WARNING: This post may be triggery for those who have mental health issues and have considered taking their own lives.
Suicidal ideation isn’t nice. It’s something I pretty much have to deal with semi-regularly. Much of the time these thoughts can be silenced or muted by medication, friends, blogging and various other stuff. Sometimes they can’t – and that isn’t good.
It’s particularly “not good” as my default coping strategy has for many years been “superficial” self harm (or cutting myself). Maybe as a means of “control”, maybe as some sort of “release”. Likely a mix of both. It’s a maladaptive strategy and one I don’t advise. Recently I’ve been better at catching thought spirals and distracting myself before they get out of hand. But that takes a lot of effort.
But hey everything involved with being depressed takes a lot of effort. Getting out of bed in the morning takes a lot of effort. Getting out of the house to do anything takes a lot of effort. Making plans with people takes a lot effort.
A lot of effort to build up the self worth to consider it a good idea to get up
A lot of effort to put on the mask so you can face the world.
A lot of effort not to hate youself every minute of every day for the fat, untalented, stupid bastard you really are.
A lot of effort to do anything when you are in the grip of the malignant sadness.
For instance it is taking me a lot of effort to type this blog as I’m convinced it’s badly written, poorly realised shite.
But I felt I had to write something. Rather than responding to various conversations and attitudes that I find quite distressing.
I’ve thought about killing myself several times over the years, months… hell I even had intrusive thoughts about it last week. For those not familiar with the concept I had thoughts I didn’t want, about ending my own life, continually buzzing around my brain. They just appeared in there and wouldn’t go away. Wouldn’t leave me alone.
Cos you know I don’t actually like these thoughts. Don’t like thinking I’m worthless, don’t like thinking all my achievements are mediocre and meaningless.Don’t like remembering there are times when I am not like this. Times when I wasn’t like this. Times when I wasn’t stuck in this fucking prison of self loathing, self absorption and self destruction.
And you know what doesn’t help? Being told suicide is “selfish” or “unacceptable”. Sometimes there are more complex reasons for these views than is apparent when people use them. Sometimes people just really do think that suicide is selfish.
Which is kinda the reason I spent much of my depressive life not seeking help. Battling on alone against pure fucking misery. Because I didn’t want to be ill. Not just because I wanted to be well but also because I didn’t want to be fucking selfish.
Thinking of suicide isn’t selfish, it isn’t unacceptable. You can maybe argue that suicide itself is. But I disagree. It’s applying a moral judgement using emotive language to an act that most probably can’t fathom. SO I don’t care that you might think it should be unacceptable or considered selfish.
JUST KNOW THAT DOESN’T FUCKING HELP!
And if I do kill myself than know it’s (in part) down to a sort of twisted altruism so you don’t have to put up with me any more.