A Non-Suicide Letter

I’m not going to commit suicide.

That’s all I’m going to say on that.  But I might be checking into a mental health facility very soon.

The way you succeed in life is to have enough tools to get yourself through the rougher times, to better ones.  So what do you do when you use the tools you know, and you’re still amidst the rough times?

You learn more tools, of course.

I lack tools.  I’m not sure how to deal with the ever-persistent voices in my head.  They tell me, every single day, to make that trip to the Golden Gate Bridge and face my worst fear – what it would feel like to fall with no way of stopping it.  They dare me to break my head open on the bay below, to die either horribly of broken everything, or to drown while dying of broken everything.  They tell me horrible things.  They distort reality.  How do I deal with them?  So far, all I know is the mantra that “this too shall pass”.  There will be periods of time, however brief, that the voices aren’t as powerful, and I will have good, beautiful days.  And those days ought to be worth living for.

I’m not sure how to deal with the memories of my Nana’s death.  All I knew was that when I left her alone that night, like we always do, I was expecting to come back the next day and make more beautiful memories with her.  Instead when I came back the next morning, her front door was wide open and she was gone.  The very first moment I saw that, I feared the worst.  But I tried to talk down my fears.  For several agonizing moments, I tried to tell myself that she was out gardening somewhere or that someone had picked her up to take her somewhere.  We checked her garden.  We checked the river in back of her home.  She wasn’t there, and I knew anyway that she would have sat beside the road, waiting for us.  I called the neighbor.  They hadn’t seen her or taken her anyway.  I looked in the lower part of the river, and there she was.  I knew she would be.  It was a recurring nightmare to find her that way.  I hoped so much it would never become reality, and it DID, and if I had BEEN THERE that night it WOULDN’T HAVE HAPPENED!  I was unprepared for how peaceful she looked, like she had just lay down to take a nap right there in the river.  So peaceful… it’s the only thing that brings me peace now.  I wish so much I had been there for her, not just that day, but I wish I had been there years before.  I wish I had chosen to live with her for at least six months to a few years, like I had suggested to my father just before graduating from college, but then maybe I wouldn’t have been able to give her Logan.  I wish I had given her so much more.

I don’t know how to deal with losing half my family.  My father, my grandfather, my grandmother – they didn’t die.  They LEFT.  And now my mother seems to be doing the same.  All because of my way with people.  I don’t know how to talk like a normal person and put people at ease and be at ease myself, and I So. Wish. I. Did.  I wish I were able to be a good friend, family member, daughter, the person they all deserved.  More than anyone, the person Nana deserved.  Now, I must be the mother that Logan deserves, more than anything.

I don’t know how to deal with mindgames.  I try to please people, and maybe that’s the problem.  A person says that complaint is self-serving, I try not to act self-serving.  A person says that my constant illness is depressing, I try not to advertise that I’m ill.  A person says to be there, and I try, and I feel terrible if I’m not.  And they never let me forget.  Nothing I do is good enough, and I am so so sorry for that.  A person says “don’t follow me” and I don’t, and then they act as though I didn’t fight hard enough for them.  I say anything at all, and the worst possible meaning is interpreted.  I’m not being sarcastic!  But it’s assumed that I am if I try to be open.

I don’t know how to deal with people’s anger and hatred.  Sometimes it is merited.  Many times it isn’t.  Daniel takes his out on me.  So does my mother.  So do many other people in my life.  Do I let them go?  Do I accept their anger?  Or do I take a third option?

And last but never least, I don't know how the deal with the migraines and the crippling pain that makes it hard to even get out of bed, let alone out my front door.  I'm sorry… if I'm absent, that's probably a big reason why.  It's not personal.  You are worth it.  I tried, and my body said no.  I will try my hardest to do better next time.

How do I be myself, when the world seems to hate what and who I am?

No, suicide isn’t the answer.  I can think of two people who that selfish action would hurt, and both their names are five letters long and start with an ‘L’.  I love them unconditionally and enduringly, even when I don't love myself.  Two people are enough to live for.  They’re also worth getting healthy for.  Until the day I am healthy for myself and live for myself, that is.  And I pray that day will be soon.