Rambling thoughts from a suicidal mind.

December 17, 2020
Written while listening to Evermore by Taylor Swift

So I made it out.

Such a small thing but on days like today, at least in my current mindset, this feels huge. I just needed to get out and away from my mother. I love her but 9 months of listening to her has pushed me to the edge some days and after almost biting her head off for nothing this morning told me that today was one of those days. Part of me wants to let loose on her and the other wants to let loose on myself.

In a direct way, it’s not her fault but if you look around the corner at where I come from, maybe it’s more her fault than I want to admit. I know that a huge part of who I became is the direct result of my father leaving the way he did but I’m wondering how much of me is built upon the foundation provided by my mother’s reaction to being left so coldly. I have no doubt that she did the best she could, coping without turning to alcohol or any other immediately self destructive behaviour. But she also turned inside herself,  never letting out the anger that built up, thinking that it was best that her kids not see her break down. 

Now, that’s how I live my life or at least that’s my go to coping mechanism; denial, painful yet simple. My father leaving without saying word one to any of us kids about it, never trying to keep a relationship of any kind with us. He ghosted us, never facing the people he must have known he was going to hurt, including my mother by having split with her via a letter rather than even a phone call. My mother pretending that everything was normal even after she knew he was never coming back. What else was I going to learn but to ignore what was happening to myself in my relationships, to never constructively ask for my needs to be fulfilled. By shoving everything down and ignoring others I guess I never learned to even recognize what those needs were.

And now I’m 46, pushing 47, unable to set boundaries or put my needs on par with those of others. I sacrifice parts of myself in an attempt to receive love from others. I ignore even the basic things like hygiene and eating, literally forgetting that they are important. It isn’t like bulimia or anorexia where the person is in a constant battle with food. I just don’t remember, to the point where I end up with a headache and wonder why. 

This is why it’s so important and even surprising that I stay on my meds, twice a day every day. A handful in the morning and a handful in the evening. I’ve never felt what so many others in my shoes have battled, when their minds are telling them that they just don’t need their meds any more. I feel nothing but empathy for those who struggle to stay on their meds, especially those who are bipolar. It must be incredibly difficult to fight through the high that bipolar brings and remain medicated. I just take my meds like a good little boy, trusting that the doctor who prescribed them knows enough about me to  prescribe the correct pills. 

But I hate my meds all the same. I hate that they make me sleep. I hate that they keep me awake. I hate that they mess with my sex drive. I hate that they keep me from being who I truly am. I hate that they keep me from recognizing who I truly am. I hate the mental fog they create. I hate them almost as much as I hate my father and what my mother taught me.