Mermadrid

I have two days left at my community supports job. And then I’m blissfully unemployed. I have heavily been considering suicide this week. Because- well because it’s where my mind has gone for the past two years.

I keep wishing for another time- usually in the past- sometimes in the future. Rarely ever the present. I sleep most of my life away. Wish I was skinnier- more educated- happier. All things I can obtain or change in time. But it’s easy for me to get stuck and upset with myself. It’s hard for me to stay on top of things. I need a nap- I think I say that daily.

Over coming your own mind is incredibly difficult and letting go of people’s opinions is even harder.

I’ve learned so much these past two years but I am so quick to dismiss it all as nothing. Which is awful. Because I am great and it’s not a show. It’s not fake. I have many reasons worth living and I have a future to be excited about. I also have a hard time getting out of bed and showing will power. Sometimes I just wait for things to change- like smoking- like my job- like my will to live.

I spend so much time wishing I was someone else. Wishing wishing wishing instead of doing.

Because that requires energy I often run out of. I can’t promise I wouldn’t jump off the cliff but I can promise I would think about it for a long time..and then I likely wouldn’t do it.

Distractions are most of what’s helped me lately. It’s a hard thing to realize but. It’s reality. I’m exhausted from fighting my own brain. Or not fighting it- but trying to teach it love and good practises. Trying to teach it to let go of the past and focus on the endless possibilities of the future. There’s much more ahead and I wish Shannon was here for it. But she might be anyway. I wish I wasn’t tired so much and that I worked out more. But that’s something I can change. I’m sick of writing “I wish”

What else?

Impact. There’s a lot of impact I’ve had in people’s lives. Good and bad. And I’ll continue that. I don’t need hand holding- it’s just what feels nice. I need to be there for myself and show compassion. I need to realize that I’ve done a lot to change the world around me for the better. And literally everything happens for a reason. I have a bed. I have a roof. I have food to eat and people to love. I have expectations. I have made choices to improve myself this month and this year, I have chosen myself repeatedly when I use to refuse to- for mostly selfish reasons of wanting to be a good person. I have put hard things behind me when it took work. I have grown mentally when I didn’t want to ruin myself. I’ve been happy where I am and strives for the best. I chose to leave this job bc it no longer serves me in any way. I have chosen to sleep when I’m tired and forgive myself when I haven’t woken up. I have found a reason to stay when I didn’t want to. I have learned to love myself when that felt stupid. I have woken up each day when I’ve gone to sleep wishing I wouldn’t. I have pushed through hard classes- jobs- people- relationships to be here. I have a lot to show for who I am. And I’ll keep going.

No more work

No more crying

No more caring

No more working on caring about my life

I don’t have any extreme addiction issues. Other than pot..that doesn’t count right? It probably does.

I just hold a deep sadness and obsession with suicidal ideation. The first time I tried to kill myself I was nine. I remember resisting the urge to jump in front of the subway long before that, probably 3 or 4 standing with my grandma going to church.

Like most, mental illness runs on both sides of my family. It’s true that you feel a sense of ease about letting yourself be ill when it’s already hereditary.

Distraction is the best way to manage most of my issues. Friends, movies, family. Working. I try to exercise and I’m sure doing that would help a lot more, but my main passion is sleep. Sleep is the closest to death us cowards of suicide can get. I dream a lot more now that I’ve been able to shake the constant weed smoking. I barely remember them and their usually shitty modifications of what’s happening in my world. But I’d take it over exhausted rest anyway.

When I got to Kingston in sept 2019 I was already skeptical. But it was easy to distract that away, new school new job new city to explore and a way to reinvent the version of myself I spent 23 years hating. Obviously, for someone so naturally fucking lazy and obsessed with the idea of being a tragedy headline, it didn’t work out. I went out and met people as usually encouraged by my friends back home. I got a job because I could not come off a lazy (I lasted one whole training shift before my sister let take the cop out I was giving myself) and I did my homework.

I’m not sure why I was so insistent on proving I could do this, when I already knew I couldn’t. Somehow, between touring the school and moving in six months later, I told myself every step of the way it was too late to look back. You’d be letting everyone down when you’ve finally earned a decent family title back.

It’s funny that sitting here at 25, almost finished with the youth therapy I transitioned to, I feel the same type of way.

I’ve gotten every therapist I’ve met with to beam with pride during sessions, something that is obviously more than necessary for me, I’ve been given the “stable label” by each psychiatrist, graduated each group therapy, and regained the family perspective of “she’s doing great now, actually.”

Falling back into needing more help than I did before isn’t an option. Letting small things like a credit card compromise, the death of a family pet or being in the middle of a domestic wasn’t an excuse to let your mental state become as fragile as it was.

The skills are on the papers, the binder is colour coded and you have the self help numbers now. You’re cured and everyone can get onboard with that. No one wants to get onboard with the heartache of watching a family member be shitty again. Or A friend that barely answers and is more selfish than the completely selfless person they chose to stay friends with through a hard time.

I do find a lot of what I’ve done will save me. But mostly, I know killing myself would save me. So where has any of this gotten me? Just in more debt than I ever was at the beginning, and three years behind my timeline, might as well just give in and let myself come to peace.

I’ve read more stories about established people who have gone through the same thoughts-with much worse circumstances- and their endings, while positive, aren’t what I see as happy. I mean- they didn’t kill themselves? And their not on an island alone with zero responsibilities or people to disappoint- so who cares? None these articles have left me satisfied. Just with a sense of reality; life isn’t great. And if you can’t handle your own shit well; you’ll probably have to go through it sober too.

A lot of my false worlds pictures me back in high school- being able to reinvent everything- getting more into the arts and then a college program that would actually make me money and was nothing close to the human services sector; where all bleeding hearts come to die poor and with back problems. Enjoying things truly instead of not realizing 16 would of been the best opportunity I had to off myself. Immortalized before even living- a lazy cowards dream.

I keep hearing how much of my life o have left to figure things out, bc you know, 20s. But that’ll end in 5 years and then I’ll be asking what I’ve done to get where I want. Well I’ve napped and ignored a budget. Contemplated a lot and taken chances I didn’t want and missed ones that might of worked. Basically, always considering what if to the point where it’s wasted.

I feel full when I’m with my family, when I’m able to laugh with friends and when I’m able to think through these harder days. And, as any caring professional would say- when I’m enjoying my job. There is some truth to this being a profession and a passion. I’m proud of what I’ve done, but I can tell you I’d be just as proud of taking more vacations and a new front car bumper.