I’m having late night thoughts again, and as usual, they fall into the more or less disheartening recollections of the months I spent alone in my own head. Now I know that there are a couple people on here that are my past high school friends, and before I start off into a tangent of strange memories, ideas, and the like, I would like to acknowledge you. For even reaching out to me, and talking to me; texting me when you didn’t hear from me… etc. I thank you guys. It’s hard to explain what exactly went on, but in short I can say I am a different person than I was. And rightfully so. I would like to think I have grown since those years, in both wisdom and experience. But again. You guys deserve medals, or… something lovely. Yes.
Alright. Late night, or perhaps, as I glance to the clock, early early morning thoughts…
I have seen the saying, “I like sleep, it’s like dying but without the commitment.”, plastered all around the more depressing tags on tumblr. But I do wonder how many people have really genuinely welcomed sleep for that implied reason. You shut down. Finally, your mind stops racing, the knots in your chest and the pain you swear you can feel there, just stops. For that fleeting moment, as it seems to you; you are “safe”. Safe from all the anxiety, the panic, the suicidal thoughts, and everything that preys on your mind. You are taken to another state, of which you half wish you could stay in. I remember many, many occasions on which I cried because I couldn’t fall asleep fast enough, and the panic was just too much. I remember pacing my room, waiting for exhaustion; replaying scenario after scenario of mistakes I had made, wrongdoings, and… things I still blame myself for. It was hell.
It was pure hell. Each day I woke up, the thoughts rushed back, and my chest knotted up. It felt like I was buried, trying to breath; pressure building at each inhale. It hurt. I still don’t really know if it was an emotional, psychological, or physical hurt… but I do know it often brought me to tears. I remember trying to hide from people, as much as possible, because the sheer thought of interacting, horrified me.
You can take that how you like, but know that in those few months of summer, I have never been closer to genuinely ending my life, than I have in other attempts. Thankfully, perhaps, I had a psych at that time. Of course, the guilt I felt when my parents kept asking “Why” was enormous, and I really don’t think I ever got over that. Perhaps I’m weak? I don’t have an answer for that.
That saying, that commitment… I was ready for that. I had made plan after plan, in case one didn’t work, etc. I remember scrawling them on pieces of looseleaf, on my drawing pads, etc… At one moment, I remember going to the library and reading a few books about the morality of the whole ordeal.
Death. More precise, suicide. Interesting topic really. The definite ending of life, through your own hands. It is really sound to say “taking your own life”. It’s almost as if you steal your existence from the world. All that is left is the memories.
I held on.
There were a couple months where I did nothing but think to myself, “Just get through this day.” I would count down the hours until I could sleep, until I could “escape” again. I broke down crying often. I lost 40 pounds. I couldn’t sleep. I was still scared of contact. I didn’t want to pour salt into wounds, but in retrospect, I don’t really know how much more it would hurt. I already was still half set on dying.
I am so happy to have survived that. I have so many friends. I have improved my art so much, and I believe that I have grown in experience and gained wisdom; not just from the times, but from those I’ve been with. I’ve found a bit of a more grounded understanding of who I am… an understanding of what other beings may call themselves, may desire to be, or what they change themselves to be…
I still have anxiety. I still panic over sometimes simple things, and sometimes big things. I still get that knotted up feeling, but not nearly as intense as it was. I have my bad days. I have my good days. Usually, I am able to function normally. I’ve changed.
For the better in some ways, for the worse in others. But, as everyone, my being is constantly in flux. I will always be changing. And I can find hope in that.