I It processes words and feelings in a
I know you look at me the way you do. It’s clear as day what you see – what everybody sees. You look at the bags under my eyes… the quiet presence in the room… the fact that I can only mutter short answers to the question you keep asking. Or is it my look of abandonment? You really want to know what’s going on? You want answers? If not to help, then just to know. It’s human nature to want to know something you don’t know. When I can’t find the words, you start assuming, you start wondering what’s going on. Just this morning, he was joking, laughing and playing with the kids. What could have happened in the last few hours? What could have upset her? Is it something I’ve done? Doesn’t he love me anymore? Well, you know what I said about assumptions. Let me enlighten you on a very cloudy situation. I’m not tired, I’m not sad, no one has upset me. My mind just works in a slightly different way towards others. It processes words and feelings in a way I have no control over, making problems that are not really there. Sometime I go days, weeks, even months where I can’t see anything in a positive light. It is as if my batteries have run low and I’m surrounded by darkness. Then there’s this voice around my head pinging with negativity. I’m no good at my job, I’m a lousy husband, I’m a terrible father and a complete waste of space. This world would just be a better place without me. I’ve tried to fight back; I’ve tried yelling at them to stop. Sometimes I’m so busy fighting that I forget the people around me. People close to me. And the reason I look tired isn’t because I can’t sleep, it’s because my mind grips me when I go. It haunts me with flashbacks of things I try to forget. It digs up my past to try to wound me. Things get so intense my eardrums feel like they’re about to burst. I tremble from the inside out as suicide whips through my head like a stream train. I said it. That taboo word everybody hates to hear. Suicide. It’s a scary word when heard out load to most. But when your mind is being bashed like a hammer against a rock. It becomes and all too welcoming call. Something latches on. Encouraging me to do it. I feel desperate. I feel weak. I go to the kitchen. I take a knife and place the blade to my wrist. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in. When I exhale, I see my daughter. She’s crying, she’s fallen, I help her up and wipe away her tears. I kiss her on top on her head and she smiles at me. That smile… I open my eyes and my heart begins to race. The voices start flooding back. Insistently my mind begins to clear. A gas seeping from a fizzy ball. I look down, ashamed of what I’ve done. I live my life for another day. I live my life for you. Once I’ve won my battles. I’ll start living them for myself too. But for now, I can’t. Why can’t death be the right medication for me? Suicide is called a selfish act but you know, I’ve lived long enough in this pain to avoid being selfish. In reality my family’s being selfish, they won’t let go of me because of a desire to hold on to me. If I was in the hospital with terminal cancer and living in this pain would, would it be okay then to choose to die? Why isn’t mental illness regarded as a terminal disease? I just want them to let me go. Let me go in peace. I don’t want to grow old and unhappy, I don’t want to work a job I hate for 40 years, married to a woman that needs to much from me, rearing children who look up to a waste basket. Is this really it? I want to shout but my mouth is full of water. I can’t handle it much longer. All I want to know is that I’m not alone. Maybe I want a hug sometimes. Maybe I want someone to tell me I’m not going crazy and that It’s not really my fault. I want to know that I didn’t do this to myself and that I’m not the cause of this horrible thing that’s happening to me. I want someone to be here for me and help me through this. I want someone to tell me that can get me better and that help me believe in myself again. I don’t need critisism, I need help.