Here is an oxymoron for ya. I am the happiest depressed person ever. Or the most depressed happy person?! Either/or.
But really! I am probably one of the happiest, funniest, goofiest person when we first meet or if we just meet once in a while in social settings. I crack jokes all the time, I am witty (not to toot my own horn, because I have no idea where these random one-liners come  from at all) sometimes I even crack myself up with the thought I have (it is a cool party on the inside for sure). People who don’t know me describe me as a positive, upbeat person with lots of energy and it is so easy to be around her because you can just be effortlessly yourself.

And all of this is true!

But that’s only one side of the coin.

The other one is much much darker. No, not on a sociopathic, serial killer level dark, but more on a “everything is fucked up, nothing makes any sense, this whole existence is pointless…and what’s even worse: I am a mistake! I shouldn’t even exist and everyone else around me would be so much better off without me being alive.”

And the worst part of the whole thing is that I truly, honestly believe these thoughts when they appear. Because they find the perfect setting for them to emerge and be believable to me.

I am not sure when my suicide attempts have started, but I was fairly young I remember. Yes, I didn’t have an ideal childhood (which is the case with most depressed people in general), my mother never really liked me, matter of fact despised me for looking and acting more like my dad, she could never understand me and my dad was an alcoholic artist who was mostly either passed out and locked us kids outside for days or was beating my mom because they argued. But again, this is not necessarily the most traumatic childhood either (gosh, why am I always downplaying the trauma of my past?!). Well, anyways, my mom did the best she could with the circumstances she had and with her own shit she brought from her own childhood, yet I still ended up traumatized, hurt, and messed up. Since I was little I didn’t like to be alive. I felt like I was tired of life yet I barely started it. In my teen years I remember feeling homesick constantly but I didn’t know towards what kinda “home” because it certainly wasn’t mine, that’s for sure. I have always longed for a tribe of people to belong to, to feel at home in and find my place in this world, yet my family has moved so much that I never had the chance to create this tribe around me….ever.

So here I am with this upbeat, fun and funny personality towards the world (and that’s just as legit as the dark one, don’t get me wrong) but then there is the deep, dark and scary side that hates herself, blames herself for everything and thinks that she is a curse for everyone around her.

I’ve done a lot of self-help shit, (not much success, only temporary) and done therapy some, with not much success either. I’ve done ayahuasca, because I knew the root cause is somewhere much deeper, and while it was eye-opening, it still didn’t solve my problem.  I used to fantasize about my death, contemplate about how to kill myself (I would not be brave enough to jump off of anything, because I know I would change my mind halfway down but that would be too late. Also wouldn’t wanna shoot myself because my aim is shitty, and with my luck I would only end up paralyzed but alive. Hanging myself would make me look very ugly to the one who finds me, and I am too vain for that. So overdosing is always the winning method) then I started wondering how many people would even find out about my death and show up to my funeral. And let’s be honest, I don’t think many would. Maybe my kids and my ex (since he would have to be the one organizing it…that poor guy :)))  and my mom and my brother if they could get over their current hurt (or relief) of me not talking to them, but other than that, I think I successfully alienated most of the other people in my life who I used to call friends, and now all I have is acquaintances who might not even find out about it, unless someone updates my Instagram account. But all jokes aside, dying always seemed like a relief to me, an escape from my current, unsolvable situation that my mind created so often. Maybe it is not as often as it used to be, because it only hits me once or twice a year these days, but when it rains, it pours! When my dark clouds gather, it is the ugliest storm ever. I feel trapped in my world, in my own thoughts, in my own life, in my own skin, and I want to get out of it. I want to run away, find a new identity, find a new ME, leave everything that’s Me behind me & find a relief from all these suffocating thoughts. But the funny thing is, wherever I go, I bring myself with me. I bring these thoughts with me. And no matter what I do, I will always feel guilty of any choices I make on a whim that’s rushed.

I just had a recent hit of this shitstorm lately, got into an argument with my mother & brother over some petty shit, that strike a cord with me and brought up some past traumas (that I thought I was over already, but was I wrong), and I decided that I don’t need family anymore. They are useless anyways. They have an attitude when I ask them to help out with the kids, they constantly criticize me for any choice I make, so what good does it do to me to have them in my life and always trying to help them in return (yes, I’m playing the victim card now, but there is a ton of truth in it as well…but I am aware that I am in a “woooo me” mode). So as I Xed my family out of the picture, and my ex asked me to let the kids go over to his place for Christmas, I decided that I will be completely alone this time. I was hurt. And on top of it all, all of my existing and non-existing friends decided to not contact me for more than a week as well (but they stalk every story I post on FB…hmmm) so I let that shit go as well.

I have no family. No friends. No nothing. All I have was ME! The painful truth. But again, isn’t that always the case anyways? No one can ever really connect with you on a level that would be satisfying anyways, so why do we even have this illusion that it is possible? We all live in our own universes, our own bubbles, and there is absolutely no cross over.

So there I was, just like Macaulay Culkin,  HOME ALONE for Christmas, and I had a  lot of time to think. Which is dangerous. My mind started going down the black rabbithole of me being a horrible mother (this thought is a gift I’m sure I got or inherited from my precious mother) and I started listing the reasons why my kids would be so much better of without me…and I almost got myself convinced. I can be so convincing, sometimes even I can’t resist my own charm). Then I started thinking about the method of exiting, and googled what kinda OTC pills would be able to do the job. Then I was wondering if after swallowing them, would I call someone to get me to the hospital in panic, or would I just ride it out and see what would happen?  Then I thought, shit, if the mission doesn’t end “well”, I could mess up my health and I would have to keep going with a messed up stomach, more acne and health issues on top of my own mental issues. Then I started thinking, “man, this whole Christmas suicide might not be the best idea because that would ruin Christmas for my kids for the rest of their lives most likely.”

So that’s when I gave up this whole self-pity party when I realized that nothing good would come out of it. I don’t know where I would end up after death, but you know what?! Sooner or later I will get to find out anyway. Eventually we all die. Sometimes I would like to speed up the process though, but I decided that I won’t. It will come. The right time and the natural timing of it will come eventually even if I want it or not. But until then, I stay alive. Even if I am sad, I hate life, I feel lonely and I am nowhere near where I “think” I should be…. I have only one thing to do. Stay alive until I can’t. Even if I sleep all day long, I’ll stay here. Even if I don’t see anyone for weeks, I will stay here. Even if I go through dark phases and lose hope in humanity and civilization, and people and anything possible, I’ll stay here until I’m taken out of the game. But it is NOT my call to decide when that time comes. I just find relief in the fact that it will come eventually.

And until then, I sit still, and I know that this is only temporary, like every storm. It comes, it rains, it destroys then it goes. It goes! It always goes away! Every depressing phase I had in my life went away if I gave it enough time. And the sun came out and I could find some joy in life again. Some happiness. Some hope.

And isn’t that what this whole life is all about? Experiencing both sides of the spectrum. The light and the dark. The heavy and the light. The bad and the good…and everything in between. We are here to explore the feelings, the thoughts, the calm and the storm.

And when it is all said and done, and there is nothing else left to learn, we move onto the next level in the game.

Most likely when I get my shit together and I start fully enjoying this human experience, that’s when my time will be up… it’s just my luck!

 

death

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