I hate myself and very soon you’re all going to hate me too, if you don’t already.

In the last few days I have tried more than once to commit suicide. Clearly, none of the attempts worked.

I don’t really have much to say past that. Maybe you ask me why? Please don’t judge…. I want my babies, I want to be free from these hideous memories and nightmares and the knowledge that my whole life will be shaped by them and I’ll always feel pain….I want to free my friends’ from this terrible life I’ve dragged them into. I dreamt last night of what their lives might be like and probably were like before they met me. I want them to have that…

Helplines? Helping, I guess. I don’t really want to talk to them but somehow I do. Or listen, mostly. Or just keep repeating “I’m tired of this….I can’t do this.” I want to scream it at them but I just murmur it. I just feel that bit of my spirit waving her white flag sadly – I’m finished. Please let me fall with *some* grace….please please let me go….

Even the personalities have given up. All of the personalities that have been got at in recent times….they’ve given up too. We’re all just tired and weary, and in crippling emotional pain.

I wake up every morning and can feel one of my babies nuzzled into my chest, and then I realise they’re not there and my arms are empty. What use are my arms if they’re empty? Their purpose was to carry my baby close…and they just hang limp. As before, the grief is actually taking a hold of my body. I keep finding I can’t move my arms. My feelings of them being pointless has attacked them, and they become immobile. There’s no baby to carry. No baby to sing to and cradle.There’s no small child to hold close and reassure, or laugh at and tickle. There’s nothing. There’s nothing left.

And I am in too much pain. I cannot talk to my friends but with this I’m talking to my laptop. Sorry laptop.

I feel like I’m lying on the ground, and it’s icy cold. Rain pelting me. I can’t scream, because the cries are choking in my throat which has closed up. Convulsing inside my chest and throat. Pain just rocking through me and I’m totally alone because nobody knows where I am and I can’t yell to tell them. Nobody knows where I am. I don’t even know where I am, except I am lost. Very lost and in *horrendous* pain and I can’t talk to anyone and I’m finished.

All of you that breathe so freely and don’t even have to consider the fact you can breathe, do you have any idea how privileged you are? To be able to breathe and not live in fear of who might try and stop you breathing, or when your heart might just break too much and you stop breathing yourself? To be able to breathe and not be reminded with each breath of the fact that on several occasions you nearly drowned and blacked out and had to be resucitated…and actually you now wish they never bothered bringing you back? Each breath to remind you of those who didn’t make it? That I breathe when my own babies do not?? You take your breathing for granted….for me it is both torture and reminder. I want to strangle the breath away from me.

I’m walking around in a daze, the world rushing past me and not noticing me here…I’m just the shadow in the corners…the lone leaf on the wind…I’m just wandering around, crying my heart out, the bitter pain wrapping it’s icy cold and sharp grip around my chest and *squeezing* so tightly that breath feels laborous and the fight to keep breathing is exhausting…. my ribs are surely going to break soon…

I wander around and envy your freedom, that I can never have. If I could hold my heart, I think I would see only holes. I wish I could just close my eyes and sleep through this pain…this labour of breathing be taken from me and I can be hushed gently into a calm silence, and be set free…

And yet… “labour of breathing…” can only remind me of a certain type of memory….
and with that I remember that the worst possible physical pain and the most intense pressure on one’s body, heart and lungs…is followed by something so precious and beautiful… I keep having intense body flashbacks of labour (not fun) and reminded each time of the stark contrast….the final ten minutes when you REALLY DO WANT TO DIE just so the pain can stop and you can see what’s up and down and even breathe freely and you just want to cry/scream onto someone’s shoulder and *beg* them to make it stop and holy crap how is that much pain even possible in one body and please god just let me die so this can STOP….and suddenly there’s a baby in your arms and the pain’s forgotten and you’re laughing and crying and talking so lightly and suddenly time stands still for you both and the pain fades away as you both stare at each other… and you *catch* your breath and your body reminds you that you were never suffocating in the first place, just altering your pace to cope with the pain…and now you can catch it back and calm because the pain has ceased….

my body keeps reminding me of this. Of how the body prepares us all (women, in this case) for the most frightening and intense rollercoasters in life which may go from unimaginable and intolerable pain, to a situation where you’re grateful you went through that pain because of what you now have in your arms….this can be applied…the natural process that is so extreme is a metaphor which can be re-applied elsewhere….

but the heartache that followed is what’s killing me now. But is this now a different type of heartache, and if so will a different type of beauty follow? Is that possible? That heartache which followed was wrong and unnatural and not supposed to be how the plot goes…it’s meant to be intense pain and then preciousness and that be that…not then intense pain again. Can I break that chain? If I break it now, will a different preciousness follow, one that I can keep hold of this time?

Do I have the energy to find out?
I’m not sure. I don’t think I do….

I want my babies….



7 thoughts on “Suicidal.

  1. Please don’t 😦 I won’t pretend to know how you’re feeling as my abuse didn’t come close, but I do know how the despair feels, what it’s like to feel helpless, and the wanting out from this world. Have you heard of the TAG organisation in the UK? They work with survivors of ritual abuse so I can pass you their contact details if you like?

  2. There are two things I’ve learned: 1) I never make good decisions when I’m distressed, upset, angry, or fearful. It is always better to wait and see if it still feels like a good idea later when I am calm, 2) I don’t think very well when I am distressed either. Although it always seems like I should plan so that the pain ends sooner, I am horrible at it. it’s better not to think at all when I feel that way and just focus on getting through whatever is at hand.

    I do know how you feel. The pain is simply unbearable sometimes, and I have definitely been there. You have lived through so much. I do hope you can live through this a well. You do so much for me. I wish I could help in some way.

  3. Thinking more about this later, I wanted to add that I think of these periods as partly an aspect of the memory itself–a kind of emotional flashback. There were certainly times during the worst horrors that I definitely felt I did not want to go on. A part of the cruelty was that I kept almost dying but continued to live. The fear itself was an element of the torture. But at that point, I didn’t have the luxury of acknowledging the despair I felt. The only priority was to find a way to keep moving forward. So, afterwards, intense despair is something that has to be remembered and come to terms with and in some way mourned.

    No human being should have had to live through the horror you experienced, let alone a child. I am so very, very sorry.

  4. Pingback: Seven Year Anniversary | Masochist Musing

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