apersonaljourney – stories of love

Real. Definitive. Absolute. All of those greatest fears in our lives, when we come to that decisive moment of wanting to take our lives. We really do think about the others around us, more than most people would imagine. It’s just that when the decision is made, when it happens, there’s no recourse.

I wake up every morning of my life feeling suicidal. Most times I attribute it to exhaustion. There is no possible way anyone here is going to have the right answer, to help me to change my thinking. Someone out there will try the right words, it’s to call somebody, it’s to not leave yourself alone, it’s going to be a better day tomorrow, it’s just a moment in your life you’ll get over it. After a while though those words don’t carry the same weight they want to withstand when we were 12 years old and easily vulnerable to our elder’s musings.

I’m older now and I don’t buy it. I have a therapist, and they do care about me. I know this because I read the notes after every session, and they cover all the bases necessary to indicate compassion beyond a diagnosis. I told a friend of mine last night that suggested I get a therapist and you know what I said? I said I see them once a week and I can’t wait for that session to such a degree I don’t know what to do with the days in between. Today is a day in between.

I lost a dear friend months ago and I just haven’t been able to get past it, and I don’t know if I ever will and this is not trying to pull anybody out with a word this is just me talking. This is my reality. I don’t want to live anymore. I don’t want to wake up. I don’t want to have to try to go to bed so I have to wake up in the morning. I want to just sleep and have all this be done with.

For over 60 years I have had to convince myself there’s a reason to go forward, and as of late I can’t find it anymore. I know I’m in that high percentage age, I get it, doesn’t mean I have to like it. I actually hate it. I hate to imagine that someone would look at me and think that he’s so weak he can’t take care of himself anymore so he’s just going to give up. It sucks to think that way, but sometimes it seems the only viable option. And it seems easier than not.

This thinking is no one’s fault but my own. And I am the one that put these ideas in my head and I’m the one that has to live with them. I don’t like them and I don’t like myself very much when I dive into such dark sorrows. But I’m tired, and I really don’t have to deal with this shit anymore. As real as it gets.

No amount of talk therapy will pull me out of this one, I just have to figure out a way to be calm.