About Suicide Thoughts

cliff-2213614_960_720.jpg

**I found this post while cleaning out my document folder. I wrote it four years ago and assume I did so because I had recently lost someone and I questioned my own mortality. **

Why People That Commit Suicide Don’t Talk About It Beforehand

I am terrified to share this, because of the stigma associated with people that attempt or commit suicide, hell, people who even think about suicide.  However, I am going to because I had a very dark moment last night that I believe only God helped me out of.  Only God because I was alone in my basement.  People don’t talk about this shit because they are embarrassed.  They don’t talk about it because they are afraid they will be laughed at, made fun of or worse yet, called a psycho and told to “get help.”

We all know someone who committed suicide.  Tragically sad, it’s true.  We sit and we think, “Why didn’t we know how they felt?”  “Why didn’t they reach out?”  “How could they do this?”

I’ll tell you why.  Because during the grey moments before the darkness consumes; before the shadows engulf the eternally depressed, We Did Reach Out.

We complained a lot.  We were sad a lot.  Or maybe even we were a little too happy.  We tried to talk about how we felt, but no one wanted to hear about it.  They were either too busy or they judged.

“Stop being stupid.”  “Don’t be an asshole – grow up.”  “You have so much to live for.  Just be happy.”

Or there is the whole: “Everyone feels like that.”  “Oh, you’ll be fine.” “Suck it up, buttercup.”

There is a subtle, consuming darkness before the thought that “I seriously cannot think of one goddamn reason to be on this Earth” hits a person.

There is that complete darkness – literal and virtual – that we sit in and we actually begin steps to take our own life.  We yell, we cry and sob – We beg God to help us.  We do this alone, maybe in the basement while our loved ones sleep upstairs, clueless.

Some of us get a fleeting moment, a millisecond in time of rational thinking – some of us do not get that sliver of hope. Some of us write notes because there is no other way to communicate, some of us do not because we have no idea what to say. And quite frankly, they didn’t want to hear it in the first place, so what is the point of a note, really?

I mean… fucking really.

So, maybe we go to the ‘shrink’ and we talk about our shit for a while and the only solution they come up with is, “You are (fill in the blank).  Here, start this medication and come back in a month.  We’ll see how you’re feeling then. And oh yeah, don’t forget the $50. co-pay.”

Or we go to the shrink and they nod the whole time we talk and they hand us a piece of paper with bullet points on it.

Or we go to the shrink and it’s so goddamn expensive it comes down to “Electric Bill or Mental Health?”

We have really exhausted every option and all we want is to be heard. We need someone to just shut the fuck up and listen.

So maybe the next time someone you know (whether you are very close or not so close) seems to be acting different or is sad (maybe for the 13th time in 3 weeks) or really happy (too happy?), ask what’s on their mind and really mean it.  Sit and listen; don’t judge.

You might just save that person’s life.

***

Image: Pixabay

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/observe/

Advertisements

Just A Fraud

 

fraud-2695269_960_720
Image: Pixabay

Most people, I think, hear the word fraud and think of money or maybe counterfeit goods. Or maybe they hear fraud and they think of some guy preaching from the pulpit of a ‘church’ while he commands the plain folk to give money else Christ will be sure to make thou heathens pay for ye ‘sins.’

 

Whatever.

I got a real story about a fraud.

I knew this woman once: good looking, smart, pretty well put together and she could talk her way out of a paper bag (or maybe into one). Her charm was only exceeded by her wit and both were trumped by her smarts. Men were wooed by her – bewitched – as they fell for her wiles, but she only possessed these wiles when she was sober.

And sober she was not very often.

She was one of those women you may have seen at the bar: first, she is the picture of beauty and poise but soon after she starts slamming back the shots, she morphs into this whacky, immoral tramp that decides it is a great idea to flirt with your boyfriend in front of her own boyfriend.

Ugh. What a bitch! 

Oh wait, that was me. I was that fraud of a woman pretending to be mature and just, all the while the alcohol would let the real me slip out 100% every damn time. I lied to everyone and anyone I could so that I could either be the victim, the hero, or the shining star set at center stage.

The truth was: I hated myself. I hated everything about me and I hated everything about anyone else that was just like me. Okay, I hated everything about everyone no matter what they were like. Nothing ever went right, no one ever treated me right, blah blah blah.

Well, how the fuck could they? They never knew who I was because I never knew who I was! It’s like trying to have a moody alligator for a pet. Sure, he is nice once in a while, but no one knows when he is gonna snap (your face off). I was happy for ten minutes but then someone looked at me wrong or maybe it was too warm that day and I didn’t get the right compliment on my outfit.

You’ll all pay!

 

angry-woman-comic-book-style-27372142
Image: Pixabay

 

So I would use my fraudy ways to get people to like me and spend time with me and then as soon as I was sure I had them right where I wanted them, boom. I would start to change, little by little, bit by bit.

I think the correct term is a NARCISSIST. I guess it is close that I was a narcissist, but, if I truly were, there would be no helping me without years of intensive professional therapy.  Narcissists don’t recognize their demented ways, so I can’t say without a doubt that I was one.

All I know is that I was a fraud. It was a long, hard, winding road to get to a point of sanity and self-acceptance but I am here now. I work on myself daily and really try to be a better human every day. Of course, I have bad days (don’t we all?) but getting through the bad days helps me appreciate the good days.

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/fraud/

Deny the Outcome

lock-218505_960_720
Image: Pixabay

There once was a woman

With a dark and lovely soul

Her eyes were like diamonds

That perfection was never shown

She cascaded her life

Like a million post-it notes

Denying her inkblot

With inspirational quotes

Her heart was a minefield

Of broken shattered dreams

Her lips the shrapnel

Of all that fell between

‘There is no saving me,’ she said

As she turned another page

And patched her thoughts with distance

While she got on with her day

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/deny/

Things That Are Fun (While Sober)!

