Have you ever had an open discussion about suicide? I did today. It was scary being asked to promise I’d reach out before intentionally hurting myself. The thought of being hospitalized is scary too. The last few weeks I’ve come up with a few plans. One being to od on pills while drunk sitting in the ocean. Another to be drunk and take pills while sitting in my car in the garage with it running with the door closed and slit my wrist. I know I’ve got problems.
One thing that’s hard for me is to call things what they are to other people. For me to say I’m depressed and want to die is fucking hard because calling it depression means admitting the the world I’m not as strong as I pretened to be. In reality I know that depression isn’t something we choose; it’s no one’s fault, but I still feel like if I just got that A, or if I just said I love you louder, or if I just…that things would be different and I wouldn’t be a loser.
Shit hurts. That whole sticks and stones stuff is bullshit. Words do hurt, and maybe it’s because I’m sensitive, maybe it’s because I’m human. Loud, opinionated, defiant, different…those are fine, but stupid, lazy, not applying myself…those I can’t stand. Just because I don’t bitch to people about my problems doesn’t mean they don’t exist.
Now that this is long as shit, I’ll end it with this:
Do what you need to do to make yourself healthy and happy. If people can’t accept that then they don’t need to be a part of your transformation.