A State of Grace

You know what I'm bored of hearing? What I should do.

I tell someone how I'm feeling and they start to suggest things:

"Have you tried yoga?"
"You should see a psychologist."

Or even better:

"Are you OK?"

So, thank you helpful people of the universe. I shall take your advice as you are probably not using it.

Bull-fucking-shit.

I am sick to death of people telling me how this is supposed to play out, and what I should and shouldn't say, in what forums and to whom.

And the mourning cycle doesn't even really apply to me because I've suffered so many traumas in such a short period of time, so don't tell me when I am supposed to be over this, because I don't think putting a time limit on grief really helps with these situations.

I was recently suicidal.

It's a powerful thing to say, isn't it? I've never entertained a properly suicidal thought before, but I got there, and it's a very dark place.

Very. Very dark.

Looking out the window of the tram, my face soaked with tears, trying desperately to cover my face in my book. My hands shaking and my chest heaving. Just wanting it all to end.

I didn't want to die because I no longer wanted to live. But life was painful and I wanted the pain to stop.

And I didn't want to die, but I wanted to hurt all of those people who have hurt me in the last year. I wanted them to know what they had done. I wanted them to know that they have blood on their hands for isolating and neglecting me, for rejecting me, for not supporting me, when I need it most.

But mostly I didn't want to die, because I want to live. I have so many connections to the world of the living. Wonderful people I would never want to hurt. And so I walked away from the edge, and went and saw the psychologist again.

I looked out the window of the stopped tram, and a man in a car looked up at me, and smiled at me. Just a gentle smile.

And I felt a little moment of connection.

And in case you were wondering, I didn't die.

But I want you all to know, I'm not OK.

I've been trying to keep up the appearance of gracefulness under fire, but really... I don't want to be in a state of grace.

I have been wronged. I have endured what no person should endure. And I want everyone who has hurt me to suffer because I hate them. They are arseholes and they should suffer. I am sick of being ignored and shut out. I have not been erased from history because people have decided to pretend I never existed. I wanted to make them sit up and take notice. I wanted them to feel terrible about what they had done because they fucking well should.

I am not suicidal now. I can't say I won't be in the future, because I don't know. But I am writing this because I want someone to know... particularly someone who might be feeling similarly... that being a revenge-minded, hateful ghost for eternity, no matter how much you hate everyone... it still probably isn't worth it. If you want to die, go see a counsellor. You'll probably find that you're just fixating on something, but you're never stuck. There's always volition to be had in the world, and every person has the power to change something about their world. It's a matter of finding what you can fix and fixing that and building up to bigger challenges when you're ready.

If I look at the sky at the right time of evening, and the light is rosy and the warm wind is light in the leaves on the trees... I look at it all and think: "who'd be dead for quids? This shit is beautiful and awesome, and I am blessed."

I find so much solace in nature.

And I cuddle my friends to my chest, and I break bread with them, and watch terrible movies with them and I think: "I really am blessed."

So be brave with me, people.

I am sick of people thinking depression and suicide is not a topic for conversation.  We need to flush this out into the open. We need to admit that people can feel hopeless. And we need to uncloak suicide.

I have had three immediate female family members commit suicide. I never thought I would ever go close to being one of their number. But it finally happened.

And it wasn't out of hopelessness or loneliness. It was out of spite.

But I'm still here, writing. I've been up and down, yes, but I will keep fighting. I love the people I love, and I only hate the people I hate because I used to love them. It's easier to forgive a stranger than to forgive a friend.

I will rewrite this another day when I am feeling more eloquent, but I think it is important to admit openly that I have considered stopping bothering the people I love with my endless misery, so that I can inflict it on the people I hate. But I have decided against it.

And I hope that maybe someone might read this and treat me, and other depressed people, a little better because of it. Because it only takes one random act of kindness, a smile from a stranger in a car, to reconnect in a disconnected headspace.

You could be that smiling person.

Or you could just be dead.

Or you might kill someone by their own hand.

The world is full of fascinating choices. And none of these are made in a state of grace.