A note to suicide

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Dear suicide,

You are a thief in the night, a silencer in the day. You are faced with taboo and stigma and the fear to talk, yet you thrive on that. It feeds your soul, and let you steal another heart, mind and body. You lie and you ensnare the vulnerable with your resolutions. You mask yourself as relief from the pain, an ending to the ache and turmoil inside. Yet you bring unimaginable hurt and pain to those you leave behind. Please stop robbing this world of the bright sparks, the delicate flowers and the ones who understand.



Shan, Iain – I understand why you couldn’t go on. More than I would like to admit, yet that does not ease the absolute hurt felt as I look at your numbers and realise your voice is no longer there at the end of the line. I miss you guys.



I’m okay thanks

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(TW: suicide, self harm).

I am surrounded by love.  I know this. I have always been surrounded by love.  Yet, I chose to hide away my emotions and thoughts.  Protection for others, for those I love, I always told, or rather tell myself. Fear and shame are probably a more accurate reason.

It had been a rough day, in a rough week, in a rough month, in a rough year.  After a few rough years. And it didn’t seem like there was any way out.  I’d been triggered by seeing an unwelcome face from an unwelcome time, and it had all become just too much.  Walking across the bridge to the train station, I wondered how quickly I could just disappear.  I could jump, I thought to myself. You don’t swim, came the next.  I got home to an empty house and poured myself a glass of wine. Drank it like it was fruit juice and poured myself another. I headed to the bathroom and did my usual traits of self destruction.  And then uncharacteristically sat ready to end it all.
As I sat on the bathroom floor deliberating on whether or not to just end the hurt.  Silence the ache inside me, my inner voice told me I didn’t have the courage to do that. And I didn’t.  Shame had been the instigator in it, the wolf in sheep clothing. Yet it was the fact that I was so deeply rooted in my shame,  shame of the past and what had happened to me, shame of how I had handled it, shame in that it was to an extent my own doing, shame in how I had let it become me, shame that I had been a failure in so many ways.
Shame has a way of spiraling and breeding more shame. Secrets multiply until honesty becomes lost. And yet here it was saving me as I was still too afraid for truths to come out and do more damage to the world of the people I was leaving behind.
And so I bandaged myself up, flushed away the fistfuls of what I had thought to be, or hoped to be, my mercy. Wiped away my tears and kept that moment to myself. Til now.
For years I threw caution to the wind.  Leaving it up to luck, fate, God.  Whatever you wish to call it.  In my darkest desperate moments, some glimmer of something holding me back.  I know what it takes to not be here. I have written the letters. I know how deep to cut or how many pills to take. I know what it takes to disappear.  I know, because I have stood on the ledge, ready to step off the edge into the abyss.
So here is my question.  Why do we, on the whole as a society, wait until a suicide or an attempt happens, for us to stand up and take note of the person in need?  Why are we as a society so fearful of the truth and speaking up?  Is it the hurt?  Is it the helplessness?  Is it the fear of being rejected?
It should not take until suicide to be seen.  I fully understand how easy it is to go unseen.  Many go unnoticed because they become experts at hiding their true feelings.  I know I am.  I’m not as good as I used to be though, and I’m grateful for that.  I still say ‘I’m okay thanks’ when I’m not or turn the question on the person asking.  I still smile when inside me there are no pieces left to fall apart.
All I urge this WSPD is that you stand up and be seen, or you do the seeking and properly ask and make yourself available to others.  There are plenty of sayings and phrases that surface, especially around these times,   please be more than the words you are saying. Be an action.
 Notice the person who looks blue and actively speaks out, but also notice the person sitting there with a smile on their face, saying “I’m okay thanks.”

Forgiveness and what it means and entails.

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Last night I did my usual and started to think about  life, the world and I. Normally when I do so it tends to escalate quite quickly. Last night was no different from the usual. So I took to twitter -as I recently have been doing, as a place to ask these questions, to say it out loud so to speak, maybe sometimes as a rhetorical question, but mostly so I can see other people’s opinions. So that they can open my eyes to new ideas and thoughts and reasoning, sometimes to change the idea I have, sometimes to give me the support in my own thoughts. Anyway, I go off track.

Last night I asked “does everyone deserve a second chance, or a third, or more? Does everyone deserve forgiveness?”

