I don’t want to die.
I want very much to live.
You need to understand this, in order to read this post.
I WANT TO LIVE.
I want a HAPPY, FULL life.
So… now that you understand that… lets talk about what’s going on.
I want to hurt myself.
I think about taking a blade and cutting across the skin, drawing blood, and creating an intense pain.
I think about this frequently.
Usually while I’m fighting tears.
Why? you ask. Never in my history of mental health have I been a cutter. Never have I had that issue. So why now?
Because nothing else is working.
Alcohol does not numb me enough. Drugs (recreational & prescription) have not done anything. Eating only makes me feel like crap.
Nothing. Else. Is. Working.
I’ve been told that one grieves as hard as one loved. The depth of my grief, the level of pain… it has surprised me.
I loved him. I know I did. We always talked about how I figured he loved me more than I loved him. I know now that that was wrong. That was so very very wrong. Or if it was correct, then day-um he loved me so much. In the end, I can’t quantify who loved whom more… all I know is that I loved him. At the core of me, I loved him more than I knew.
And now I’m grieving over him. I’m grieving for the loss of him, for the loss of our life together, for him.
And it fucking hurts. It hurts so much I can’t breathe. It hurts so much I can’t think. It hurts so much I can’t sleep. It hurts so much I don’t know how to cope.
It’s sorta like childbirth. The pain keeps coming, over and over and over, in waves, intensifying, getting you to a point where you don’t know that you can handle it anymore, begging for it to stop.
The joy of childbirth is that you know there will be an ending. You know that there will a beautiful baby at the end of it. There will be joy and happiness and the pain will go away.
Grief doesn’t work like that.
Grief doesn’t have a happy ending. Grief doesn’t have joy and smiles and the pain DOESN’T GO AWAY.
I’m a writer. I use writing to try to assuage the pain. I use writing to try to get the feelings out so they don’t overwhelm me and take over my life. It’s been fairly successful and workable.
It’s not working anymore either.
So I sit and wonder, when the pain gets so intense I can’t breathe or concentrate, if it would help if I cut. I want the pain to stop. Just for a moment. Just for a little while so I can enjoy life again.
I don’t want to die. I just want to have something that will take away the pain.
I don’t cut. I won’t cut. I am more scared to go that route than I am of the pain I’m feeling. But I think about it. A lot. I think about it would feel to just control the pain for just a little while.
There’s research out of the UK that suggests that someone can die of a broken heart. Some days, the pain is so intense, it feels like that.
I miss him. I didn’t know someone could hurt this much. I didn’t think I could. If I could go back 14 years, knowing what I know now… I’d still live my life the way we did. I wouldn’t change anything other than trying to get healthy sooner and taking better care of ourselves, but I’d still take the chance that I’d lose him too soon again and have the joy of those years.
I’m not suicidal. I’m sad. And grieving. And it fucking hurts.