The difference an event can make

I can think back to a few years ago, when I was a freshman in HS. I never ever accepted the idea that someone could harm themselves, or want to kill themselves.
The idea of suicide, was stupid. I knew life was worth living, never had I thought I’d have suicidal thoughts. I had the great life.
I continued to have a good life, even when I first touched that compass needle to my arm, I was not going to kill myself. I was not having suicidal thoughts, I was upset.
I did not cut myself, merely a single scratch. And I felt stupid and stopped before I’d have to explain that shit.

I am not feeling that great tonight, I’m not thinking about committing suicide. I’m simply confessing.

I have had those thoughts. Since the day he raped me. They have come at different points since then.
First, my senior year in highschool. When Krystal got several people to mock me and call me a liar for something I was actually telling the truth about.
I hit low at one point, I remember feeling hopeless. Crying as I walked for miles, once I was home from school.

Second, this past summer, my best friend had moved, I was not with Beau at this point, and I couldn’t afford marijuana without a job, so I fell hard into depression.
I did not want to wake. I did not want to hear about my debt, my weight, no job, my best friend was gone, my parents spoke of Beau as if he was there, had left on good terms. I didn’t want to do anything, I didn’t want to go anywhere. I wanted to sulk, or die.
I had no motivation to do anything.
Until my best friend moved back and in with me.
I did not do anything. She saved me, once again.

Third, she left me again. She moved back and in with the fiance’ this time. 😛

I had just barely moved in.
I was home for the first 3 days, just getting settled on a 3 day weekend.
I kept busy.
It was once I was fully settled, just after my surgery. I felt overwhelmed, lonely, bored, and suffocated by the flashbacks and epiphanies I was starting to get. Everything was reminding me of a memory I had suppressed, an event I had denied, a feeling I had, the fact that I was still FURIOUS at my mother, and it wasn’t looking to get brighter.

I felt unneeded and unwanted. I had no reason to be. I could not be in Portland. I could not be a momma, I did not feel I would ever be with another man, would never want to see anyone ever again. No longer wanted to be a mother. Didn’t want to fail as a human. Bring a child onto this terrible fucking planet. Force them to see the terrible events around us.
I did not want to be here.

I broke down at work the next 3 days. Having to take a step outside to cry and clean up, or pull myself together real quick.

I started this blog then. And confessed to what had been hurting me most.
I feel better. I don’t have those thoughts anymore.
Not intense like that anyways.
I was thinking about it, that several years back. I thought I’d never have those thoughts. I could never want to die, feel that low, and that unnecessary in the world.

I am okay. I am not great, but I’m working on it.


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