Exploring the Depths

I’ve blogged about the origin of suicidal thoughts before, but I’d like to work it out again from the headspace I’m in today.

Speaking realistically, there is a high chance that I will die by my own hand eventually. I have been dealing with suicidal ideation since the age of five and I had a nearly successful attempt when I was eighteen.

For me, I think it stems from this disconnection I experience.

I’ve never been able to envision a future where I exist, where I have a value as a human being.

I have no attachments to things. The only reason to have money is to survive in this form of society.

I don’t care about sports, cars, fashion, and the meaningless drivel on the news. I lost interest even in my favorite genres of tv shows and movies.

And I don’t see the point in being a part of a society that doesn’t function.

The most crucial piece, I lack human connection. There is not a single person I know that I feel I can discuss my observations and thoughts with face to face, other than my therapist.

I have no sense of community or family.

It’s interesting. I don’t feel lonely. But every now and then, aloneness feels like a hole burning inside my chest. 

There is this frustration in that I have made such leaps and strides in recovering from trauma, yet my situation is still the same; despite my efforts. 

So all of this weighs on me at times. I think to myself, “I’m not that interested in seeing what happens next. Living through this repeatedly is not worth it.”

What I see in society is exactly what I see in my own self. Conflict. Division. Impasse.

So the inevitable idea pops into my mind, self-destruction. I can always say, enough is enough, and deliver myself from this existence.

I do find some relief in thinking of it as an option.

I reason with myself that self-termination is neither right nor wrong, it is an autonomous decision and anyone has the right to do whatever they want with their own life.

Then I let myself cry for a bit. It seems to fill up that hole. I shift perspective and know that I simply must stay the course.  

The decisions I make today shape my tomorrow. So the more I do for myself right now, the better off I’ll be.

So I scrape by another few weeks of suicidal depression and hope that I don’t run out of steam.

These thoughts and feelings are pretty common I think, it’s just that no one discusses it.

**side note** this is not a cry for help. I’m just working out my own experience of this and have no plans to harm myself.

Three Pillars

The sky is light blue, with a few streaks of white clouds. The air is cool, but the sun is warm on my skin. I walk across the crisp green blades of grass, feeling the coldness of morning dew on my bare feet.

I see three great pillars ahead, arranged in a triangle, with a circle patch of barren earth in the center. I journey to the center of the pillars.

The first pillar represents grief. I think of all the suffering and loss in my life and the lives of others. Every rape, every murder, every assault, exploitation, and oppression cuts at my soul like a flaming sword. I must learn to wield it.

The second pillar represents rage. I can hear the cries of a million souls. Injustice! So much injustice perpetuated across time and space. I feel my muscles swell up, ready to take action. I feel ready to react and to protect.

The third pillar represents love. In this moment, I can say that I am loved. I realize that life is movement. I must always move in the direction that I want to go in. Focus on bringing the best out in myself and others. That is love.

Grief, rage, and love are motions in life. We are meant to be moved by them. What do those motions bring up in you?

Giving Death To

I’ve been thinking about what I need to give death to in my life so that I may live fully.

The main things I need to give death to are: excuses for and beliefs about myself.

My problem is that the Self is contextual and my context has been isolation, institutionialisation, and unhealthy family for 33 years.

I literally don’t know how to be. And because I spent so much time in observation growing up, I never know if I’m doing or saying enough or too much.

That’s an excuse. It may be a fact, but it is still an excuse.

Why is it so hard to let go of what I know? 

Living like this is most likely far worse than just taking more risks and putting myself out in the world.

I’ll just file this under my existential meanderings and sleep on it.