sick of being strong. i can only speak for me when i say that somehow, i just find a way to keep going. that's what i did on my 17th birthday. that's what i did on saturday. hopefully that's what i'll continue to do.
saturday night was the first time i have seriously contemplated suicide in more than 20 years.
it started innocently enough. i'd booked a staycation weekend b/c i wanted a bit of a break from real life. i was having a drink in my hotel room, as one does on a saturday night while watching sports, and i felt my old friend anxiety trying to creep in.
"ok, fine," i said. "let's go ahead and have all of the anxiety. i don't have to worry about my right hand burning up with tension because i'm not typing anything and if i start shaking, no one's around to see it."
do you know how difficult it is to watch a hockey game while you're sobbing on the floor? i literally slid out of the chair and onto the floor at one point and when i tell you that this was a particularly ugly cry, please believe me. i cried so much that i was dehydrated and had to down half a bottle of water as soon as i was mobile again.
i got up, though, and i kept drinking (and hydrating) and watching sports, and i figured that mini-breakdown was the end of it. but it wasn't.
"remember me? i came to hang out with you on your 17th birthday! let's talk."
oh for fuck's sake i am not THAT drunk. go away.
"no, really! it's been decades! you're in a hotel room. who cares if housekeeping discovers your body on the floor or in the tub?"
are you serious? i think i have a couple of xanax and my migraine meds and maybe some other OTC meds and a bottle of whiskey. do you really think i'm gonna consume all those just so i can get my stomach pumped later? what sense does that make?
"what sense does it make continuing to fight a battle you're not sure you can win?"
......
"why are you still trying so hard? who really gives a good damn if you make it?"
.......
"see? you can't even answer me! i was right all those years ago, and i'm right now. break one of those glasses and cut your wrists."
yeah, no. i don't like the sight of blood and i'm not a big fan of pain.
"you sure you don't have any other pills with you? just take all of them and drink all of that whiskey and hey, do those windows open?"
i'm on the 3rd floor.
"ok, so take the pills and drink the booze and jump anyway and sit outside and freeze until someone finds you later."
i...i don't think i want to do that.
"who's gonna notice? have you really left that large of a legacy to think you're important enough to be missed?"
..........
"no one cares. no one cared about your poor motherless child shtick when you were 17, and you've said yourself that your current path is difficult and adulting is bullshit."
yes, those are things i have said, but...
"no buts! do it!"
no.
"i'm sorry, what did you say?"
no. i am unsober and therefore i am susceptible to making poor decisions but i'm not that far gone. no.
"you sure? you really think people are gonna care enough to keep you around?"
yeah. yeah, i do. now go away and let me finish my drink in relative peace.
that was part one. after hockey was over and i went out for a greasy dinner because i knew i needed something to soak up all of that booze, i eventually went to bed.
_____________________________________________________
1:30am.
hm. a little early for a panic attack, but i did pass out before midnight and therefore the timing might be a bit off.
oh, this is one of those panic attacks where i can't stop crying. ok.
no, wait, i have to start pacing around the room while i'm crying. can i sit down now? it's kinda hard to remain upright when i'm crying so hard i can barely see straight.
dammit, panic-induced nausea, who invited you? good thing this bathroom floor is nice and cool. i'll just curl up here for a moment until i can stop crying and my stomach feels like it's done contributing to this panic attack party.
ok. gonna drink some water and some ginger ale (way to be prepared, past me) and go back to bed.
"o hai!"
fuck me running. it's *squints at clock* 3am. are we really doing this right now?
"yup! who cares if you wake up crying in the middle of the night on a regular basis? you know there's a way to end this once and for all."
didn't i say earlier that i wasn't ready to give up yet?
"yeah, yeah, that's what they all say, until they see things my way and give in. you're just like them."
no. i am many things and i am very vulnerable at this point, but i am not just like them.
"sure you are. why else would i be here?"
...........
"gotcha! now go grab those pills and let's party."
no.
"DO IT!"
no. i am going back to bed and i will eventually fall asleep once my heart stops racing and i will get up in the morning and go to brunch and continue to live my life.
"you're faking it, you know. you're not really happy."
of course i'm not really happy. that's not news.
"you wouldn't have to worry about this shit if you were dead."
this is a valid point, but i'm not quite ready to concede the battle just yet.
"ok, if you say so..."
i do. please leave. it's late and i'm sober and exhausted and i would like to get some sleep now.
_____________________________________________________
at some point, i did manage to get some sleep, and i did get up the next morning and go to brunch, and i am continuing to live my life, as evidenced by the fact that i am able to share this with you right now.
the title of this post came to me earlier on saturday before the anxiety really kicked in. it's true for so many of us, i think - that we're tired of being weak and sick of being strong. i can only speak for me when i say that somehow, i just find a way to keep going. that's what i did on my 17th birthday. that's what i did on saturday. hopefully that's what i'll continue to do.
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