Picnic
Picnic (Photo credit: Carlos López Molina)

When I first got sober it was in late May of 2006.  I immediately found some meetings to go to and when a person goes to meetings, they find out about picnics.  My first thought was, “How the hell does a person go to a picnic and not drink?”

Turns out, there are a lot of ways to have fun that do not involve drinking or drugs. Here are some of the ways I have had tons of fun all while being sober:

  • going to a meeting
  • walking in the woods
  • walking on a main strip in a small town
  • going for a long drive (like… really long)
  • drawing
  • writing
  • listening to music
  • shooting pool at a pool hall (not a bar!)
  • cooking
  • exercising
  • making a craft
  • cleaning
  • napping
  • going to a book store
  • going to the library
  • going down to the river
  • antique shopping (or browsing)
  • going to lunch with a friend
  • going to lunch alone
  • starting a scrap-book
  • journaling (I wish I would have documented my first year of sobriety)
  • and yes…. sober picnics!

These are just a few of the things that I had (and still have) a ton of fun doing while trekking through sobriety.  Do you have any to add?  Please share!

Relapse – A Painful Truth

Relapse is a harsh reality in the world of recovery.  There are a million reasons people give for relapse but the number one I hear everywhere I go is this:  RESENTMENT.  Someone who follows my blog sent me a fascinating, short video about relapse.  If you’re interested, watch it.  Profound, it sticks to the point.

Video Infographic by Clarity Way

The disheartening truth is that addicts and alcoholics relapse long before they pick up again.  A switch goes off and the obsession kicks back into the brain.  The obsession leads to the compulsion to drink or drug.  Once the compulsion is acted upon, it is off to the races.

Please, watch the video, visit the website if you wish, and leave your thoughts in the comment section!  I’d love to hear from you.

Have a blessed day.

I – Inconsistency – The Backbone of Failure

rhizoming the plan of consistency . .Inconsistency should really be my middle name.  Throughout my life, I have been inconsistent about everything: work, family, kids, money and even hobbies.  I don’t know if I have untreated A.D.H.D. or if I am just inherently lazy, but this crap has plagued me since I was little.  I get all gung-ho about something and then a day, week or a month floats by and I say, “Wow, this is pretty f’ing boring.” Other times, I purposely refrain from proceeding, perhaps in an attempt to self-sabotage.  I’m really good at that.

Inconsistency is the main ingredient in any recipe for failure.  For me, not writing 500 words a day leads to no published novel (hell, not even a final draft!) along with many other unfulfilled dreams and aspirations that I could have if I just remained consistent.  I could sit here and make tons of excuses as to my lack of motivation, my screaming inconsistency and my lazy ways, but that’s just it.  They are excuses.

What I am consistent with: my program and abstaining from alcohol and drugs.  Please know that I am not bragging.  It isn’t set in stone that “I got this” when it comes to my recovery from alcoholism/addiction.  I see it too much in the places I go… people I care about falling off the wagon or never quite grasping the concept.  Maybe they did have the concept but for whatever reason, decided to “try to drink successfully.”  I can honestly say I have not seriously entertained taking a drink or drug in these past years… even when those silly, glamorized booze commercials come on the television or I watch a movie with blatant drug use.  I do get those little tummy knots sometimes when I watch something like that, but that’s my cue.  “Turn it off, Darlene.  Nothing to see here.”

By the Grace of God, I will have seven clean & sober years on May 26, 2013.

G – Grieve (The Old You)

Grief
Grief (Photo credit: tombellart)

Grief.  It’s one of those things that is hard to let go of and hard to handle.  We grieve loss: Loss of people, places and things; loss of pets. But did you ever consider grieving over yourself?  I’ll bet you never quite looked at it that way.

Recovery is a rebirth.  We come into the rooms, the doctors’ offices and the out-patient programs beaten and broken. We are torn, tattered and abused; looking for something or someone to save us.  We’re either meek and mild or loud and brazen.  Some of us are a little of both.

When I first got sober I was a little of both. I was kind of shy (especially around women) and I dressed provocatively, stuck with the men, pulled up at meetings blasting my heavy metal.  I needed to be noticed. I needed that attention to flip that self-worth switch on inside.  Seeking outside validation is classic in alcoholics and I was (still am!) a classic alcoholic.  I made all the conversations about me (I was really good at this!).  Gosh, I could go on forever!

This self-seeking behavior (definitely a character defect) went on for years until one day…

I got serious about my program.  I started hitting six meetings a week.  I got another sponsor and actually talked with her and did step work with her.  I listened at meetings and even started sharing at some of them.  I started hanging with the women, giving my phone number to newcomers and even hung out with these chicks outside of the rooms. What was happening to me?!  Who was this woman who stared back at me in the mirror every day?  I didn’t know her, but I liked her.

She was different.  She didn’t want to wear “hoochie mama” clothes anymore; felt comfortable around other women.  She liked the image in the mirror.. sometimes.

Yes, I still blast my heavy metal but I definitely notice a change in me.  So do a lot of other people.  I like who I am these days.  I no longer hide behind the insecure mask of “LOOK AT ME!”  I know that sounds strange, but insecurity leads to external validation which is a band-aid that never heals internal wounds.

And I did take a moment a couple of years ago to grieve the old me.  I sat down in a park with my journal and nature and wrote a letter to myself.  I said, “Goodbye, Old Darlene.  There are some parts of you I shall miss, but ultimately, not much.  This is my new path, with my new life and a new me.  I’m sure you’ll visit sometimes, Old Darlene, and that’s okay, but you cannot stay.”

Have you ever given any thought to an “old you” and “new you?”