And I was met with the answer “yes 100%.  Everyone or no-one”.  And the truth is I get this. I kind of agree, but it throws up a whole load of other questions for me. I, for not a second, claim to be a perfect person, I know that I am not. Give me enough time and I could list from dawn til dusk all the things that mean I’m not, but I try to do good. I try to be non judgemental, I try to not cause hurt or harm to others.  So in the theory of all is deserving of forgiveness, does that mean I stand beside the horrid people in the world. Does that mean that I am the same? Now don’t get me wrong, I believe in 2nd chances, multiple chances in a sense, but it’s the pearly gates scenario again.

The reason forgiveness comes into question at this time in my life is that an old friend, an ex friend, is seeking forgiveness from me, for something that happened a long time ago. And she doesn’t just ask for it, she pesters me for it.  This lead into the next question. Does the person have to give forgiveness, or can it be left to a higher entity idea (I paraphrase).  And the response I received was the one that I felt (but just don’t want to hear) that yes people should forgive. It doesn’t mean relationship has to be formed.

I want to forgive, I actually do. I hate the idea that someone out there is seeking forgiveness from me, and is dealing with the anguish. Yet, I don’t know if its genuine.  I don’t feel like it is. Is it not enough for her to seek forgiveness from ‘god’ or whoever and leave me be? Her actions that night added to the trauma and have thus changed my entire way of making friendships etc. It made everything unbearable. Yet then is that me being unfair on her, and not taking responsibility for my own actions and the subsequent effects of my own choices.

The problem is I know in giving forgiveness to her I will then cast the blame on myself. See the thing is I feel like I’m getting close to breaking point, and I feel like in forgiving her, I will potentially combust. All this makes me feel like a terrible human.

Taking the blame, sharing the blame. Shame. Ashamed.

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*may be triggering*

You know when that feeling appears in your stomach. That sinking feeling. That knot. That tightens and some how rises up through you, grasping onto everything on its way up. Up further and further until you no longer just have a knot in your stomach, but a lump in your throat, a throbbing ache in your heart. Not forgetting the intense drumming in your head. That feeling hit me this week. In the early hours of the morning as I lay in bed. Thinking. Casting my mind back. A book I had read had me thinking, and I ran with it, and it had lead to me analyzing relationships. Namely past ones.

I had a life altering experience when I was 17 (in that my at the time boyfriend decided to, one night share me with 2 of his friends. Putting it politely.) I became an expert of taking feelings, taking emotions, taking hurt and trauma and burying them deep. I had my coping mechanisms and I was good at hiding them too. And so we fast forward 5years (when I was 22) and I am still coping in my own way, and I am making some good friends at my work. Here comes, said relationship. He was really approachable and friendly. He was unassuming and kind. A thinker and a listener. And well somewhere along the line we became good friends, and after a really rough night for me, he became concerned. Resulting in me confiding in him. Fast forward 6 months and we are closer than ever. He announces his break up with his girlfriend and weeks later he tells me he likes me. Like likes me. And he is the first guy since age 17 that I could feel at ease with. And before I know it we are in this kind of relationship, not physical. Other than a few instances. He doesn’t want to commit. He doesn’t remain interested unless I comply to his texts. And his requests. Stupidly I do. Afterall he liked me despite my past, and issues. After a year, a new girl in the office begins and he starts to divert his attention to her. I’m no longer interesting. Looking back he would sometimes berate me, be angry at me but mainly just distant. After that we grew apart.

And so this horrid feeling appears because I have just figured it out. I think it’s fair comment to say that he took my vulnerability and used it to his gain. I did things I wouldn’t normally do. Or at least I don’t think I would. Things he knew I wasn’t comfortable doing. Having said that I can’t let him take all the blame though. I did it. It was me. I just feel ashamed and horrid. Dare I say it dirty and used. I know it’s probably an over reaction on my part, but I can’t help but feel to blame. Again. Ashamed. Again.

So I confided this in a friend who lives on the other side of the world. A good friend. Nothing more or less. Someone who has a counselling background who I confide in from time to time and was greeted with the response “Laura you’re flawed beyond repair, and always will be. I think that’s what makes me love you.” So now I’m feeling even more responsible for everything and maybe I am flawed beyond repair. Maybe the sticky tape holding me together isn’t doing too good a job these days.