This is not a suicide note.
Though I did think about it a lot today. Walking home from the city I have to cross a long bridge. It’s not high enough to kill me if I were to land in the water, but part of it is over a freeway. If I jumped from there I could do myself a lot of damage and would probably be finished off by the speeding cars.
But that’s irrelevant.
I made it across the bridge. I passed a man who looked as down as I felt. From behind my sunglasses I looked into his eyes, and saw him try to look into mine. I wish I had smiled at him. Or thanked him, for reminding me I’m not alone in suffering.
I know I keep saying this, but I can’t cope with feeling this way anymore. I can’t cope with not getting what I so desperately want. But every time I think about killing myself I can’t go through with it. Yes, because it would hurt my mother. Yes, because I’m scared of failing and worsening my situation. Yes, because retribution may wait on the other side. But mostly because I think, “what if everything I ever wanted was just around the corner?”
I really want those things. I really want to be happy. I really want to keep living to find out.
But I need to do something about the way I approach life right now. Because I can’t bear these feelings. The ones that say I’m not good enough. That say I will never get what I want. That tell me I should be dead.
After realising I couldn’t jump and probably never would, I felt something inside me break. I just can’t keep fighting. I need to accept the way my life is. Screaming and crying and struggling and bringing down the people around me isn’t getting me what I want. And it never will. Not in any way that will be lasting or genuine. It might earn me a bandaid, but that’s it. Those need to be replaced constantly.
But I’ve never had any faith that good things can happen for me without fighting for them. I think I’m confusing working for something with fighting for it. And I also need to differentiate between things I can control and things I can’t. I know there are things I need to work for but for some reason I’m too scared to try. And I know there are things that are out of my control but to give up fighting for them scares me too. So the fear is screwing me on all sides.
Knowing that I need to stop struggling and start to have some faith also terrified me, and safe behind my sunglasses I cried the rest of the way home. Because I know I’m out of options. Now here I am, writing this, and I have no idea how or where to start.
The fear feels so involuntary and all-consuming. I suppose that is why some faith is necessary. Faith that will get me through until I start to see the changes that come from giving up the struggle. Faith that the fear will eventually lose it’s power, that it never had the power to get me what I wanted anyway.