Suicidal Reflections: Accepting Fleeting Moments
It has been awhile since I have taken pen to paper. I find it hard to express myself or to even find the right words most days. I am probably still gut wrenchingly depressed, but I have not interacted with a psychiatric professional in so long that at this point I might just be deluding myself into whatever it is I am ‘feeling’ on any particular day. I am mostly deluding myself into thinking that I am ‘okay’, and there is a point to everything still. That point though is a needle in a haystack and maybe one day I will find it, or maybe I will not. If the former, it just may take me another 5, 35, or 50 years; that depends on if I hold on. I mean, that’s a challenge in itself. I cannot see the light, and honestly, I have not seen a path to the light for years.
I am in isolation like everyone else, and I am living too through this ‘so-called grief’ that the more dramatic and ridiculous have labelled. But really, for me, it is not very different from how life was before. At the core of it all, this is not about the isolation. Our lives are really not so challenged based on what I saw and experienced last year away from ‘home’; but everyone deals with ‘difficulties’ and ‘change’ in their own ways. I am trying to be patient and understanding with this, but I honestly do feel my pupils widening unnaturally when I see people complain that their lives are out of flux. If anything, good has come out of this in unexpected ways. We -and I may be generalizing- are connecting more with the people we care about; we are learning to empathize – especially with the silent; and we are gaining a greater appreciation for the little things in life – food, shelter, survival.
As someone who has been on and off suicidal for the better part of six years now, I have been in and out of isolation. My life has been out of flux, and I want to say – without the guilt of looking at my life in perspective against someone who is actually suffering – that I too suffocated and drowned. Today is no different than yesterday. As a result of all this seemingly ‘catastrophic change’ – and I am referring to being suicidal, not being in isolation - I have voiced too negatively as well. As I am writing this, I am obviously still negative. I am not any better of a human, so that’s why I have been trying to stay patient and quiet through all of this. But, someone important to me told me a little while back that despite how unstructured and sometimes consumed and selfish my writing is, there is a bit of power to it still. Sometimes my words are humanizing. I mean, I am still saying out loud what it is like to be literally mentally broken. I am still too going to say out loud that I wish most days that I was dead. So, even if nothing has changed, and I have done nothing that I feel proud of ever still, I still have to write – because it is a means, or my means right now to do or say something even if not a single person in this world actually cares what I have to say. And really, I am at the bottom of anyone’s respectable totem pole. There is absolutely nothing good to say about me right now including being deserving of anyone's attention.
I made all these seemingly drastic life-changing decisions last year – and I am still as directionless, scared and insecure as I was when I hit the trigger and tried never to look back. I am still disappointed with the fact that I am living every day; and honestly, that makes me cry more often that I would wish on anybody. Maybe the point of all this is that I will never be happy for more than a fleeting moment, and I have to just accept and embrace that. I have made strides to try to ‘change’ – and I will continue having arguments and dig myself into philosophical holes with people about ‘shifting mindsets’ - but I feel at points that I am just listening in a stoic way still to someone telling me that a ‘good day’ will come. And, for me I have been looking forward to that ‘good day’ for probably a decade now. But, maybe my definition of a good day just needs to change (ugh – shifting mindset). If I can get the fleeting moment for a few hours each day, that’s worth it enough to wake up for the next day, right? Who knows.