What really sucks about having been suicidal is that everyone in your life at that time feels as though they’ve performed so much emotional labor for you that they never owe you anything again. I don’t want to underestimate the toll of dealing with an incredibly unstable and depressed individual.
However. Now that it has been 15 years since the last peak of that behavior, I may occasionally look for some emotional support. But I haven’t paid my debt yet, it seems. For now until the foreseeable future, until I actually do die, it seems, I am to perform the picture of perfect healing. I have to be rational, calm, medicated, ever understanding, fully there in every way for everyone who was there for me.
And that last part I am happy to do. I want to be there for my loved ones. But. If I ever show the slightest sign of instability or look for emotional support, the trauma I inflicted takes center stage. Fear rushes back to my loved ones and they do anything to shut down my aggravated feelings as quickly as possible.
I guess I can’t really complain about that. The pain we each experience and possess will always shape how we move in the world, especially toward the source of that pain. But it also means that, functionally, I can’t turn to those people for support in a meaningful way ever again.
I am always going to have to moderate myself and go through three screens of logic and temperance before expressing any thought or feeling. When you’re suicidal, you lie a lot. You get really good at pretending that certain aspects of yourself don’t exist in certain situations. Because you don’t want anyone to know you’re suicidal, that’s just attention seeking. The one time you drop the lies is when you think maybe you want help to not be suicidal, you are in fact seeking attention. And that never feels good for those you’re reaching out to.
It’s just funny how that element never goes away. You’ll always been screening that suicidal part of yourself from the people around you, even if you aren’t practicing. I fancy myself a lapsed suicidal person.
Some of those big wounds never go away, either. How do you heal from the fear of being too much when you are constantly told you are being too much? If you ever let the screens down, drop the mask, it triggers those people who you hurt the first time. And is that fair? To hurt them, the same way, again?
It ends up creating a fear surrounding vulnerability. Past experience has shown that your particular brand of vulnerability is intense and draining for those you try to be vulnerable with. Without vulnerability, however, you can never fully connect with someone else and share a bond rooted in trust and stability.
Am I destined to be a source of strain and instability for whoever I curse with my desire for closeness? Is there an option for radical acceptance when it comes to something so grave? What do you do when you meet someone new, drop the mask and feel without measure, and they tell you it’s scary, it’s too much? Do you really have to calculate and feel like you’re manipulating someone into accepting you to feel a semblance of love? Do I have to hurt people to really love and be loved? Because, in my experience, it’s true. But you have to be careful. You only get so much of your pain allowed before you lose your agency.
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