You know when you get so low, so rock-bottom low, that you become a cliché? I can hear all the phrases in my head that I repeat over and over to people, close people, when it feels like this. It’s endurable. I can’t do this. I don’t want to be here. They’re all true but I sound so over-wrought and dramatic, so very repetitive. It hurts, I tell them. It hurts, it hurts. When will it get better? When will I stop feeling this? Can you take it away? Can anyone take it away? Please?
So of course I think about killing myself. What else is there to do when the attack is so relentless and so strong? Why WOULDN’T my thoughts naturally go to suicide, as a solution to this pain? People call it a long-term solution to a short-term problem, but when you’re in agony, don’t all your thoughts go to ending that pain? It’s natural. Not the act, I’m saying, but the thought. If you’re burning alive you’d welcome an arrow to the chest. How do you bear torture? You bear it because people tell you to bear it and because you’ve borne it before. Or because you are too scared of the long-term solution, too scared of violence, too scared of inflicting violence or causing emotional scars, causing a chain reaction of emotional damage. But the during part can’t be adequately explained or endured. Years are slipping off my life. My brain, my body, my heart, they’re being crushed by the weight of this, splintered, fractured. Please help, I want to say. And even if I have promised you I will not succumb to my suicidal ideas, that doesn’t mean I won’t think about them. Because it is rational to want to spare yourself the slow death for the quick one.