**DISCLOSURE: POST WRITTEN DURING EXTREME DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. READER DISCRETION ADVISED.**
Thoughts have been rapidly shuffling through my mind the past 2 days at a crippling pace. There's really no way to formulate any comprehensible interpretation.
I spent most of last night on a dreadfully slow road trip in a torrential down pour. As my sight was diluted by blinding lights and endless rain my mind was electrified with every fragmented thought, emotion and memory of the past 32 years.
There's no need to sugar coat anything and I will blatantly just say it, Suicide. Yes, Suicide. I'm not going to paint a picture of poetry or some sort of metaphoric bullshit like I always have. Instead, I'm merely typing this out for myself. There's no need to discuss it as there are no ways to reason with my reasons.
Why does there have to be such a harsh stigma surrounding this? Why can't be viewed like every other person who suffered an ailment and finally gave in? Why is it if someone who's physically sick makes their peace and gives in that it's not viewed as "giving up" yet someone who's mentally ill, SICK, gives in and becomes shunned?
I won't try to compare myself to someone who has a different disease or aliment as I can't place myself in their shoes nor they in mine. There's no comparison to be had between one person and another and there never should be. Yet society constantly does this and people constantly do this.
No one is sitting here inside my mind therefor no one can truly say they "understand" or they "know the feeling" because they don't. No one does. Where I'm going with that I have no clue as this is not being written for any certain person or for anyone at all.
I'm living life for everyone around me. I haven't been living for myself in years and the only reason I've continually allowed myself to go through this mental torment was so that others wouldn't hurt. How does this make any sense? Why would someone subject themselves to continual internal hell for everyone else? I suppose going through hell was only so that those I love wouldn't. A protection of myself from myself and from them.
The truth can no longer be concealed and no longer will be. I don't want to hurt anyone and I surely would never want to cause pain but this pain within me has consumed my every waking moment.
The only hesitation has not been for myself but for everyone else and the wake of devastation "suicide brings."
Death is part of life, people pass everyday and there's always an end to every beginning. Why is it so hard to just open your mind and see the truth, for them to see that I was in pain, I was sick and I was living with this every moment of everyday?
I've been writing endlessly for what feels like a lifetime and I've openly shared the most personal details of my disease. I've spent the past year painting the most vivid painting, doting every I and crossing every T. So much energy and emotion poured onto endless pages of scribbles and scratches. I painted this picture to be seen when I no longer can be.
I have no desire of sharing the intricate details of what's turning in my mind. There's really no importance in expressing the details . I don't want to talk about it I don't want to waste my breath in a heated debate with a lost cause. You can't make the blind see and you can't make the dead feel. There's no line to be drawn because I'm not drawing one.
I'm certain if anyone had been able to see the world through my eyes, if only for a day, they would have some shred of understanding. There wouldn't be such a rash argument over something that could be faintly understood.
We all have our own lives, our own needs, feelings, and the list goes on. I have mine and they're not for me and haven't been for so long. I can't justify continuing in madness for no true reason, continuing onward and constantly questioning why. Why this? Why that? Why the hell am I doing this? What am I doing it for?
When these questions loose their answers then life looses it's meaning. Mine was lost long ago.
Time to publish this personal blabbering of mine and lay my head rest. The screaming's so loud that I can't hear own heart beating. Time to do as I always do, at least for awhile longer. Go to bed just to get up and face another damn day, more questions, more "what the fuck am I doing?"
There will be no announcement because I feel no need to speak of something that will be objected from every angle in every way possible.
Don't say you understand and don't tell me it'll get better because you don't know this, you're not me and I'm not you. Don't compare and don't even try.
Don't say a word because I'm not asking anyone who might see this to. That's the beauty of blogging. It allows you to express whatever you feel the urge to without instant backlashes and objections.
That's the beauty of silence. The silence I will seek and I will find
Thoughts have been rapidly shuffling through my mind the past 2 days at a crippling pace. There's really no way to formulate any comprehensible interpretation.
I spent most of last night on a dreadfully slow road trip in a torrential down pour. As my sight was diluted by blinding lights and endless rain my mind was electrified with every fragmented thought, emotion and memory of the past 32 years.
There's no need to sugar coat anything and I will blatantly just say it, Suicide. Yes, Suicide. I'm not going to paint a picture of poetry or some sort of metaphoric bullshit like I always have. Instead, I'm merely typing this out for myself. There's no need to discuss it as there are no ways to reason with my reasons.
Why does there have to be such a harsh stigma surrounding this? Why can't be viewed like every other person who suffered an ailment and finally gave in? Why is it if someone who's physically sick makes their peace and gives in that it's not viewed as "giving up" yet someone who's mentally ill, SICK, gives in and becomes shunned?
I won't try to compare myself to someone who has a different disease or aliment as I can't place myself in their shoes nor they in mine. There's no comparison to be had between one person and another and there never should be. Yet society constantly does this and people constantly do this.
No one is sitting here inside my mind therefor no one can truly say they "understand" or they "know the feeling" because they don't. No one does. Where I'm going with that I have no clue as this is not being written for any certain person or for anyone at all.
I'm living life for everyone around me. I haven't been living for myself in years and the only reason I've continually allowed myself to go through this mental torment was so that others wouldn't hurt. How does this make any sense? Why would someone subject themselves to continual internal hell for everyone else? I suppose going through hell was only so that those I love wouldn't. A protection of myself from myself and from them.
The truth can no longer be concealed and no longer will be. I don't want to hurt anyone and I surely would never want to cause pain but this pain within me has consumed my every waking moment.
The only hesitation has not been for myself but for everyone else and the wake of devastation "suicide brings."
Death is part of life, people pass everyday and there's always an end to every beginning. Why is it so hard to just open your mind and see the truth, for them to see that I was in pain, I was sick and I was living with this every moment of everyday?
I've been writing endlessly for what feels like a lifetime and I've openly shared the most personal details of my disease. I've spent the past year painting the most vivid painting, doting every I and crossing every T. So much energy and emotion poured onto endless pages of scribbles and scratches. I painted this picture to be seen when I no longer can be.
I have no desire of sharing the intricate details of what's turning in my mind. There's really no importance in expressing the details . I don't want to talk about it I don't want to waste my breath in a heated debate with a lost cause. You can't make the blind see and you can't make the dead feel. There's no line to be drawn because I'm not drawing one.
I'm certain if anyone had been able to see the world through my eyes, if only for a day, they would have some shred of understanding. There wouldn't be such a rash argument over something that could be faintly understood.
We all have our own lives, our own needs, feelings, and the list goes on. I have mine and they're not for me and haven't been for so long. I can't justify continuing in madness for no true reason, continuing onward and constantly questioning why. Why this? Why that? Why the hell am I doing this? What am I doing it for?
When these questions loose their answers then life looses it's meaning. Mine was lost long ago.
Time to publish this personal blabbering of mine and lay my head rest. The screaming's so loud that I can't hear own heart beating. Time to do as I always do, at least for awhile longer. Go to bed just to get up and face another damn day, more questions, more "what the fuck am I doing?"
There will be no announcement because I feel no need to speak of something that will be objected from every angle in every way possible.
Don't say you understand and don't tell me it'll get better because you don't know this, you're not me and I'm not you. Don't compare and don't even try.
Don't say a word because I'm not asking anyone who might see this to. That's the beauty of blogging. It allows you to express whatever you feel the urge to without instant backlashes and objections.
That's the beauty of silence. The silence I will seek and I will find
