I've been gone for three months. What have I to say? Not much.
I started sharing my feelings on here because I hoped that anyone who needed to read my blog would find it. But I never had a plan for what to share and when I did make one, I didn't stick to it. And I didn't do much to direct people here.
Now, I'm been sharing quotes, poems, and excerpts on Instagram. I've started reviewing shows on Tweezine. I've got quite a Pinterest following. I comment on YouTube videos and sometimes have conversations.
But this is where I get to be the most real. My thoughts don't get interrupted by others'. I can go into more detail without worrying about losing anyone.
I'll keep blogging. At the moment I'm not sure if I'll stick to a schedule but I know poems, chapters, memories, and definitions will continue to be posted.
Today's phrase: Suicidal Ideation
Medical News Today - Suicidal thoughts, also known as suicidal ideation are thoughts about how to kill oneself, which can range from a detailed plan to a fleeting consideration and does not include the final act of killing oneself
Wikipedia - concerns thoughts about or an unusual preoccupation with suicide/death
Valleybehavioral.com - Suicidal ideation is broken down into two forms: active and passive. Active suicidal ideation involves an existing wish to die accompanied by a plan for how to carry out the death. Passive suicidal ideation involves a desire to die, but without a specific plan for carrying out the death
My comments - I fully understand the first.
The second confuses me only because of "unusual". Maybe it is because I've been around death a lot or it's because I suffer from Suicidal Ideation but it just really stands out to me. How would one measure an "unusual" amount? I've been weirded out by how much some people I know talk about death. Is that a sign for me to worry about them?
The third definition is great. I think I operate life in a passive S.I. state but have moments through the day of active S.I.
In Real Life
I cannot speak for everyone who suffers from it. But I can share what it means for me.
Almost every bad moment leads to a thought of "wouldn't it be better if I was dead?" "If I was dead, I wouldn't feel anything. I wouldn't feel like this now." "If I was gone, I wouldn't have said, did the wrong thing. This person wouldn't feel this way."
Suicidal Ideation is never knowing when a bad moment will come but knowing that when it does, bad thoughts won't be far behind.
It's walking down stairs and thinking "if I miss one, just one little tumble or skip, I'll end up on the floor, possibly with bones twisted in interesting and exciting ways."
It's walking down the street and waiting to cross thinking "if I leap out now, would the car screech to a stop soon enough?"
It's sitting around the house and moving to pick something up. It's that little thought, "how pretty would my arms be, dripping red? Which way would the knive, scissors, razor swerve if I just let it drop and let gravity do the work?"
It's the little moments like missing a bus, losing your keys, not charging your phone that has you questioning everything. "Is there even a point? I'll do the same thing next week, or something worse tomorrow. Is there a reason to wait and see what kind of new terrible things I can just barely get through?"
It's knowing that even though these thoughts exist, even though your head is always a mess and making you sad to have to hear and visualize these painful things, you will never complete them.
It's wondering if surviving can really be considered being strong, as they say, or just cowardly. If taking the plunge is something you won't do simply because it inconveniences you, does it count? Wondering if such a reason not to is really reason enough. People have made it through because they don't want to die. But you? You've made it through because you can't be bothered to take the time.
It's knowing that's not healthy. That people would be sad to see you go. That people would become a little more lost and a little less whole. And yet, that not being enough for the thoughts to stop.
It's not knowing how to ask the questions "how are you feeling" "what's wrong" and "are you okay?" Because what are you supposed to say? "I'm fighting off thoughts of how to end myself." "I'm sad because I have these thoughts that don't benefit anyone." Or "I'm sorry, I'm not really here. I'm watching everyone say goodbye and seeing them attend what is the happiest day of my life. I guess, it's not really the happiest day of my life because I would have to be there, but it's not a great day for them all. Can I feel bad for them when I'm the one who caused the bad day?"
It's shaking off those questions as best you can. And not making anyone aware of the sadness in your head.
The thoughts are a part of who I am. A day going by without such things in my head has never existed. 20 years old and inching along, 13 years old when I wanted to live in multiple world's of fiction, 8 years old when my mom died, 5 years old when I still couldn't pronounce my own name and I was so ashamed, 3 years old when I would cut my hair for disappointing myself, bite my nails when I was anxious, eat paper when I felt empty. All these stages in my life have been met and passed with these thoughts by my side, so loyally.
The only way to survive is to accept them as they are, ignore them the best I can, and live life as fully as I want to in each given moment.
I don't know if there will be a day when I'm able to do all that "normal" people my age do. I don't know if I'll ever want the same things they want. But I will continue to age. I will make the thoughts go away as quickly as I can and never, ever act. Because that is the rest of who I am.
On some days
Days like today
Days where I didn't want to fight
Days when I started to see light
Before darkness crept back in
Down into my soul, in the blood under my skin
On those terrible, dreaded days
This is what keeps me afloat
Because who do I want to transfer the pain to
To my beautiful baby cousins who know nothing of the world?
To my brother and aunt who tried to raise me as their own little girl?
To my sisters with whom I've fought this battle, we three who lived it all?
To my friends who know dark gray, not endless black but wish I wouldn't fall?
Struggle as I might
I will bear the pain
Because I don't want to go
Six feet under
With a smile on my face
While a part of everyone else
Breaks off and fades away