So…I haven’t been writing for a while. Since August last year, apparently. I’m not really sure how it happened. I still had all the feelings and thoughts that I had previously been pouring onto these pages, they just stayed inside, churning, repeating, wearing away at me like endless waves onto an already fragile and crumbling rock.
The last time I wrote I was just about to leave for Nepal, for a study tour. I wanted to be changed over there, I wanted to come back a very different person, physically as much as mentally. I wanted to ditch the Negative Voice, prove to myself that I could live without being disrupted by all the head crap, be present and immersed in a new place. Spoiler: it didn’t happen. I spent so much time up in my head that I feel like I missed a lot. I got on a plane to get away from all the shit but it snuck on board with me and lingered inside of me, still does. This is not to say it wasn’t a beautiful, challenging and enjoyable trip- it was all those things, and more- I just wasn’t fully ‘there’.
I’ve been struggling on, since then, to be here, alive. I think about suicide every day, or more correctly, every night. I think, tomorrow, no next week, no I just have to finish my placement first. I propel myself from one day to the next, thinking not of the future but instead of when, when when when can I just let go? And it takes over, those waves again, crashing, blocking out the light, am I dead yet, no, just drowning, endlessly, gasping for air.
And then I wake up. And (most days) I get out of bed, and go to placement, get engaged in the work, enjoy it even. Most days I talk to people and they talk to me, laugh with me, don’t look disgusted at the sight of me, and so goes another day that I thought I wouldn’t be alive to see. They contrast so much, the person I am and the person I become when suicidality and depression take over. I know this, and try to hold onto it, but it’s like trying to chase a tiny spark in a dark maze where you can only see immediately in front of you, into blackness so terrifying that to continue on seems futile.
I guess it’s just about trusting that the spark is there, even when I can’t see it, or feel it or find it. Trusting that people are being genuine when they say that they want me around, that they want to help me stay. Trusting that change is possible. Trusting that reaching out into the unknown tomorrow is a better option than giving up today.