The ‘Fuck It” Phase

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This is what it looks like. Sometimes it’s a grassy plateau that drops off, or a cliff of jagged rocks, but the blurry end is never more than a few feet a way. When you feel like you just don’t matter, like a burden, or just not … needed by anyone, not important to anyone or anything, then why carry the pain any longer? Most of us get through suicide ideation out of pure guilt. Someone will be devastated, someone will be angry and perhaps never forgive us. Or so they say. But they don’t call, follow through, live up to your expectations. They fail, they abandon. What’s waiting for me ahead? More of the same? That thought is unbearable so I see nothing. When I no longer see anything better, I think, ‘it can’t possibly get worse. This is bottom.’

But, no. It isn’t.

There’s a special place in my mind just for me. A cabin in the woods, a spot under a Hawththorne tree, at the top of Knocknarea Mountain, a memory of watching snow fall when I was very young and still safe. I let my soul go there while my addled body and mind stay quiet and still. Doing the bare minimum, nothing, just surviving. No writing, no phone calls. No communication means no disappointment. I don’t have to hear you hang up without saying you love me, not ask me how I’m doing, wait for a return text that doesn’t come and wonder all night what I said wrong. I no longer have to see flatline blog stats or rejection letters. I don’t have to hope one day you’ll wake up and care in a way you never have before. I no longer have to hope you’ll see me, really see me, and know I exist.

 

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