Everyone goes to dark places in their mind. Most of the time people don’t show what they are really feeling. Myself included. It is not acceptable to bring up suicidal feelings in order to heal. No one really wants to get involved. No one wants to hear your pain because they have their own.

Sometimes instead of actually committing physical suicide we make choices to kill ourselves with toxic relationships, addictions of every kind, bad attitudes and an endless well of self destruction. For years and years we can go on and on from one painful situation to another and not understand why.

You know something is wrong but can’t see what it is. You try to talk it out to get clues to this mental state of pain but there are no clues. You read every book, go to therapy, pray, search and search for relief and it’s only temporary. Just when you think you have found it, bam it disappears throwing you back to square one. The numbness returns.

Yep that is what it feels like. Over thinking and running around with busy work so you don’t have to feel your body’s response to the confusion. It feels like you are being stabbed repeatedly over and over all over your body. The pain stings like bees and razors. You are cutting and bleeding invisibly. Occasionally you even do try to slit your wrists just to see if you can feel anything.  It hurts really bad this time. It is endless unless you are distracted in some way. Where is the relief, where is the relief?

It’s that drowning feeling of hopelessness and helplessness. The feelings are pervasive. There is no where to turn. The well of despair is filling quickly so you must figure out some way of not succumbing to killing yourself just yet.

Just wait, just wait.

Then the tears come and you can’t stop them. You bang your head against the wall and scream: the pain is too much, when will it stop. It never does. It just comes and goes.

There is the restlessness of meaningless, of emptiness of loneliness of where in the world am I and where do I belong, To whom do I belong. Feeling like a stranger on planet earth with no home. Your life becomes a self imposed prison of isolation.  It feels like choking on air and wetness at the same time. Unable to catch your breath in a panic.

Some how there is a tiny spark that makes you keep going. You are lucky to be so aware and strong. But you don’t believe it. Yes strong. But you don’t believe it. It takes courage to keep going. But you don’t believe it. Your strength comes from somewhere invisible. Call it survival, the divine, the journey, reliving trauma, the search, the longing to reach out anyway even if you fail. And you have failed so many, many times.

You try just one more time, even if you fail again at least it is temporary relief. Clinging to the hope that this time it will be different. Hoping that trying one more time will make a difference. Wishing for the best and preparing for the worst. Accepting what is unacceptable but not knowing what acceptable is just yet.

Getting up again, not letting anyone know how you feel it is easier to push them away. Even though you desperately need them.

You will try again and again and again and again. Maybe this time it will work.

There really is no other way than to try to either live in this world or die trying.

What will it be: suicide by choice or suicide by trying.

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