Life, death and music…

CN: frank discussion of suicide

So I sit here in my nightie. I didn’t have anywhere to go today so I stayed in it. It’s cosy at least.

I just got myself dinner, feeding the cats first because they’re important. I was going to make french fries and gravy but I couldn’t handle peeling and chopping for that long. Even thought it would only be about five minutes. So I toasted myself an english muffin and made a mug of hot chocolate. I make them so often I can do it on autopilot.

I washed the dishes yesterday before dinner and I presume the dish fairy arrived shortly after. All the dishes look like mine but there’s way more there than there should be for a day. The thought of washing them is overwhelming.

Depression is like wading through tar. It clings to you and pulls you down further and further. Every single step is the hardest and every conversation is a struggle. How am I doing? Fine is too much of a lie. I usually settle for “okay”. It’s enough to slide by without sounding like everything’s all right. Because it’s not.

So I browse on Facebook, looking at the message box and wishing someone would message me. I am always the first one to message, which makes me wonder if there’s something wrong with me. Everyone assures me there isn’t. Besides that, I have no idea what to say beyond hi.

I read an article in the Reader’s Digest a bit ago. The author had been suicidal and jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. As soon as he let go, he knew it was a mistake. But what could he do at that point? Thankfully he survived. One out of four who managed that feat. Out of thousands who didn’t. And you know what? Every one of the survivors knew it was a mistake as they let go. I refuse to believe they were the only ones and it breaks my heart to know the thousands more were lost. There’s no second chance when you’re plummeting.

I also read a surprisingly graphic news story about a teenage boy who jumped from a four storey balcony. The surgeons discovered shattered bones and shredded organs. They had to stitch him back up and let him die. There was no way to save him. They couldn’t stitch together fragments. I’d wanted to donate my organs and gave no thought to what condition they’d be in after a fall. I figured I’d be just me, still intact only dead.

I’d planned on jumping off our seventh floor balcony (eight if you consider the slope to the basement). The only thing that stopped me was my fear that it wouldn’t be high enough. That I’d disable myself enough not to be able to try again. Thankfully my sister saw my rambling note on Facebook and drove me to the hospital and she and my mother took turns sitting with me while waiting for my turn with the psychiatrist.

Any time I start feeling suicidal in the least, I think of that first article and the four survivors. Some mistakes you can’t come back from and that’s one of them. Jeez, I waffle over which ice cream to buy at the grocery store. Deciding whether to die is so much more dire and the consequences spread devastation over such a wide range. That’s not a decision I should be making. Someday I will die but it won’t be today.

So here I sit weighted down by depression. Soon I’ll move my bones and wander over to my swing chair, where I’ll proceed to rock and listen to music videos.

And hopefully this bout of depression won’t last too long.

List of world wide suicide prevention lines

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Letting go of the past…

Head’s up: My ex and I have multiple friends together. I don’t care if you’re friends with him, best friends with him, or engaged to him. Congratulations on the latter. He’s a decent person who deserves friends and loved ones. I don’t want you to have to choose sides… I’d really rather you don’t. This is purely my opinion of my own relationship with him. Thank you for understanding.

It felt like we were perfect for each other. We both loved cats and each had three. We had similar tastes in music and veganism. In fact he converted back to being vegan while we were friends. We both loved to read and enjoyed Doctor Who. And we were both creative, me with writing and him with jewelry making. Several years went by as we slowly started talking more and more. By the time he asked me out as his girlfriend we were talking all day, every day, from the moment I got up to the moment I went to bed. The only time we weren’t talking was when I was at work and, even then, we talked at every break. I even messaged at family gatherings.

my-dressWe made our relationship Facebook official within minutes of deciding to date and had our wedding roughly sketched out by our one month anniversary, something I’d carefully recorded in my calendar. My dress was bought by our two month anniversary, a lovely pastel pink and gold one, with enough sparkle for me and room for my boyfriend’s lace butterflies. I bought tickets to go meet him for that October and started counting down the days with an app. He immediately bought tickets to go see Wicked in London and informed me he would be singing all the songs. I assured him that chances are I’d end up singing them too. I pick up songs very quickly.

I look back at that time and remember how perfect everything felt then. I wasn’t lonely. How could I be with a boyfriend I talked to all the time? One who knew all my secrets. And soon I was going to have a dream vacation, followed by a dream wedding, and a move to Richmond, England. Me, the woman who, other than my first two months of life, had only ever lived in Whitby and Oshawa. And now I was going to move across the ocean. It was going to be an adventure.

The adventure came quickly to an end the day after he promised he wasn’t breaking up with me and two days after I confessed I was suicidal. The words didn’t seem real for a moment. Then I couldn’t breathe. He was breaking up with me? But he promised he wouldn’t.

We went back to friendship but it wasn’t like before, even though we still messaged regularly, and he blocked me a couple of months later with this message:

Well, I told you. It was your self fulfilling prophecy and you were the one pushing me away for daring to grow and change, so now, I am done.

Even at the end he couldn’t accept responsibility for his actions. Instead he blamed it on me. I was hurt enough to archive his message thread so I didn’t accidentally find it but that also made it really easy to find. Several years later I scrolled through to find a bit of information and was floored at the gaslighting and manipulation. It was not a healthy relationship at all. It took a while longer for me to realize that messaging with anyone constantly throughout the day isn’t healthy and while the relationship wasn’t good for me, it wasn’t good for him either.

I blocked him on Facebook this week which is something I would never have believed back in 2016. Then I figured he’d unblock me within weeks, months at the most. At this point I’m reasonably sure he’ll never unblock me and I finally, honestly, don’t care. I wish him all the best in his future and am simply relieved that future will not include me.

not my baggage