Wednesday, June 3, 2015

WHY I AM CREATING A SUICIDAL BLOG

If I called it a homicidal blog, I'd already be rotting in a padded room in some fucking psych ward. 

I used to journal. Daily. Every single day I'd write in notebook after notebook. Just letting my brains splatter across the pages in various shades of ink and paper. Then I got a boyfriend, then I got married. Then the "mine is yours," bit me in the ass, because the one safe place I had to empty my overly active brain was no longer just mine. I've often tried to pick it up again when things got dark in life. Just knowing it could be picked up and read by another, even someone so close to me, as my own husband was enough to withhold thoughts even from my beloved notebooks. Well, things are dark again and have been for a very, very long time. So, I again, am trying to journal, trying to focus the insane energies and constant analyzing of my mind into NOT dying. Just one little hiccup there, you see, because on and off, all my 31 years of life and then constantly for about 6 months straight, dying is all I've truly wanted to do. 

The spelling of this blog's title is not an error. This blog is about suicide. Unfortunately, (sincerely, unfortunately) I'm not a selfish dumbass. My mind tends to split when it comes to this, life, death how it's all connected and the causes and effects of literally every little fucking thing in the universe. Therefore, it's spelled SUISIDE, because it's the suicidal side of me, that has once again, found a place to blow my torturous brains out in the form of "paper" and various shades of "ink." 

Tonight as I tried to continue my journaling endeavors to avoid self-injury or using the gun beside me, this is what I actually wrote:

June 2nd, 2015    

It's 2:30 in the morning, technically the 3rd, but who gives a shit? Just another day. I'm done. I'm so fucking done. Crying like a weak, stupid bitch over something as insignificant as Life. The disconnect from all I ever knew stopped life as I knew it, but only for me. Those behind have aged, moved on, lived. I have only grown older and older, with a wicked head start, inside and out. I keep praying and begging for some reason to live, to find happiness and I think of my husband. Our wrecked marriage, him being all that I am connected to and how that connection severed all others. How it has severed me from humanity as a whole. I do not feel like a person. I feel dead and alone, but I'm not with the dead I've loved and lost. If there was ever someone or something I was meant to be it's long since been yanked away from me. Evil fills the earth in every corner and in every way. It's in all of us. It's in me. 

That was the entry. Unfinished, surely, but through tears as I wrote it I already knew the direction I was heading in. A selfish direction, I've found myself heading in way too often of late. I suppose in time, my life's story will end up laid bare here, for all to see, unless I chicken out and delete the damn thing as I've done several other blogs in the past. However, this one may have a chance the others did not. It's personal. It's honest and it's real. When I decided to make this blog it was literally a page from my journal, made while writing it.Part need to connect with others, part need to stop myself from connecting with the reaper. The former is hard, people fucking suck in general. The latter, though, is ever enticing. 

I spent 3 hours on the phone with one of my best friends from back home the other night. I'd been too psychotic and mentally fucked up the prior six months to really speak with many of my family or friends for long on the phone, for fear they'd realize how far gone I really was. I knew what was wrong with me, it was not something that could be fixed, merely tempered with anti-depressants.

They didn't make me feel better they just kept the insanity fairly flat. I stopped taking them as soon as I thought the problem had left my system but just as your mind can trick you, so can the Depo shot. The tortures came in waves and while I stopped taking the meds that kept the waves from getting out of control about two months too early, I survived. And yet, here we are because I'm up in the middle of the night feeling alone and disconnected , once again wishing I hadn't.

Instead the logical self preserving side prevailed and I simply added a few hundred more scars on the body of a self-injurer that had started at the ripe old age of 12. I don't care about the scars, all but the worst will fade to near invisibility in time. Lucky break, I suppose, being damn near as pasty white as your own scar tissue.

I'm not a selfish being. And let's face it, suicide is selfish. But the logical side feared this other overwhelming emotional side. I'm not the cutting type that does it for attention or for numbness. I've always done it for the physical pain because it over-shadows emotional pain, giving temporary relief.

(note to self: long posts are for the laptop not the ipad...pain in the ass technology. For anyone this blog actually helps, be grateful I'm not in my usual mood of doing jack-shit.)

I digressed, back to that phone call. (Get used to the topic hopping, the SUISIDE of me as I've decided to call it, does that shit all the time.)She kept telling me I have a gift for talking to people, helping them. That I was wasting it, far from home and disconnected from my people. (By my people I refer to all those I share blood with and actually give a shit about and those that I've known since birth and consider just as close to me as blood. Don't be fooled by preconceptions of small circles of family and friends. I am by blood or bond a part of 5 equally HUGE and life long entwined families, whose prior two generations bred like rabbits. Granted, over the years even from such a giant tribe few today (40 or less, if I just took a wild guess) are still in my life in any way. Fewer still, if I remove the dead from the count.

