My suicide had been two years in the making when I decided not to follow through at the last minute.
Over the past decade, I've written poems, books, short stories, fanfiction and hundreds of thousands of words, but nothing felt complete. This coll...
Therapy went a whole lot smoother this morning. It might have even been, dare I say it, useful. We did get off to a rocky start. She sermonised something along the lines of, "feeling sad is a privilege because it means you're alive," and I nearly exploded.
First of all, I would quite like to be six feet under right now, as I'm sure you're aware. Just because I smile more does not mean I want to be dead less. Second, you are an overpaid therapist and a caucasian one at that, I don't think you're in the best position to teach me, a mentally unstable but culturally aware fellow caucasian, about what it means to be privileged. The audacity it took for you, as a health professional, to utter those words is truly remarkable. "feeling sad is a privilege because it means you're alive," is like saying a broken ankle is a privilege because it means you have an ankle to break.
?
That's sort of true but it's not the inspirational flex you think it is. Feeling sad is many things, it's beautiful and terrible to feel everything at once, but it's not a privilege. Besides, I am driven by unnatural forces your neurotypical cybertruck of a brain will never even begin to comprehend, regardless of what that psychology degree on your wall professes to be. So allow me to compliment your outfit and distract you long enough to successfully change the subject.
She made me sticky notes about how to visualise my inner director and all the fires she's constantly trying to quench, and that did earn her back some points.
My head feels lighter this week— courtesy of a mountain and a heap of serotonin. Crazy how you can be hanging on by a thread and then just... not? I don't trust this feeling, but I'm addicted to it.
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Negative Nancy #41 — 03/12/2024
I'm trying to feel grateful for having slipped through the hands of people who didn't know how to hold me, and it's been an uphill battle. I hate inclines, and the word 'grateful' stunts me.
Earlier this year, I'd decided to start my Journal app journey. Figured it would be good to have another outlet, another place to write down my thoughts and feelings and oh sweet, sweet summer child. The app asked me a prompt question. And I don't know if I was having a bad day or a bad life but the effect was instantaneous. Just total, fire-licking rage.
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And that— was the end of my Journal app journey. My thoughts on gratitude have changed minimally since. I love my friends and family and I would not be here without them.
16:20PM I've been sleeping terribly. Nights full of tossing and turning, interrupted by short naps. I'm lacklustre all the time and haven't been eating enough because of it. On the plus side, I lost another kg or two and my mental state has improved? I feel a little more in control. Even so, if a divine presence is peering down at us from some fluffy cloud right now, you betcha I am still their favourite exposed nerve.
