I found a book I bought in 2012 right between losing my job and meeting my husband, 642 Things To Write About. I only filled in about 11 of the things and I was in a terrible place. It was the epitome of my teenage emo years. Describe the first and last death you remember. I wrote “First) 2000 my uncle killed himself when his girlfriend went to the store. Last) 2012 my neighbour died in a motorcycle accident. Next) mine, undecided date.”
I used to be very depressed, very suicidal. I used to plan and plan. I was always trying to push through, find the perfect time. Maybe in three months if I’m not happier. Two weeks after Christmas maybe, I don’t want to ruin Christmas for the family. Every year I get more put together. Every year my will to live gets stronger. It is still hard some days. I know I won’t do anything. I have children and I’m not impulsive about it. I know that I am a grown up with the power to mostly control my life. I sometimes wonder if the thoughts will ever be completely gone.
In May I told two people I was having the thoughts. The feelings that I did not want to go on. I felt as though I was living for my children. When was my contract over? When will I be allowed to be done? When they are 18? When they are 21? When they are done college? I told a friend I’m going to die in 21 years, apparently that was the answer I came up with. The thing was, when I felt like it was official, I cried a lot. It felt dramatic. It felt wrong. I wondered if my kids would think I stayed alive miserable for them this whole time.
I think I had to face my death one last time to really purge suicidal thoughts out of my system. The first time I tried to kill myself I was ten years old. It was a few months before my uncle died. I couldn’t tell you exactly why. It was impulsive. There was a peacefulness to it. A psychotic way about it. I just decided. It just felt right. I felt like it needed to happen. In honestly, the pills I took did nothing but made me high. I wasn’t close to death at all. I was ten, I didn’t even really know what I was taking. I wonder if I’m just broken that way. Too sensitive to the world. At points it felt as if that was true. I definitely need extra hermit time. I’m definitely sensitive to everyone’s wants and feelings. Being alone at times is necessary.
I have hope that I have gotten over the idea. It took me 18 long years to cure myself of that idea that came over me like an infection so long ago. I don’t just want to live for my kids anymore. I want to live for me. Maybe that is why I’m so gung hoe about this bucket list and twin flame thing. I’m done settling. I’m done dealing with the same toxic family members. I need my life to be mine. I need space from judgement. I’m done living for everyone else, but I’m definitely not done living. I’m living for me and my kids now, not just them.