I haven’t done this in a while...
I’ve been okay. I mean I have the best friends in the entire world watching my back. I have a support system that some people dream about when dealing with grief. I really don’t know if I would have survived the last 8 months without them. In fact, I can 100% say I’d probably be in a psych ward to this day if I didn’t have them. Because I guarantee my suicide attempt wouldn’t work, Nate said it was too hard for me to do. I believe him... he is the strongest person I know and he did it the worst way possible.
With that said... I have bad insomnia a lot of the time. I lay in bed for hours scouring the internet for something to get my mind as far away as possible. Every time I look at the clock and see it’s 4 in the morning I think.. “Just 10 more hours until I can go to work.” Right now work is the only thing keeping my mind grounded. It’s the only thing that is tangible, set schedule, can’t back out now because I want to be reliable. It’s not that I truly care about a pizza chain, anyone could do what I do. I have PTSD. Going means that I’m not breaking my promise of showing up to work. Covering for people means that I help them not break their promise to the store by no one being there. Being at work means I don’t have to be in my actual reality for long periods of time.
When I finally sleep... I never want to wake up. It’s always a few hours, never a long sleep. But I’ll stay in bed for 14 hours straight looking at nothing and call myself “well rested”. I have depression. That means if my mind doesn’t want me to live today, I pretend the day doesn’t exist. I hate my depression more than my PTSD. I know my depression, I’ve had it for a lot longer. I know when I need to call my best friend and tell her to get me out of bed. I know when I need someone to help me. Lately, it’s been a lot. I’ve exhausted my friends, haven’t given back enough energy to them. Honestly, I don’t know how. My therapist said I need to write a list of things I feel like I’m fucking up. Start low priority and work my way up to the things that are the hardest. So I did that, well started it. Eight months since you left, and my life still feels like it’s in chaos.
So I ramble, at 4 in the morning, because smoking weed doesn’t help much anymore. At least not this back ally shit I’ve been getting recently. I’ve contemplated taking the drugs the psychiatrist wanted to give me. Every time it ends the same way. I can’t take them, not even the sleeping ones. I’d be asleep for weeks with one pill, even a fraction of it and I’m down for days. My therapist said “It feels like you’re starting back at square one... but you’re not... are you?... Are you screaming out to him wanting to know why? Are you still thinking 24/7 about the reasons he gave you?”.... No.... I’m not doing that anymore... I have accepted his answers in the notes he left me. I understand it back and forth, because I’ve picked it apart more times then I can truly even remember.
But some nights, at 4 in the morning, I grip my chest because my heart hurts so bad. My eyes will be swollen shut from the tears that won’t stop. I start looking into alternative tissues because I am probably killing the environment with how many I am using. But I take a selfie, put on some war paint, looks that hot mess kinda cute. Something I would have sent you. Like the ones you would send me. Sometimes the crying stops for 5-10 minutes at a time when I do that. My heart doesn’t feel like it’s twisting in itself. It’s like the eye of the storm. You grab some more supplies (tissues, water, snacks, my cat) bunker down and get ready for the next wave. “It’s better this way, it’s better to suffer these nights then die.” You say that over, and over, and over, and over again. Hoping one day you might lie to yourself so much you think it’s true. The reality is... I can push people away... I can lie to them and they would think nothing was wrong... I can do exactly what you did. Scary part is I’d pull it off too. Something inside of me doesn’t want to stop fighting though... And I think that makes me stronger than you. I never saw myself as the stronger one... I was always so emotionally weak, flimsy on decisions and scared of the future. You knew, you knew your future, who you are, what you wanted. So when you wanted death... you set the date and got it. The only selfish act you’ve ever done was the most permanent. I am selfish, I always have been more than you. So I want to keep life, to see what happens in it like a movie. I am not selfish enough to make Amanda go through what I am going through. It wouldn’t be peace for me, if I killed myself. No one would be able to say “she’s not in pain anymore, she’s in a better place.” Because even though yes, I’d be with you, that is so much better. My soul would still ache for what I did to them. I feel you, because I know yours does too. I just always had more compassion and empathy then you... empaths... sigh... I am actively living with the thought of wanting to die.
Your body starts to exhaust itself around 6-7 in the morning. I’ll finally sleep, not because I am choosing to, but because I had to. I don’t see a future where this doesn’t repeat. Even when I am living with my best friend, in the house we built that is the safest place in the world for me. I will still, be here, at 5 in the morning writing. No matter where I was, how far I have come, or will go, these nights negate it all if I don’t survive them. Sometimes I wonder what it’s like to not have to fight a few times a week to keep living. I wonder what those people have in their life that causes them emotional harm. I wonder if I could help them so they get a peace they didn’t know was right outside their window.
I know not everything would be solved if you were here. But I miss you like hell. Your best friend misses you, our cats, your mother.... we won’t ever stop missing you. I guess I’ll end this one here, I am sure I have rambled enough for one post. Now to try very hard not to look at photos, song playlists, old posts and writings... I doubt I’ll succeed at that. But I’m trying.
