I can’t catch my feelings in a verbal or visual form. I feel like I’m scrabbling away at layers and layers of wallpaper, but never reaching the brickwork.
I have been struggling to write this entry for a couple of weeks. For all of us, our feelings fluctuate during the day. But for me, they slide along a gradient of endless despair to frantic activity so quickly I barely have time to acknowledge these feelings, never mind understand them.
I tend to attract people. I’m not sure why, but people seem to think it is okay to approach me and strike up a conversation. A few weeks back, while hiding in the corner of a coffee shop, a woman asked if she could share my table. Fine. Then she notices my reading material – Why Do Some People Kill Themselves – and starts talking about her experience of suicide.
I’m not going to go into details, I feel that would be disrespectful even though I would never meet the woman again. But what struck a chord with me was her repetition of certain phrases:
- “Why didn’t he love me enough to keep living?”
- “Why didn’t he ask for help?”
- “Why did he leave me behind?”
These are though questions that seemingly have no answer.
I just sat and listened to this woman’s story. I think that’s all she needed.
But our conversation has been trapped in my mind. I need to write something to get it all out.
When I am locked in my suicidal mindset, I don’t want to kill myself to hurt people. Quite the opposite – I feel like I am such a burden on the people that I love dearly, that I feel I will be helping them by ending it all. I can count on one hand the people who I feel that my death might have an impact on, but once the initial grief is over, I’m sure they’ll realise how terrible a person I am and how much better their lives are when I’m not about.
I never used to ask for help. I used to keep all of these awful feelings to myself. It’s difficult asking the people you love to help you. You don’t know how people will react to the idea of suicide. I have lost a lot of people who I mistakenly thought I could trust. That made me feel worse, made me feel more useless and unwanted.
There is a proper support network in place, but I am now starting to avoid using it. I feel that if I ask for help too much, I’m just being a burden and screwing up people’s lives. I end up back at square one. I never believe it when I’m reassured, so how long can I expect them to continue trying to support me?
Suicide is not about leaving our loved ones behind, it is about setting them free.