*sounds taboo breaking, possible stirring of not nice thoughts klaxon*

Last week, in a fit of uncharacteristic RAWR-like OGIFD;SUybrtIBS@DRHR rage, I threw my laptop. At a wall. It didn’t like it very much, if I’m honest. It’s a delicate creature. It’s all fine now. So long as I don’t breathe too heavily near it. Or move it WHAT.SO.EVER. And my K ey eeps pinging off when I use it.

Sorry. Just had to stick it back on.

So yeah. There’s that.

There’s also been the impending doom I’ve been trying so desperately to ignore for a good few weeks now. One thing said thoughtlessly, and I broke. I snapped. And the next thing I knew, my laptop lay crumpled the other side of the room.

The images, the thoughts. But not only that, the calmness that came with them. The I just don’t want to be here anymore. No drama. No tears. No I’ll show them. Just a sort of epiphany, a still realisation that that is what I had to do and there was room to maneuver, no other option. The constant, constant barrage of thoughts of hurting myself. And not being scared by it. Willing them to come, wanting to follow them and feel them, to feel something, anything. 

Being told again and again and again, what my actions would do, what the terrible knock on effects would be. What it’d do to Noah. What would happen to him. How much it’d mess him up. But somehow, those terrible things just couldn’t effect me, and I’m still struggling now, to not be so detached from them. After hours and hours of talking about it, seeing my therapist, GP, having my medication upped. I’m just too far gone to see what I’m doing. Too far along the road I’m determined to get to the end of, to see that there’s any other way.

I’ve been almost daring someone, anyone to step in, the threats of hospitalisation don’t scare me, which in itself I suppose is a bit scary. Hell, I’d stumble into one right now if someone pointed me in the right direction. My doctor letting slip that she’s only giving me a weeks worth of happy pills at a time in case I do something they like to call “stupid”. TBH, the thought hadn’t even occurred to me, and hearing her say those words, her gently gently demeanor, her I’ll see you same time next week, just bounce off me.

Ultimately, I know I won’t do anything. I want to. I really fucking want to. Sat here now I honestly don’t know how I’ll make it 3 o’clock to pick up Noah from school. I don’t know how I’ll manage to get my shoes on and push myself out of the front door. The thought of seeing other parents in the playground, having to smile through it and chat, fucking terrifies me when I can’t even bear to just be awake.

I know I love my son. I know he’s my little anchor in this turbulent mess. But fucking hell, it’s hard to see it right now, to feel it and grab it with both hands and never ever let it go.

But I am suicidal, I’m stuck in it like quick sand up to my shoulders.

I don’t want to be here.

That doesn’t make me a monster, it doesn’t mean I need sympathy, or pitying looks or tentative pats on the back or to be locked away in a sterile environment. I won’t write a note, or stockpile painkillers. I don’t need to be shouted at, to be guilt tripped or to constantly reminded that this too shall fucking pass again and again.

Listing all the reasons why I shouldn’t do what I want to do mean nothing, I’m completely cold and numb to everything, the words only strengthen the impenetrable armor I’m clinging to like a security blanket.

I understand that suicide gets people’s backs up. People don’t get it. It makes them angry. It’s a selfish act. Or it’s too painful for those that have seen it first hand. I get it, really I do. And trust me, if I actually press publish on this post, I’ll be cringing and looking through my fingers if and when I do.

I think I just needed to say the words, without being watched agog like a caged wild animal that’s about to chew off its own leg.

I know that somehow I’ll get through it. I’ll make the school run, I’ll get through to tomorrow and the next day and the week after when every single part of me is begging me to just stop. I know that, deep down I really do, but convincing that cold, disconnected part of me is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

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