Why stick around?
That’s what I can’t figure out. Why should I stick around?
Back when I was suicidal during all my waking hours, my suicidal ideation ran down two separate streams–either I wanted to drown myself, or I wanted to jump off a cliff. Those were OCD-like thoughts–that’s what suicidal ideation is it its most extreme form–obsessive thoughts about killing oneself, with the only relief being to follow through.
I’ve been scanning slides and uploading them to Flickr–over a thousand so far. There I am at 3, 4, 5, 10, 14, 17, pregnant the first time at 25. Which of those years was I happy? Which of those years was I *not* suicidal? How many days have I managed to be happy in all those decades of life? Focus on the positive, elim-ay-nate the negative….
My suicidal fantasies now tend toward firearms, even though that’s not the way I’m planning to exit. It’s comforting to write KM (kill me). It’s comforting to picture placing a gun to my forehead or my heart. It’s like the relief a cutter gets from cutting. It means I can check out. I just have to take it a day at a time, and then I can end it. Hooray.