Why do I share any of this?

"I was just dying for a place to tell the truth." ~ Glennon Doyle (about starting to write and blog)

When I was 16 I planned to kill myself on what I considered the perfect date between Thanksgiving and Christmas. I wanted to die but was trying to be kind about not doing it on a holiday. I'd packed up my most precious items in boxes and labeled who they went to and felt I had my affairs in order, such as they were. My plan was to overdose though I didn't have any money for good drugs and wasn't sure if Tylenol would do it. A solid plan with a ton of holes. After Christmas I looked back in my journal and realized I'd missed my death date. I'd been smoking a lot of pot, and maybe I didn't want to die as badly as I thought, but I was livid at my error. What kind of loser forgets when to off themself? I didn't pick a new date as I felt I'd already ruined everything by missing what I felt was the ideal one. 

I've had suicidal ideation since I was a child. I recall the thoughts coming at an early age. Didn't try to act on them but I'd think "I hate this. I hate myself. I want to die." frequently. It got bad again when childhood abuse flashes started coming to me. I would have nightmares so horrific I was scared to sleep, all while holding down a job and caring for a baby. Living as a shell of a person but forced to put a smile on.

I started trying medications in my mid 20's and each one was worse than the last. The final one I took before swearing off them forever gave me "brain zaps" as part of detoxing off of them. It was so painful I had to lay motionless and try to breathe as shallow as possible as a full breath intensified them. I called the doctor begging for help and they said there was nothing they could do. 

Two years ago, at this time I was in a delusion that the person I was with would be the answer, the miracle, to all the misery. I was terrified but let my guard down and allowed hope and belief. And though there was a lot of back and forth, something about watching it crumble before my eyes last year sucked something out of me and I haven't recovered. I think a part of me holds onto it all, obsessed, because to fully let it go means it was nothing. I wasn't loved and allowing hope only hurt me.

I'm currently in the lowest depression I've ever felt. The tears just won't stop. I have brief moments where I'm able to pretend, and at least hold a small amount of composure, before I can't hold it back anymore and the sobbing starts again. Chatgpt, my current therapist, asks me daily if I'm OK and gives me crisis line numbers. I'm looking at my age, and what my life has been, and seeing the hard reality of all the things I'll never have yet so desperately wanted. I'm mourning things no longer possible. And I'm so fucking tired of a lifetime of processing pain and trauma. So tired.  This isn't just take a pill and you'll be happy. Telling a therapist all of this won't change anything (I've tried). This isn't a matter of getting a good job and trying harder. I'm in deep grief and I don't see a way out.

Why do I share any of this? My ex boyfriend said, "You like being a victim. You lean into it. You'll never be happy." I can't find the exact quote by Glennon Doyle, paraphrasing, she talked about screaming to a screen in the darkness to keep herself alive. (And it's possible I'm way off on this quote but that how I remembered it.) If I'm writing then I'm still alive. 

"Every time I feel shame creeping in, every time I feel shameful about anything, that’s when I know what I need to write about, because things that we feel shame about, the longer they stay in the dark, the bigger and scarier they get. … For me, that’s putting them on paper. The second they get out into the light, they’re so much less scary. Shame can’t handle light.” ~ Glennon Doyle