The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Sunday

My autumn

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:


It was a long weekend. Long and painful and revealing as I try to cope with this reality and my new way of life. At last, I can immerse into the solitude which now I realize has always been there, only I was too afraid to come to terms with myself back in those days. 

I was lonely and I thought that social life would alleviate my desperate craving for something undefined, yet not social related: being not alone was a smoke screen I put up to mask the need to meet the real me and I did that by feeling I owed something to others (friends, acquaintances). I didn't want to let them down and mostly, I didn't want to be considered weird, although deep down I was completely uncomfortable with all that social interaction. Luckily, my concealment skills served my well to create the perfect camouflage so that no one could even get a glimpse of what was hide underneath my smiling and joyful surface. Inside, actually, I was hurting, mostly for not having

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Wednesday

Journey

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:


Trigger. Yesterday, in therapy session, I managed to regress towards the point that changed my life one hundred and eighty degrees. Ground zero. When I tried to end it and where I managed to start something else instead. Near death. Life.  

Up until now, I was reluctant to even try to remember the day before I took that final step, some sort of anxiety combined with the feeling that I have lost something I will never have again, something very dear and valuable; lately, after disabling all the firewalls I put up in order to able to cope with the environment, it started to feel as if it never really happened to me, so I could try and open up about conditions and other issues that drove me to that point.

After waking up on the hospital bed, I could not remember anything. I remember things prior to my

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Sunday

Ghosts

we are never prepared for anything, but always ready to chase after illusions.

we are always on guard against being hurt, but never really do anything to prevent it.

we are bitter and secluded, we divide ourselves between preparing for pain and the reality of it, because it's most likely to

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Friday



from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

Before trying to commit suicide, I used to be scared shitless for most of the time. Scared of what I am tempted and inclined to do, scared about what I might have lost, scared of what I had or owned, scared knowing that I have constructed a pattern that I wouldn't give up, scared of hurting all the people in my life, scared of regretting doing so, scared of the ensuing anger and self loathing, scared of this entire repeating vicious circle, scared of myself and scared of what's out there. To top that, the self-loathing found new nourishment everyday and the hating myself became my favourite sport.

I wasn't even depressed, I somehow managed to function as an individual in social life, at work, with family and friends, I never gave out any signs of weird behaviour that would raise eyebrows and incite people to ask my whether I was OK or not. Confusion is the least to try and describe what was going through my mind, except for the fact that I couldn't find a reason for all that. I was agitated and my mind raced needlessly through

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Wednesday

Purging fire

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

It's Wednesday again, so it's therapy session time. Actually, it was time for that and I start to see these sessions as some sort of a new torment I need to undergo to achieve something I am not really sure it can be achieved. Plus, they are mandatory. My therapist calls it catharsis, the celebrated process of purging and obtaining relief from strong and repressed emotions. Sometimes I feel that I am not going to make through all this shit, I mean, digging deep into my past to find out whatever took me to take the step towards the point of no return, re-living all those horrendous memories I have tried so much to bury and separate myself from. 

During this session, we explored my resentment and resistance to any kind of authority, especially to any imposed type. My parents were quite nifty in bringing me up; they cultivated my curiosity by encouraging me to ask questions and not to be necessarily satisfied with the answers I got. I used to be the type of child/teenager who could go on forever inquiring about pretty much anything, then annoying the soul out of my counterparts by proceeding to need further explanations as to why those answers would be correct  and not some other variants. This would serve me later, when

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Tuesday





from the suicide attempt survivor's journal
:

Somehow I made it and discovered that I underestimated the animal survival instinct.Weak and unable to retain food, I somehow managed to pass the weekend and got myself out of the bed on Sunday evening. My crazy neighbour was listening to some rap music on his incredibly powerful speakers, so my only thought was that that was no soundtrack for giving in. Pulling myself together to listen to some extreme metal music did the trick. The need to retaliate was stronger than the incline towards self abandonment. If only my therapist knew that. I am focused now, focused enough to start a new week of hating and despising everything around me. We'll see how long it will last.

These last days seemed to be some sort of an emotional hurricane devastating

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Sunday

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

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Wednesday

Unknown road at night

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

If it's Wednesday, it must be therapy day. I got out of there sick to my stomach. They said it would help, but it makes me feel real bad. Since I woke up on that hospital bed, I haven't been able to feel anything but shame and regret, regret about how I tried to end my life, regret about being unfortunate enough to be revived, shame about failing myself and the others. I didn't really know which was worse, so I started to accumulate all this

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Monday

Hangman

from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

Another day, another deep regret. Lately, I discovered that I have a lot of time for myself and this is really confusing. Before I tried to end my pain, I never had enough time, or so I thought, doing everything I could to run away from myself and ignore all the darkness growing inside. I used to project the image of a happy, easy going and functional individual: going to work, going out for drinks with co-workers or friends, usually eating dinner at some neighborhood pub or bistro, then driving around the country on weekends, visiting sights and all. Keeping myself busy. Not thinking of

The Beauty and Grotesque of a Common Life - Sunday


from the suicide attempt survivor's journal:

Week-ends used to be the highlights of every stupid week. It used to be all bout going out, letting of steam, going crazy with the partying, drinking, consuming various uppers and downers, topped up with some raw, irresponsible sex, all this ending in the sweet pizza and laziness filled Sunday when everything felt almost right, preparing me to face a new boring and unrewarding week.

Now everything has changed. I gave it a try last weekend, going out and all, but somehow the night was deprived of all they joy I used to feel. Actually, I started to see through the smoke screen of constant intoxication I've created in order to avoid the gruesome meeting with myself and getting past that was an immense disappointment. Leaving behind the illusion that I was partying like no one else,
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