I decided to finally go ahead and kill myself.
I don’t say that to sensationalize the post or cause you to want to continue to read. I say it cause if I don’t get it out now.. I’ll talk myself out of saying it. Or I may change it to I just wanna disappear and be alone. Take a flight and never be seen again. All code words for..
I’m about to get me.
This stress is simply sticking to my tummy completely annihilating my weight goals and literally killing me.
And now as an adult I can finally swallow pills so I could do it easier this time.. at least that’s what I tell myself cause at four pills my body says that’s enough and we just throw up for a few minutes.
Puking is annoying.
I have matching scars from the first attempt at 16 and after waking from the pain and getting a whoopin for acting like I have “white people problems” I’d never do that again.
Being a Strong Black Woman Is Killing Me. Oh what I’d give for white tears! (I literally shook my fist with this!) To be able to safely have feelings of full vulnerability.
I have adapted to the notion that it’s my job to get shit done. To be the strong one. The responsible one. The one you can depend on. The brave one. The inspiration. Always making good choices and helping you along the way.
There’s no space for personal problems when you are the one.. for everyone and no one is for you. Realistically.
And then the ones you choose for you are so busy with themselves that you feel even lonlier even though you’re constantly surrounded by people who like you but have never met… you. Because you’re so busy being everything they need.
I blame myself. For somewhere believing the narrative that places everyone before me. For having a faith that keeps me holy but only good to pray for your needs.
The responsibility is suffocating. I just clown around.. happily while inside I’m suffering. Accomplishing goals happily while crying myself to sleep.
Believe it or not this post is more about God’s glory than me. Cause as hard as I try God won’t let me get me.
He reminds me that these are simply feelings and that He holds all glory. He drives me home late at night when I purposely sleep. He makes my body reject the poison I attempt to feed into me. He positioned me in a place where once a month I get hug after hug after hug after hug at a meeting from people who want absolutely nothing from me.
He reminds me that death is not what is freeing. That the life He has given me is where I find relief. And change. And love. And worth. And promise.
And eventually I will be comfortable enough with me.
I own this depression. It does not own me and it would be selfish never to share this because I cannot be the only one secretly struggling.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 800-273-8255