I knew what my friend was talking about. From mid-teen up until I left home and via phone for a few years more, I played the role of friend and family therapist to any and all I cared about. Any problem, big or small, I fixed or found a way to fix and in those situations where no answers were to be had, I understood and comforted. I buffered conflict as well as caused it when the protective streak was stirred within me. Excess empathy I was apparently "gifted" with, allowed me to understand others easily. Love of words, written and sung in lyrical artistry made communication with others natural. The study of psychology, abnormal in particular sparked my interest early because humans as a whole are just so fucked up only the ignorant wouldn't be fascinated by the mind and all it's infinite depths and levels of insanity.

I dropped out of high school in 9th grade, after repeating the 8th. If education began and ended with traditional "schooling" I'd be a babbling moron. Rather than a fairly intelligent, if half insane, being. Far from a genius, but I did unlock my mind so that nothing is off limits. Books and self education is the only reason I can string two words together. I hated school, was tortured and bullied there, so I spent more time skipping class than studying anything. With books comes a key. More of the general population should use it. Really, get off the internet, put the game console away and READ some fucking books! While I'm on this little tirade I'll also point out it hurts like a mother fucker but it wouldn't kill more of you to try tapping into empathy either. Notice I said empathy, not sympathy. There is a difference folks. If you're still on facebook or tweeting look those definitions up while you're at it. I'll give the internet that much, in the hands of someone who wants to escape idiocy it's a great tool. Have question + Get answer = SMARTER YOU!

Doesn't beat books though, any jackass can write anything on the internet, so watch your sources people. Same goes for e-books, the hot new thing, again, any jackass. Case in point, myself included. Feel free to scoot on over to Amazon and read my first crappily (Yes, I make up my own words, too) formatted and still unedited book titled "Scorched"." A fiction YA book with too much cussing and too many touchy subjects for traditional YA publishing. Matter of fact, if you are smart enough to see layers, you'll notice a story under a story. Under the school massacre (touchy, touchy, tsk, tsk!) in the first chapter lies a story of EMPATHY, even for the worst of us.

This blog is about suicide, but not to encourage it. Only to give voice to all the emotions that fuel the dance with it. If you're waltzing with the other side or hearing the call of those long gone from your life, stick around, comment, write or crank up some tunes. It's daylight here and what do you know? I made it to another sunrise. With each post I'll try to leave you with a tune or two to check out. Music has saved my life more times than I can count. I'm passionate about artists that give back lyrically. If a song has ever saved your life, or put even the smallest sliver of light in that darkness surrounding you post it in the comments for me and others.

You never really know what can come of small kindnesses. So put them out there when you can. People like me, walking along the edge of life and death aren't always easy to spot. We often hide in the dark and plaster a "normal" façade for the world to see on our faces until it's too late. It might be you, or it might be your best friend or some other member of "your people."

Last note, if you're feeling suicidal and landed here because of whatever method you were researching, maybe you landed here for a reason. Stop digging. Use the thing between your ears and leave your shovel here. Somebody on this earth loves you, even if you don't know them, or they haven't entered your life yet. To all the young people who put their cries for help online and got tortured, bullied, encouraged and even talked into committing suicide online, I pray you found your peace and that the ones you left behind someday recover from your selfishness. I know the pain, but you have to make the logical side of your mind stronger than the emotional side. The logical side that saves your life is also the side that cares and has enough empathy for the people you'd destroy by your last act.

For every single worthless, piece of uneducated, dog shit excuse for a human that ever took part in pushing those kids into killing themselves, take your own shit advice. The whole WORLD is better off without 'things' like you in it. And the only thing for types like you on this blog, is a big FUCK YOU, please DO let the universe kick you in the ass on your way out. Karma's a mean bitch and she get's us all, one way or another. Hypocritical? Yup. Do I give a shit? Nope.

Those on the ledge with me, let's jam out to THRIING IVORY's "Angels on the moon" and TRAPT's "Too close" if you're feeling that disconnect and aren't quite ready to accept a kindred spirit. When you're ready to try letting people in again and find yourself where I am, just tentatively and cautiously trying to give new people a chance, check out TRAPT's "Are you with me."

Night all, see you on the flip side.
-Jesa   

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