I’m tired. I’ve been fighting for so long and I’m tired.
One of the hardest parts of this darkness is daily walking around in a world that doesn’t see it. They don’t see you. Part of their blindness is my own effort. I am skilled at smiling when the time comes. You give expected expressions of happiness, excitement and pleasure to people in your circle of routine. They don’t really want to know the truth when they ask, “How are you doing?” Everyone is going through something. So, I keep my problems to myself to prevent a battle of who has it worse. My closest friends are kept at a distance because…well, if I’m tired of my crap then they have to be tired as well, right?
So the fight continues.
My fear is not knowing how much longer I can fight.
This is what suicidal thoughts look like.
Yesterday, I almost did research on how much it would cost if I died. My mother was buried 8 feet instead of 6 feet under to ensure that there would be room for either me or my brother. “At least I wouldn’t have to worry about that,” I said to myself. But the thought of being buried on top of my mother was sickening. Then I contemplated the expense of shipping my body to the Carolinas. They could cremate me and send the ashes. I’d want to be spread over the waters of the Isle of Palms. This solution seemed doable since I don’t have any life insurance. Yes, I really began to think this out. I don’t remember what stopped me.
Today, I got a text from one of my best friends. We haven’t spoken in a while because as I said, I’ve kept people like her at a distance. She was just checking in. Her text message broke me. I didn’t know how to respond. My fingers typed a few responses but none of them seemed right. The wrong message could trigger a phone call and I just didn’t have the strength to talk. There is so much to explain. I felt like everything I wanted to say would only be repetition of past conversations. This leads to the sanity question.
“Am I crazy?” And the cycle in my mind begins all over again.
Now, what?
I struggle with days like tomorrow. No jobs are scheduled. This means I will be in the apartment (for which my rent is a week past due) trying to fill the time with what I think God wants. Inevitably, thoughts about my situation will arise. Then, I will numb the pain with whatever is at my disposal. It will work for a little while but ultimately be a waste of time. I’ll hate myself for wasting an entire day and begin the self loathing process. Meals will be missed. Calls will be ignored. By the end of the day, nothing of value will be done. And I’m right back where I started.
Signed,
Christian and Depressed