When The Light Left Her Eyes

One of the most avoided topics I face amongst society today is the presence of suicidal ideation in a person.

Being on and off suicidal all of my life, I have never truly felt like I belonged. It an illness that feeds on isolation. Which is really quite ironic considering that is exactly what society as a whole seems to wants you to do. It is that which we do not speak of.

I have opened up to a handful of people when it has come to how constantly torn I feel between life and death. & I know that I know that I know it is uncomfortable for people and of course it is difficult to understand. I can’t say that I truly understand it myself. What I do know is that feeling like a total freak show makes it much, much worse.

I do feel ashamed because of how much my life has been wasted wondering if I should take my own life. At the same time, I can’t say that I know how it could have been any different.

To long for ones own death so terribly that you are so close to being willing to take your own life is a gut wrenching experience that should never be taken lightly by anyone. It is a feeling, a place rather, that I have found myself in periodically since I knew it was an even an option. I don’t expect it to ever truly leave, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t fight it off long enough to live a long and healthy life. It just takes a little more for people like me than it would for others who live without the presence of suicidal ideation.

I do know that I am done trying to convince myself that it is something that can be cut out of me like a cancer. It’s deeply threaded through out my being and this may sound crazy but being this way.. makes me a more compassionate and empathetic human being. I value life MORE. Doesn’t that sounds crazy? I feel things deeply, intricately, passionately. I place high importance on things such as kindness, integrity and authentic living. When you know of pain so deep and dark and ugly, it makes the other side of things much brighter, bigger and often awe inspiring. I’d like to think of as if life experiences are seen for all that they really are. Because so much of what we take for granted everyday, is nothing short of a miracle. When you spend so much of your life feeling like an outsider, connection and intimacy with others is something to be cherished and protected and rejoiced in.

Being this way also effects my parenting. I am more concerned for the emotional well-being of my child than I am of running a dictatorship. I let my children sleep with me at night, because I know what its like to be so small and suffer nightly from night terrors. I know what it’s like to become so overstimulated that I throw myself into walls and pull out my hair. I love my children through their tantrums. Say my child is spoiled. I will say my child is loved. My child is cherished. My child is HEARD. I parent with my eyes wide open because of my illness. I would bleed myself dry emotional, physically and mentally for my children because of my illness. I have experienced high levels of stress, anxiety and prolonged deep disturbances. Because of this I have a incomprehensible tolerance to suffering and I know how strong of a mother it has made me. Every ounce of joy that I experience with my children is incomparable to  anything I have ever experienced. Sometimes it is the only thought strong enough to pull my gaze from the mental pictures of my lifeless body.

I do fear being alone. Anytime, anywhere. It’s as if the spiders in my brain that scurried away in the light then know it is safe to reappear. All I can say at this point in my life is that I am still here. I hope to be tomorrow.. and 50 years from now.

I do not expect any romantic entanglements in my near or distant future. Life beside me can be very uncertain. I do struggle I do and there is not many who should much less would know how to handle being attached to me. It hurts enough to take my breath away and my heart aches so fucking much but I am attempting to learn how to be okay with it because I really do understand.

I want to say thank you to the many people who have extended a hand to me to help pull me out of suicidal ideation. My mother, my sisters, close friends and many others. You are all angels in my eyes. There is an aura of light and warmth surrounding you that is non the less breathtaking and beautiful to behold. I am so grateful.

Those of you who do also struggle with suicidal ideation.. please know that you are nothing short of a warrior. We are soldiers and daily life is a battlefield. You are so strong and so gifted. The world needs you. They need your depth and your wisdom. Your tenderness. Yes, you are tender and that is brave. Yes, it is painful and I am so proud of you for still being here. You make the world a more beautiful place, your light and your darkness alike.

 

 

 

When Anxiety Is Not A Symptom, But A Way Of Life

After a long day of work and responsibility, I finally find myself where my soul longs to be. I sit down at the computer, and I place my fingers upon the keyboard, all the while mentally and emotionally prepping myself for whatever is to come.

The first wave of anxiety hits and I feel an aching sensation flush from my head, down to my neck, through my arms, my legs, to my feet and onto the floor.

I can’t do this.

I hesitate, but by now I have learned to then begin again. Perhaps holding on to lives travesty is what makes life feel so insurmountable to me at times. Writing is a form of validation for me. When my pain and heartache is validated, I can begin to let go. This heartache and anger, sadness and grief is necessary for my transformation into, as Brene Brown says, “a whole-hearted & authentic self”. To me this is my art form. This is my self-expression. Whether it is any good or not, I cannot say.. but I do know that this is where my heart, mind, body and soul connect. They all come together in an intrinsic cycle of feminine flow that is my life source. My anxiety subsides and as mind to heart, heart to body, body to soul, soul to mind connect, I feel the anxiety as it flows out through my fingertips and onto the page and I am free.

The End Of Us (The Beginning Of I)

Nauseated from the roller coaster ride my married life has been, I come to my knees in surrender and I wave my white flag. But this surrender is different than most. It is different in that I find my being is consumed with a sweet sensation of liberation. I can with no doubt say that I have given it all that I could. Perhaps more than I should. My marriage, in all honesty, felt like being cuffed to an unpredictable jack in the box with a face that you could never forget. I never knew when his sickness would rear it’s ugly head. This (I have to say it..) is not a story of redemption in the sense that, my dear heart, my marriage has indeed failed. It has failed in the sense that I did not hold tight to the vows I made that nerve splicing day on March 12th, 2012 in Bell Court House, Fort Hood, TX. However, what has most definitely been redeemed is my sense of self. My marriage has not failed me in that it has catapulted me into a reality where I am in control of my own story. Living on the edge emotionally with a sex addict was like being locked inside of a room full of psychotic patients who all wore the same face (My face). To not trust oneself because of deep traumatic injury and lack of psycho-therapeutic intervention, is by far the worse turmoil I have ever and hopefully will ever experience. In letting go of my marriage, I gained back the most important person in my life; myself. If I were to continue to live while lacking my sense of self, my life would be void and those that I love the most would suffer in turn.