I don’t know what to write. I don’t know how to anymore. I know what I want to say. So I’m just going to say it how I would if I was talking to someone: I still hurt. I’m still angry at myself. I’m still full of guilt. I’m scared of losing my shit again.
It’s been almost a year. I know the date like a birthday. It should be something to celebrate. I’m still here. I had a second chance. But sometimes I’m angry. I’m bitter with myself that the night I tried to take my own life wasn’t successful. I don’t remember much. Just feeling sick. Being sick. Lying on a trolley in resus feeling like the biggest time waster and hoping I’d just die so someone else who really needed reviving could take my place. It still haunts me. It always will. As someone who witnessed the end of life on a regular basis in their profession, the fragile cruel last minutes of breath. I wanted to vanish into thin air like dust. And I didn’t. I’m grateful most days that I was saved but there are days, dark lonely horrible days when I wish I wasn’t.
Days when you see the worst in humanity. The sick acts perpetrated by other humans, because of intolerance, because of sheer hate. We’re an evil race. We’re born innocent into a world we know nothing of until we grow up. We’re shaped by what we see, the actions of others. We’re all responsible for others. Why can’t we just be kind and agree we’re all different. So naive of me, I know. Some people can’t embrace different. Some people make me want to give up and be the pathetic girl on the trolley in resus again only this time, I get what I deserve; left to disintegrate and quietly slip away like I was never born.
I take full responsibility for me feeling this way. I should learn from my mistakes, not take the evil shit in this world to heart, realise I have life easy, keep away from toxic relationships, ones that never lead to anything but a broken heart (mine) and feelings of inadequacy and uselessness. I should be strong enough to walk away and know the difference between want and need. But I don’t. I can’t even walk away from someone who’s slowly pulling me under. The last 11 months may as well have been in vain. All the therapy, all the hard work and effort to keep me stable. I don’t want to go back to the start of recovery again, the intervention, the putting life on hold. But if one of the blocks falls out and becomes unstable. If another one falls out, it all comes tumbling down. Broken and irreparable. If it happens. Let me disappear.
tetheredinthedeepend 