This blog post includes discussion of suicidal ideation. Please be advised. If you are thinking of harming yourself or are concerned about someone you love, please utilize the resources below.
Call: 1-800-273-8255
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline [USA]
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I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital in December 2009 following a summer filled with raging manic energy and then that inevitable crash into the darkest suicidal depression I have ever experienced. I spent about five days in the hospital, where I received a diagnosis of bipolar disorder. My diagnosis has changed a couple times and it's been added to since then, but that was the beginning of this journey back to wellness on which I still find myself.
I have always written in diaries and journals, and below you will find scattered entries and random documents I scribbled into the world circa 2009/2010, and now type into a browser to share with the rest of the world. My most private thoughts. Yours for the viewing. You're welcome. Congratulations.
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Journal entry, dated Dec. 18, 2009
I still contemplate acting on my suicidal urges. The urges are just less insistent now than they were one week ago. The meds seem to be quieting the numbing, crippling depression. I am semi-functional in the real world. At times, I contemplate returning to the psych ward. I was comfortable there. The outside world and its crushing pressure seemed unable to penetrate my mind, spirit and body there. Here in the real world, I am once again crushed. At times it is unbearable. The meds help me mask my pain, and help to numb it. I feel like they are a band-aid on an amputation, though. I just wish I knew how to be fully functional. How to be "normal". How to live in the real world. Fuck.
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Journal entry, undated
It's in my head. Knocking on the door. Ding dong. Ringing the doorbell. Knocking again. Do it. Just do it. I imagine the knife as it slides across my throat. What a mess you would have to clean up. The bridge. I crash my car through the barrier. Falling down into the water below. Sinking like a stone as I thrash. Fighting to breathe as I slowly consume the last of my oxygen. Scanning and searching the water as you attempt to find the wreckage. My bloated blue body picked at by leeches and fishes. I imagine walking into traffic. Stepping in front of a semi, crushed beneath the weight of its tires. Blood and filth smeared across the road. Tire treads filled with brain and tissue. Bystanders try not to look at the carnage. The driver vomits when he sees the mess that was me spread across the grill of his truck. But I am free. I long for death. An end to this suffering. I long for peace and quiet. How can I make it? I feel weighted down, pressed, crushed beneath the heaviness and blackness of existence. I wish dying were simple. I wish that the hesitation I feel would fade. I wish I could be erased. I wish that I didn't care that people depend on me, that people need me. I wish I could just do it. Take the pills. A wave of nausea passes over me, but I refuse to vomit up the solution to my problems. This is it. It has to be it. I feel myself falling and fading. Sweet oblivion. Sweet death. I can't make it much longer. I need release. I wish I could just do it. I really wish I could.
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Journal entry, dated Jan. 30, 2010
The act of living is sometimes too much for me. I fantasize about ending my life by my own hand. I wish I were stronger. Strong enough to move on, or strong enough to pull the fucking trigger. I feel so weak. So apathetic. I am suffocating on my own life. How do other people do it? How do they get through life? I wish I knew how to survive. How to care. How to fucking live.
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Document written during suicidal ideation, undated
I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry.
I wish I could have been there for you all the time. Instead, I was a pathetic mess barely managing to breathe in and breathe out on my own.
I wish that I could have stayed for you. Once upon a time, I could imagine us old and gray. I just can't imagine that anymore. Not when I can't imagine continuing to shuffle around in this fat sack of flesh for even another week.
I wish I could have stayed for our children. I love them so much. I hope they remember that about me - my unending, undying love for them. I wish I could tell them that I will continue to love them after I'm gone. I wish that there really were something or somewhere out there, and that I could promise to watch them from some celestial home. But I go to oblivion.
I wish I could have made certain that you were taken care of for the rest of your life. I wish I could offer some sort of security for your future. I know you will get by, but it will not be because of me, it will be because of your own actions and strength.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
I love you.
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Journal entry, dated Feb. 5, 2010
I don't think I can do this anymore. I hate living. I just wish it would end. I feel like I need to be locked up permanently. To protect my kids from my madness. To protect society from my disease. Lock me up and throw away the key before I destroy everything I love. I feel like a child holding a magnifying glass over an anthill just to watch it burn.
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Journal entry, undated
Death. The sweet comfort of death.
I long to drag a sharp silver blade slowly across my sickly arms.
Death. Sweet death.
I wait. Breathe in, breathe out.
I wish I could just do it. No hesitation. No lingering doubt. The blood would drain from my body in pulses. The floor stained, sticky and wet.
The end is near. The end is near. The end is near
Death. Her siren call hangs in the crisp, cool night air.
Come to me, sweet Death.
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Document written during suicidal ideation, undated
There are few things in this world I am sure of. That I have always loved you, and that I have always loved our children is certain. I need you to know that. Swear to me you will always remember that love. Another thing that I am sure of is that I can't do this anymore. I feel like I am being crushed, slowly suffocating beneath the weight of the world. I wish my love for you and our children were enough to give me the strength to go on. I wish that I could continue drudging on, a pathetic, lumbering sack of flesh and bone wandering through a bleak, gray world. I wish that I could be happy, that I could be content. I wish that this were easy, this thing we call living.
I love you. Remember that, always. Remind our children of that love. Instill in them the hope and joy that I never could experience. I'm sorry I won't see them grow and live and love and learn. I'm sorry to leave you to this task alone. I'm sorry to abandon all of you. I wish it weren't this way, but it is.
Try to remember the good days. I know they were few. I know I filled your life with frustration and pain and sadness. I know that I messed everything up. I know that I made things hard on you and the kids. But try to remember the good times that were there sometimes.
I love you. Always. Remember.
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Journal entry, undated
Maybe I should just do it. Maybe I should end it. Maybe I should seek complete oblivion. Maybe I should. I wish I was stronger. Strong enough to go on, or strong enough to pull the fucking trigger. Maybe I should just go through with it. Maybe I should finally give in to the urge. The pulsing throbbing desire to end it. The darkness and blackness that permeate my life can finally win. The pain can finally stop. Maybe I should just do it. Maybe I should. Maybe they can all make it without me. Maybe I'm not as needed as they say. Maybe I should just go through with it. Maybe I should. I hate living. I hate breathing. I hate moving. Each day brings only more pain and misery. Each night brings only terror and fear. Maybe I can end it at last. Maybe I should slowly slide the knife across my arm, letting the blood pour from my veins. Maybe I should just do it. Maybe it's time to give in to the urge. Maybe the time has finally come. Death. Sweet death. Death cries out to me, seducing me with her siren call. Maybe I should cry out and answer. Maybe I should just do it. Maybe I should accept the fact that death is the only answer. Death is the only option. Maybe I should finally give in. Maybe I should just do it.
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