You know, not to look at things as simply as my Bible-Belt Loving mother does, but for lack of better terms I must say: the stronger my resolve to change or do something good, the stronger I am struck down, Brought Down, I suspect, by something beyond my power, something that's got It's Eye on me and knows how to affect me.
In the past week I've made huge leaps and bounds in my life towards my betterment and my mental health and my relationships. But in my resolve to change and keep full speed ahead I've been stopped with urgings to slow down, to fall down, to relapse. I have been steadily down for many months. This week, following my resolve, I have felt decidedly suicidal. I have no reason for this, and as I am too rational it is of COURSE not a threat to me, but it IS amazing to me that it has struck out at me now. Why now? Nothing bad has happened. Quite the opposite. All quiet on the homefront. Depression is such a fucking monster.
One thing that calms me down when I get like this is reading about other people who have suffered. It's good to know someone can relate, someone could put my own feelings into better-formed sentences than I could even begin to attempt. Elizabeth Wurtzel, the notorious bitch and depression poster girl, happens to be unbelievably relateable. Everything I've read of hers resonates. Amazing that reading about something so depressing can have the opposite effect.
Right now I am very tired of being alone. I would like Elizabeth or Sylvia or Susannah or someone else completely different to come and pat me on the shoulder and say... well. I don't know.
I wrote the following while in "a mood". I fell asleep before I could finish it.
I always thought when I finally did it I'd make it look like an accident. Ultimately, I kind of wanted something more dramatic and obvious-- images of me hanging from a noose in the corner of an attic somewhere were hauntingly horrible and entertaining. Drowning myself in my own bathtub. I always thought the easiest, kindest way to go would be the sleeping pills bit, though to help oneself along you should slit the wrists- not across the street but down the road, maybe just a little bit, just to expedite the journey. Just a little bit. A part of me wanted to do that, so people would know. The typical "dramatic effect" idea, that show 'em all concept. That's weird, I think, because there's really no one I wanted to show. I was not particularly bitter at/with anybody. I guess I just wanted to make my point that I was capable of it, that I was serious, that I had that darkness in me. That I was not a joke, that this pain was not imaginary. I wanted them to know that, I wanted myself to know that.
ugh. i am being tough and telling this to take a hike, but right now i feel spectacularly unsatisfied.