That moment. What drives you over the edge? People always say that if you commit suicide you’re a coward, but do you know how much balls it takes to do die? I was at my lowest point yesterday. Lower than I had ever been. I realized in that moment that my relationship with my best friend was a joke, my life was a joke, no one loved me, like truly loved me, I was fat and ugly, I was worthless, I was nothing, and it keeps going on and on. Positive self-talk they say, and make every day count. But what if your life is shit, everything is shit, and you just want to die? I will be 37 years old in two months, and I have no man, no house, no job, no money, no kids, nothing. I am a piece of worthless shit, so why go on?
Then a message beeped in on my phone just as I was about to swallow all these pills, and say goodbye forever. It was my bipolar friend, who I had said my goodbyes to just a month earlier in my attempt to purge everything from my past life. It was a godsend angel looking over my shoulder that he was up at 4am and just decided to see if I was awake and wanted to talk. What are the odds in that?
After we talked and I came down off the ledge of killing myself, I thought about everything I had in my life. About the fact that my disability review FINALLY came through and they extended it for three more years. So, Lynn, you have three years to get your act together, get a part-time job, start working and finally apply for your dream-job of working in Civil Service. You have three years to lose some significant weight and feel alive again. At the brink of such a milestone that had been giving me stress over the past few months, why did I want to kill myself? It’s simple, the meds are bringing me down.
Every day I wake up and immediately go back to bed because I am too tired. I sit at my computer with heavy eye lids not wanting to do anything or talk to anyone but just go back to bed. My mania. I miss it. I could achieve such feats in the throes of mania, that even my little fat self would be happy with just the way she was. Nothing can harm me. I am invincible. And now, what am I? A fat lump of a single woman, with nothing in life and who wants to die? Why do doctors keep our mania away? So we don’t have delusions and don’t overspend? Or is it so we just are reduced to lowly human beings like the rest of the population and have to deal with being “normal?” Who the fuck wants to be normal anyway? I wouldn’t have wanted to die if I was manic. Bottom line. I would have wanted to live, despite my shortcomings, and then live some more. That drive that’s in me, with each year that passes, with each mind numbing drug they give me, takes away my fire and lust for life that makes me who I am. Who would want to live this way? Are we being punished for being “special?”
I don’t know, all I know is, life is a miraculous thing. I almost died last night, and I was a coward for not doing it. I think it takes someone who is incredibly brave to take their life. They made a conscious choice to stop the reigning madness in their soul, and left this life because this life is shit. But I didn’t do it, and that in itself is my own special kind of bravery because I chose to live in the shit one more day. IS all life crap? It can’t be. Just because I am not manic and everything isn’t sunshine and rainbows (I mean when you’re manic it really is), I can go on knowing that one day I will be happy. My dreams will come true and I will be healthy again. I will get out from behind this computer and live again. I want to LIVE again so badly. I want to FEEL something. I miss JOY. I want to wrap myself up in it and be warm forever. Will it come? Will I finally be free of this horrible life I have created in my own mind and in my heart? We will see. As Scarlett O’Hara said, “I won’t think about it today I will think about it tomorrow; after all tomorrow is another day.”