Not too long ago, I made a decision to end my life. It was several months in the making, as it were. I wrote a note to my best friend, gave him a ring that I wanted him to have as a memory, went home, and took a month’s worth of psych meds. It wasn’t that I wanted some great pain to end. It wasn’t that I felt unloved or unwanted. It was just that I felt it to be my time to go, to use a stupid cliche. I felt like life was in the past and like I’d accomplished everything I needed to do. Sometimes, I still catch myself feeling like that. I hope that will become less in time.
The scary part, ironically, is that I wasn’t scared. I was completely at peace with my decision.
I talked to the therapist about this yesterday. Turns out therapists and shrinks take issue with suicide attempts. I honestly felt sorry for the therapist. She is very invested in me, and she said she needed a minute just to process the fact that I am alive. She was angry that I had been lying to her all of these months. She thought, and incorrectly, that I had been coming to therapy and saying I was fine, even though I was feeling suicidal. However, I wasn’t always feeling suicidal. Sometimes I felt great. The thought was just dancing about in the back of my mind, and, in the midst of a depressive episode that followed a really bad manic episode, it popped in to the front of my mind.
Now, in this day that wasn’t supposed to be, I’m confused. I was truly prepared to die, and I truly meant for the attempt to work. Now, I’m not sure what to do with things. I’m waking up every morning, doing my job, and maintaining a social life to some extent. All the while, though, I’m wondering what I’m supposed to do with this next bit. I don’t feel suicidal. I do, however, feel like the feelings might return at some point. And that, more than anything else, confuses me.
At this time, I’m safe. Actually, I think I’m afraid of my suicidal feelings. I’m afraid of the fact that part of me (in a non DID sense) wishes the attempt had worked. I’m afraid that the feelings will return, and I’ll become at peace with them again. I’m also afraid that I won’t regain the steadiness of living in this world I didn’t think I’d see again. It’s odd, trying to readjust to life after what was a rather serious suicide attempt. Everything feels different, but nothing at all has changed.