I've had lots of ideas.
Mainly I thought about how gloomy my posts have been, and considered writing a light-hearted blog; because I know people worry about me. But I realized that that's the opposite of what this is for. This is my forum to be honest, my time to NOT find a positive angle, to NOT point out the silver lining; which is what I try and do when I talk to people in real-life. I'm down enough without dragging everyone else down with me.
I could write about the difference between the being wrapped in cotton wool days, and the sandpaper days. I could try and explain the sense of weight that keeps me down. I thought about describing how I sometimes feel as though I'm trapped in warm sticky tar. I could try and put into words the feeling that I'm an emotional black hole, designed to suck in, then destroy, everything happy.
I'm going to go back to basics instead. I'm struggling with the difference between not wanting to die (my suicide would be brutally traumatizing to people I love, so I'm hanging in there), and wanting to live (I don't really want to). I'm stable enough to know I'm not suicidal anymore. Which doesn't equate to wanting to live. I'm lost for next bit - you know; the living bit.
While I'm typing this, there's a music video playing next to me. Freddie Mercury's last video with Queen 'These are the days of our lives', and I'm struck by the fact Freddie is visibly ill. He would die just six months after filming. But he had so much passion for music. For song. For art. For performing. For life. He was alive in the truest sense. He was dying a horrible, painful, death; and was still driven to DO stuff. Why? How? What did Freddie understand, that continues to elude me?
Derri.
Mainly I thought about how gloomy my posts have been, and considered writing a light-hearted blog; because I know people worry about me. But I realized that that's the opposite of what this is for. This is my forum to be honest, my time to NOT find a positive angle, to NOT point out the silver lining; which is what I try and do when I talk to people in real-life. I'm down enough without dragging everyone else down with me.
I could write about the difference between the being wrapped in cotton wool days, and the sandpaper days. I could try and explain the sense of weight that keeps me down. I thought about describing how I sometimes feel as though I'm trapped in warm sticky tar. I could try and put into words the feeling that I'm an emotional black hole, designed to suck in, then destroy, everything happy.
I'm going to go back to basics instead. I'm struggling with the difference between not wanting to die (my suicide would be brutally traumatizing to people I love, so I'm hanging in there), and wanting to live (I don't really want to). I'm stable enough to know I'm not suicidal anymore. Which doesn't equate to wanting to live. I'm lost for next bit - you know; the living bit.
While I'm typing this, there's a music video playing next to me. Freddie Mercury's last video with Queen 'These are the days of our lives', and I'm struck by the fact Freddie is visibly ill. He would die just six months after filming. But he had so much passion for music. For song. For art. For performing. For life. He was alive in the truest sense. He was dying a horrible, painful, death; and was still driven to DO stuff. Why? How? What did Freddie understand, that continues to elude me?
Derri.
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