Bad thoughts…
So I didn’t really want to put this in the same post as my last one. It’s related but not.
So as I was thinking about starting this blog, I was also thinking about the bad thoughts I have every now and then. Its things like, ‘…I’m at this red light, I wonder what would happen if I just went through…’
Probably not the best thought for someone who is depressed to be thinking.
I started thinking a bit more about it, and came to the realisation that I just don’t have the guts to do it. I mean, I do think about it sometimes and think about the easiest and most painless way to do it. Some nights I cry silently to myself and pray that I don’t wake up tomorrow, just so I’m not in pain anymore. It never happens and I wake up feeling glad that it didn’t because when I roll over and R gives me a kiss and says he loves me, the pain goes away for a little while.
But I still think it. I feel ashamed to think it. Yet another thing I haven’t told R about. Why? Because I don’t want him to worry, I’m afraid that if he knew how screwed up I really was he’d leave. He probably won’t because he loves me so much, but its still there in the back of my mind.
A guy at my work took his life around this time last year. It was a shock cos everyone thought he was a happy go lucky kind of guy. I sometimes think about him. How sad it was that he had to do that, that he felt that it was the only way to stop all the pain and to take control.
In some ways, I feel like I can relate to him. I know what its like to feel like nothings working and you’ve lost control and you don’t know what to do. How it feels to feel like you are alone and noone cares and there is nothing anyone can do to help you, so you bottle it away until it eats you up inside and you can’t take it anymore, and you snap. One difference between us though, is I can’t go through with it. I always chicken out at the last minute. I’ll be driving through the ‘country’ on winding roads going 80km/h and taking the corners too fast, and hoping I’ll go off the road. I try to suffocate myself, but take the pillow away before anything happens. I’ll drink a bottle of wine after taking some headache tablets, hoping I’ll have a bad reaction. I’ll think about taking the knife I’m using to make dinner with and stabbing it into my chest or slicing open my wrists. But I always stop myself.
I think, does that make me a chicken or does that make me stronger than I think? I think I’m just afraid of doing it. And I don’t want to hurt R or my family. I guess its love stopping me from doing it.
In alot of ways, I hope that it always stops me. That things are never so bad that even love can’t help.