I’ve been lying on the couch, weeping my guts out. I am torn into pieces. Images of my life has been moving past my eyes and I’ve felt I’ve done nothing. I hurt. I curl into a ball from the blows. I cry. I get up and walk to my bag, pull out the .357 magnum, and go back to the couch. It feels comforting to hold. I utterly hate myself for doing this. I want to call someone, anyone, to tell them I’m in pain, that I’m in a dangerous spot. But I feel, overwhelmingly, that I am not worth the concern, the care. Just look at how pathetic I am in this moment. Just look at my cowardice. This proof pulls me deeper into despair. It is harder to call anyone now. I’m not worth the trouble. I take off my mjolnir necklace. I am not worthy to wear it, weak as I am.
She said I was acting shameful. I did. I lashed out in anger and frustration at her. I felt unheard. I didn’t hear her or reassure her that she was loved. I made it about me. It seems selfish to me. If I called anyone for help it would seem like a selfish act to me. Completely, utterly, selfish. By not calling I was at least not being selfish. People say that suicide is the most selfish thing you can do. But they’ve never been there, they don’t know what it is like in the midst of it. They don’t see how I’m desperately trying to be less selfish.
Thoughts of where to go so to leave little mess come to mind. Plenty of areas in the woods I can go. But I have lots of books and things that someone could like. I can’t call up someone and tell them to come get my books. They would see how this is a warning behavior. I don’t want to tip them off. This isn’t an underhanded way to get attention. I don’t want anyone to know. The idea of making a whiteboard in the middle of the room, with a list of contacts of people that might like some of my things. When the police enter the apartment they could go down the list and notify people. I could set up an email to people to go out in a few days, detailing I’d like them to have some things.
What keeps me from getting up and going out to the wilderness this moment, to end my life, is that it still, at some small level, feels so cowardly. I am guilty of weakness and yet I cannot admit this last act of the coward. The attractiveness of the true risk taking behavior comes to mind. How could I do something that could entail an end and yet not be an act of cowardice? What actions are there? Reckless driving? Fights? But these involve other people. How pathetic is that to put them through this? Better that I go someplace where I’ll never be found. That’s the less selfish thing to do. And trying to do something, like driving recklessly, is an attempt at death without having the guts to do it yourself. I think of the Stoics and the Japanese with their attitudes towards suicide. Perhaps this is the one way that I can act with some bit of courage.
I’m 45. I don’t have my shit together. I’m not sure of any good that I’ve done. I feel like a failure. I’m not successful in any sense of the word. I’m spiraling down. I am completely lost right now. I don’t know who to reach out to. That’s a lie. I do. It is that I’m tired of reaching out to friends with yet another episode of my falling apart. I had the best connection with someone, felt the most sublime love for her, was matched in so many ways. And still I manage to fuck it up. And the fact that I am feeling this pathetic, cowardly, right now, is further proof that she did the right thing in ending it with me. I am not worthy to wear the hammer. I am not worthy of her. I am not worthy of anything. Strange thing this feeling. The more I feel this, the more I want to fight against it. But the more I fight it, the more I am shown all the evidence of my failures. The fact that I am in this state right now is further proof that she should leave me alone. I am seriously fucked up goods.
The gods sent me someone that was the best match for me I could imagine. We had such an amazing connection. We said we’d love in a way that they’d write books about. I fucked it up. The Goddess told me, in the 90’s, that I’d find what I’d settle for. I knew I had to work on myself to be worthy of the sort of woman that I truly wanted. And now that I found her, I am not up to the task. I was rude to her on the phone, cutting her off and hanging up. She doesn’t want to be friends. I hope that it keeps her from reading this. I know how she hates weakness. Knowing how detestable she would think I am, makes me feel worse. It is a downward spiral that feeds on itself.
So many people I’ve dated have gotten married (another this past week). So many have found lasting happiness. It isn’t that I fault them, I wish them to be happy. But why is it that I can’t make anything work? Because at the heart of it all I feel worthless and undeserving of love? This brings another wave of self-loathing. How does one get out of this state? I can’t point to anything good that I’ve done. I can’t point to a great relationship that I’ve had. I can’t point to anyone and say “they felt loved by me” instead of “they felt uglier because of me”. Whenever I do date someone and they tell me how nice/great/wonderful I am, I wince… because I know that in short time I’ll hurt them. I cannot never hurt someone.
I know that putting this out there is a big risk. I know there are reporting procedures to do if it is found out what I am going through right now. How I loathe such. I swear to gods if a paperwork is initiated on me that I will leave that day for someplace quiet in the wilderness in which to make my own barrow. I will not walk hallways with people, some of whom I hold no respect for, privy to my pain, witness to my cowardice. I post this because they’d never see it. I have trust and respect in my immediate supervisors, but not any higher in the organization. It is toxic to the core. I’ve seen its underbelly.
I want to post this because perhaps it will give someone an insight into suicidality, why risk taking behaviors are attractive and not so, how it seems cowardly and courageous at the same time. That maybe someone will read this and gain some understanding and connect with their loved one who is struggling. Right now I have no hope for any happy future for me, but I’m clinging to the thread that this might help one person out there understand the confusion, the loss of direction, loss of place and time, that this state brings. That is the only shred of hope that I’ve got and I’m clinging to it for life.
Writing this out now I am filled with a sense of calm. The storm has passed. I know not what is on the horizon. I still feel like an utter failure in love. I’ve given up hope for a deep partnership with someone. Perhaps I can continue to do some work, figure out more about suicidality, and help someone navigate out of it.