I should have died.
…And yet I live.
And while I am grateful, I feel as if a part of me has never returned from that state of walking that fine line between living and dying. It’s like being shattered into a million pieces and drifting in between space, time and not knowing how to return from it all.
I am here. And yet I am seemingly gone. A part of me is missing and I am trying so hard to understand my life and the reason for all of this.
Every day is a struggle. Mentally, emotionally, physically, I struggle and I feel like I am failing.
I no longer think that I am coming undone. I know I have.
I wish I could say that I’m okay. I wish I could say that I am completely happy and there is nothing wrong with me. But the truth is, I am broken and my soul feels like it is in decay. And I need not utter these words out loud because through my eyes, anyone can see me crumbling within.
I am broken.
And sometimes I wish I had died instead of living with this day to day struggle.
I just want to be free.
I want to be free from the physical, emotional and mental anguish that I am seemingly trapped in.
Look at my journal. Look at my blog. I go through cycles where one day I am happy and then I hit rock bottom because for one reason or another, something happens that knocks me completely off of my feet and I find myself trying to crawl, stand, run – I am trying.
I wonder if the anniversary of my near death experience has anything to do with how I’m feeling right now. The thing is, I don’t know.
Just recently, I’ve had to withdraw from 2 modules at school. I can’t get any more extensions because I’ve been on medical leave. What’s even worse now is that I have to withdraw for the rest of the year because there is no way I’ll be able to complete the rest of my subjects.
I’ve lost time and money.
And my health seems to be failing me. And I have a job that I absolutely abhor because I work for a despicable person who has no regard for anyone’s well being.
And my medical issues almost wiped me out financially so I need to have a full time job since my savings account took a beating when I was getting treatment. Fortunately, I had enough funds and have not incurred debts as a result. Apparently, insurance companies will only cover a very small percentage of ones medical bill when one has an autoimmune disease. What a rude awakening. The life of a healthy person is worth the investment in terms of ROI, but that of one who is ill is not a worthy investment.
I stare at my wrists and look at the scars; a reminder of what I had attempted and what I had failed to do. I am still here. I am still breathing. I am still living.
And yet when the anguish grips the very heart of me, every time I see a sharp blade, visions of the cold metal slicing through my skin where crimson rivers flow are never too far away.
And then I am free.
And then I am gone.
When the blade cuts my skin, it distracts me from all else – the emotional, mental and physical anguish is diminished and the cuts feel like rubbing salt in open wounds, painful enough to be a source of distraction but not unbearable. Just enough.
No, I don’t condone this.
No, I don’t encourage it.
But to those who don’t understand, I will never ask you to.
And to those who intend it, I will ask you not to.
And yet within my soul, I am broken and I wonder if I will ever be ‘whole’ again.
This is not me running away. This is me wanting to stop the pain.
And don’t tell me that I’ve not tried hard enough or that I am not trying hard enough because you do not know what it is to live in my every day where I feel trapped and I can’t get out.
No, I am not bipolar.
No, I am not crazy.
Yes, I am depressed. And you do not know my history so stop being judgmental.
I tried my hand to cross over to the other side but I was not bold enough to go through with it. And so, I progressed into self harm as a form of release.
The thing is, right now, I feel hollow, broken and the best way I can describe it is, I am here but a part of me is just no longer there. It died. And whether or not this is trauma, I don’t know. All I know is, I live it every single day and it isn’t really going away.
It’s been almost a year since the traumatic events that lead to my near death experience and yet here I am still struggling to cope with life.
And no matter who I talk to, I still feel trapped.
And sometimes, I look out the window of my apartment building, thinking how easy it is to just jump. Sometimes, I look at a knife and think how easy it is to slit my wrists, or how easy it is to overdose on my pain medication.
But I just can’t do it.
I want to but I don’t want to.
I’m still finding my way and trying to find my purpose and place. It is not easy. And it is never an easy thing to admit to having suicidal thoughts. For the life of me, I will never understand why some think that this is funny, why some encourage it for ‘fun’ and why others look down on this. These are reasons why some may never get to express themselves and they ultimately succeed in taking their own life.
All I can really say right now is, I admit it. Sometimes I think of taking my own life. And to those of you who know me or have come to love me, I am sorry to disappoint you…but I won’t lie…
…These thoughts cross my mind…but it is you who keeps me hoping for a better tomorrow. And when that doesn’t happen, it is you who keeps me from giving up and giving in to letting the crimson rivers flow until they run dry.
And then I am gone.
My second contribution for PYHO.
My sincerest thanks to Shell, for coming up with such a wonderful weekly event so people like myself can be seen and heard. You are an angel.