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| Path to freedom |
from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:
On Thursday I turned out to be the worst version of myself of late. I woke up completely paralyzed by the thought that I had to get out of bed and drag myself to work. Seeing people and interacting with them appeared to be the an insurmountable obstacle and only the thought of having to do anything else then curling up in the fetal position under my blanket simply froze my thoughts, sending me into an almost catatonic state. I felt like crying for help, but I had no voice and I had no idea how to cope with the situation. So I simply called in sick to work, mumbling something about bad food and diarrhea. That always works. It appears that others seem slightly embarrassed when they hear about someone's uncontrollable bowel movements, plus they fear there might be a virus or something that can be passed on, so I got my two days off - that would be Thursday and Friday. Well, I got that sorted, now what?
I was hungry but it felt like too much trouble to get out of my bed and fix myself a sandwich, let alone cook an omelette or anything else. My muscles were sore and I couldn't thing straight. My mind floated in between numbness and sleep, yet my thoughts were rushing as if some idiot user opened multi-threaded processes and left then to run in the background of my brain without any possibility to shut them down. At some point, my mind was racing at such a pace that I couldn't stand it anymore and
I started to bang my forehead against the wall. Unexpectedly, it worked.The pain somehow anchored me to the current reality, gave me something almost palpable to focus on. I think I kept doing that for quite a while. It hurt, but it felt good. Interesting idea, I never thought of that before.
I felt tired and sick and struggled for a while with the thought of calling my therapist, but what little help could she have provided over the phone? My reasonable side of the brain told me it was supposed to go away if I correctly analyze and isolate the trigger of this state, but the rest of my mind was wandering through a maze of gruesome possible plans and outcomes to my next actions which ultimately pointed towards a reclusive state. Nevertheless, two major ideas came to form and clashed in a repetitive agonizing circle. I really felt the need to relate with someone who could at least empathize with my state right now, while at the same time I felt the intense need of solitude, of not being disturbed by any living soul.
Eyes full of tears of sorrow and pain, I spent my time under the despicable safety blanket, staring at the walls and ceiling, going from despair to restless sleep and from confusion to unaware sobriety. It's a good thing I felt so weak, unable to walk to the corner of the street, with no stash of sleeping pills at hand.
Somehow I made it to Saturday: dead hungry and as stinky as a construction worker, but feeling better somehow. I was surprised that I could function well enough to take a shower and go to the grocery store to get some nourishment. At ate and puked it all. The crisis returned while I was eating my meal. All of a sudden, I remembered what I went through the last days and looked around me and saw nothing was changed, so my body sent a shrieking down my spine all the way to my stomach, which emptied the fresh content all over my kitchen table in a single spasm. 'Fuck that, I thought, maybe it's my time to rot' - I said to myself while curling on the floor in the corner of my studio, desperately trying to prepare for what was about to come. Maybe I'll be free at last.
"Fight them all in a living hell.
Slowly rot and you die."
Obituary - Slowly we rot
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