Content warning about suicidal ideation/will to live kind of thoughts. I am safe. Also, this is very much an unfinished post.
Just looked up eliding bc it popped in my head as a maybe description for how I’m feeling about this writing project.
Eliding is one of those words with meanings that sound contradictory: to omit and to merge (but I guess that’s not really contradictory because when merging we omit).
Elide, intimate, allude, insinuate, dance around, stay close to the shore, feint, give subtext, obfuscate, self censor.
I can’t be direct about what’s going on in my life because I’m not the only character in this story. I wish I could compartmentalize.
I also censor because I am hesitant to write about topics that can be very painful and upsetting. But maybe tonight I’ll go ahead. Let the filter down. Speak clearly and honestly. So. I am going to write about suicidal ideation and share thoughts about living that many might find uncomfortable or disturbing.
Yesterday I forgot to take my medication. I didn’t realize this until early evening, after I had spent the afternoon curled up in a ball debating whether I should go to the emergency room. I didn’t because I knew I was not going to kill myself. But it still stinks to have to keep blowing on the embers, trying to keep the will to live burning.
When I realized I had missed my meds, I rolled my eyes. Sure, I struggle with depression, hopelessness, and poor self esteem on a daily basis, but this had been one of those bottom of the elevator shaft days. Thankfully, I have plenty of skills to help me shelter in place when I am that low.
It is both reassuring and disturbing that my medication does make a difference. It’s like my cycle. I didn’t realize the correlation between mood and menstruation until my mid 30s. My mood plummets after ovulation (about 12 days in) bottoming out day 21, and rebounding at day 25, which is when I usually got my period before I got tangled up in perimenopause.
Blah blah blah. What’s on my mind tonight is the social cost of keeping people like me alive.
This is a heavy topic that casts shadows in many directions. I ask permission to speak plainly and selfishly, without second guessing whether my words might upset others.
Although ugh I am out of steam because I’m tired and it’s easier to say I want to write about something than to actually write.
It is hard to write about not wanting to be alive. Even though mental health is less of a hush hush topic than it used to be, alarms start to ring at talk of suicide.
I can’t count the times I have ranted at therapists about why we seem more willing to let people with painful, chronic physical illnesses go than those with painful, chronic mental illness. Why should people live if they do not want to live?
I know. I know. Everyone goes through low points. Has their George Bailey moment. Part of being human is pushing through. Finding meaning. That which does not kill us makes us stronger. Don’t choose a final solution for a temporary problem.
Oof I’m not up to threading this needle. But I’m glad I started. Got the sewing supplies out at least.
OK I have to stop here. phone falling out of hands so sleepy