Therapy today: Smokes and suicide

I got so frazzled today I almost rolled a cigarette out of a post-it note. I didn’t have any papers. The only options were that or a £5 note. My stinginess outweighed my need for nicotine, that’s why the post-it became appealing. Desperate eh?

I was in my car, trying to call a friend who’s having a crisis. Work was stressful, I ran home to walk the dog, then had to drive to the GP, then straight to therapy. I was desperate for a smoke. I just needed something to calm me down.

I couldn’t focus in my session. I felt quite dissociated, like I was wading through a fog. I’m pretty sure J felt that too. Sometimes it is so very hard to find any words.

When I did talk it started to feel like problem solving. I hate that. If I list the reasons why I feel hopeless, I suppose the logic is that I can rationalise them and think of options beside suicide.

All that happens when I do this is that I feel ashamed of myself. I feel like J is asking me to list them so we can all see how pathetic they are. How pathetic I am to be so hyperbolic about my collection of issues. It’s like we go through this exercise so I can see just how stupid it would be for me to end my life.

I know, of course, that J doesn’t mean it this way. I get that we need to talk about it. But I can’t stand talking about it. I hardly know how to. Because having those feelings is such a deliberately lonely place for me. I withdraw and dive into that darkness, I don’t communicate about it. I stop talking, go blank, cut myself off from people. I don’t want to inflict my misery on them.

Maybe I couldn’t find the words because they don’t exist. I literally have no coherent way to express how it feels. There’s nothing that comes close to describing how dark it is, how crushing.

Real despair is the most hideous feeling. It wrenches at your gut and makes your skin crawl. It is excruciating, frustrating. It builds with this latent energy that makes you feel like at any second you might explode or dig your nails into your skin and rip yourself apart.

Photo credit: Sonny Abesamis


4 Comments Add yours

  1. Here, when people get desperate, they go to the phone book or the bible, never heard of trying a post it. 😛 (eyeballs hurt from being awake to long, so I’m heading there. I’ll read the whole thing tomorrow, just wanted to pop in and say hi. Thanks for swinging by my place earlier for the same thing. Meant a lot to me. HUGS from wayyyy over here.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “I withdraw and dive into that darkness, I don’t communicate about it. I stop talking, go blank, cut myself off from people. I don’t want to inflict my misery on them.”
    I could have written this, this is exactly how I feel right now. Maybe not in the exact same sense, but I feel this way right now. I’ve withdrawn and I am in the darkness. I battle though, between wanting to feel the pain that I have never allowed myself to feel and wanting to make it all go away. Also, I don’t want to share my misery with anyone who I’m close to. My best friend (and practically my only one) is my sister. I don’t want to hurt her, by knowing what, in detail, that her brother did to me. I dont’ want to hurt her by telling her of my pain and despair, because I’m sure she would feel them right along with me. But I also don’t want to tell her because I’m scared of how she will look at me, what will she think? Will she believe me? Will she still want to be around me?
    My husband…… doesn’t seem to understand and if he does, he just stares blankly at me. He doesn’t seem to get upset about my past. He never cried, he never said, i’m sorry that happened to you, or got angry about what happened to me. He never grabbed me and hugged me when I was crying and telling him about it. I know he’s not an emotional person, but how can you hear about the horrors that happened to the one you love and not be affected? Plus on top of all that, I think I’ve mentioned, my husband doesn’t speak english and I’m not exactly fluent in his language either…. so how will i ever feel like he understands me when we can’t even speak the same language?
    I feel that despair. I feel it. I wish I could rip it out of my body. I wish I could cut it off. The physical pain is nothing compared to the emotional pain. Sometimes.
    But Sometimes, sometimes I feel loved and happy and that it’s going to be okay. I don’t want to make a life changing decision based on an emotion I feel today.
    I want out of this hell. I want out so bad. But suicide isn’t the answer, because if I do that, how will I ever get to my happiness? How will I ever find my peace?
    Nah, I’m going to fight through this, hating it, loving it, this bumpy journey….
    Because truly the only way out is through it.
    You can get through it, you can get out of it….. keep fighting, keep pushing…..

    P.s. Sometimes I think I discover more about myself when I comment on your posts… some stuff just comes out. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Haha glad to have been thought-provoking! Reading that made me wish I could grab you and hug you. And I agree with what you say about finding peace. I read something a few days ago by someone who felt as low as we do now a few years ago and was suicidal. She listed all the wonderful things that have happened for her since. I guess we have to remember that we are stories still going. Who knows what surprises are around the corner. There’s only one way to find out. x

      Liked by 1 person

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