I have spent the morning searching the internet for how long it takes to drown. How many sleeping pills I can take to make the process simpler, or at least less shocking for my body, or is it my mind?
I have thought about calling the suicide prevention hotline, but what would they tell me? Go to the hospital. I cannot do that again. I have done that too many times in my life and I am too exhausted to go through that process again, believing that this time it will be better. That they will fix me.
They cannot. I am Frankenstein’s monster. I want to cut off an ear. I want to drink Hemlock. I want to die.
You have to understand. My wish for death is not to hurt anyone I love. But I can no longer live alone with this mind. This brain that tells me things and makes me question what is real and what isn’t. Especially when the people I am supposed to believe in and trust tell me otherwise. I am so scared. I am so frightened. Either I get my shit together in the next 5 days or I just end it, and I don’t know what the easier route is. The most painless one – for myself and others.
Because when I reach out to him and tell him I am falling he does not understand. He is a man. He has confidence and control and cannot understand why I do not. I don’t even know why he fell in love with me in the first place – and yet I do. I put on a great facade. I tricked him. He told me last night I was his Volva – a Viking witch that seduces men with their sexuality and gain their power. And now I am tangled up in his life, his son’s life, and the guilt I would feel leaving them in such a fashion is the only thing holding me back.
But I can’t tell him this. Because he will become angry and confused and I will feel I need to placate him and deny what I have told him. He will become my father – full of disappointment and judgement, and statements of “how I should be stronger”. But I am not built that way. I am not strong. I am not fit for this life. I have been keeping it as together as I can for 7 years until he “makes it”. But that hasn’t happened yet. And if it doesn’t happen soon, I do not know how much longer I can live like this, with responsibilities and deadlines and expectations. I HATE expectations. That is all my father had for me. As if he had an abacus that he judged his children against one another and in comparison to everyone else in his flock. And his flock were always perfect – because they needed him. And he thrived on that.
I do not know what will snap me out of this. I should be excited the man I love is coming. But I want to tell him to cancel his ticket and yet he will become irate over the money he has wasted. Is that what matters most to him – money? Or love? Loving an imperfect soul who is drowning in hate and fear and loneliness? I do not know anymore.
So what do I do? The clock is ticking. Frankenstein’s monster is awake and telling me things I should do to end the suffering. My love for him makes me want to be strong but I simply cannot be right now. And I don’t know if I can ever be again. I just want to disappear. I want to tell him all of this, but I don’t know if he will understand or have the patience to listen. So perhaps, he is not right for me. Perhaps he is too much like my father. Or I am putting the years of living under the spell of my father on him. He is a good man. Such a good man. I just do not think I am good for him. And that is what pains me the most. I want him to be happy, successful, and find the bliss we all search for. But unless he is able to help me, I cannot help him succeed. Because at this moment, I am the poster child of failure.
© Sorrow & Kindness