Scared

I keep trying to ignore how suicidal I feel. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. I absolutely 100% know I don’t want to die and yet there is this constant internal monologue telling me that I do. But I don’t. 

I fell asleep with dangerous ideas buzzing. I am so disgusting that sanding the skin off my arm seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea. I woke up in the early hours after upsetting dreams: me slicing through my arms with a knife but unable to control it; my parents hunting me in a library whilst my body lost control, desperate to injure itself. When I sat in the dark I wanted to cut my own throat…just a test…not to do anything. I sat there scared. Really fucking scared. 

When I properly got up this morning I had a plan for the day and I stuck to it. 

I took the bus to town…and closed my eyes as we drove over the bridge I imagine jumping off of.

I walked past the pharmacy I wanted to go into…because I was too scared about what I would buy if I went in.

I waited at the kerb as a truck rumbled past…and imagined myself falling under it.

It’s like this all the time at the minute. I’m terrified. Nora reassured me yesterday that I was handling these urges well. In summer I couldn’t stop myself but now I was taking control and staying safe.

But, but, but…help? How much longer can I stay safe. I’m petrified. It’s only going to take one thing and the fuck it switch will be flicked. Please please please, I do not want anything bad to happen. Please.

It’s down to me though. I am a responsible adult and, as such, I must take responsibility for my own actions. I understand that, I do, but I’m just so very frightened and, as usual, no one believes me. 

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I Drunk Dialled The World 

I drank a lot of gin. I knew I was drunk. I didn’t care. I don’t usually drink as it’s bad for depression and I have a habit of losing control. But I didn’t care. I decided it was a great time to connect with people.

I texted.

I sent fb messages.

I looked up people from my past that I have absolutely no reason to look up.

I WhatsApp’d.

I tweeted.

I called people I hadn’t spoken to in years and probably left drunken rambling messages.

I rang my friend in Canada.

I recorded videos of myself and sent them to people.

Finally at 3am I called it a night and went to bed.

The guilt, shame and embarrassment arrived right on cue when I woke up. So did the hangover. No bother with the physical aches though; there was ibuprofen, cocodamol and promethazine to help me through that. The mental hangover is far worse.

I mean, ok, fair enough I blew off steam and no one was harmed but I was out of control. I was tempted to overdose. I just didn’t care. I just wanted this feeling inside me to stop. Still do. I can’t live like this. I need to believe it will end but I don’t. 

I feel at a complete loss.