An awful, lingering thought

So this is going to be a confronting topic for some. I make no apologies for that.

But it’s something I need to get off my chest, to clear my mind and perform some long overdue processing of some thoughts.

Suicide – some amongst us have experienced this personally, having people close to us – family or friends – who’ve taken their lives this way.

Often, it happens with little understanding as to what drove them to it, or what was behind an awful act that some might glibly suggest showed cowardice on their part.

Some of us, myself included, might have been inconvenienced by an act of suicide, actual or attempted, and mused internally upon hearing what caused the delay mused internally, wishing they would have just got on with it so you could get to work, or school, or wherever it was you were headed at that point in time.

I find this very uncomfortable to say out loud or even share, but over the last couple of weeks and for reasons which I can neither explain nor comprehend, my mind has had frequent enough thoughts about wanting to end it all.

Mercifully these awful thoughts have not serious enough to even think about planning to do it, but scary enough to have increased my anxiousness to levels I’d never contemplated.

They however have been more than enough to put me off buying or hiring the garden mulcher I need to get my front yard fully sorted, and avoiding cooking dinner at home on account of feeling very uncomfortable around sharp knives.

Annoyingly, the anxiety arising is doing awful things to my body. I’ve spent the last four days with a raging case of indigestion. I didn’t know what it actually was at first, and after I’d figured it out – all the other causes that could explain why I was inexplicitly suffering it have been crossed off the list.

It’s seemingly adding a “deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars“, if one is to borrow and re-purpose a quote by Martin Luther King, Jr. talking about violence.

The worst thing for me is not being able to put my finger on why I’ve been having these thoughts of late. Social isolation may be one part of it – lacking a strong network of friends, frequent conversation, working in a role where my home is my office – hence no colleagues to chat to during the day, trying to stay active, and the almost never-ending search for intimacy – all issues I’ve been struggling with for some time, and wrote about on more than one or two occasions.

This sadness also wasn’t helped by some news of an event that occurred between two people I consider good friends earlier this week, one which left me feeling genuinely sad for both of them. Two nice people, whom for their own private reasons, are going their own way for a time.

You want to reach out see what you can do to help them manage the pain, but that of course is a little limited when you yourself are feeling like an emotional cripple, and specifically want to avoid exacerbating what could already be a fragile situation.

But getting back to it – in some ways, this leaves me feeling annoyed.

At myself for not being able to figure out how, or struggling with even the smallest of steps to overcome the feelings and concerns that have built up to the current level of uncomfortable anxiousness.

At my close friends, for not recognising how I’m feeling and offering whatever help they can. There could be reasons for that of course, but by the same token I’m a little sick of being the emotional crutch – dropping tools to help anyone else out, but not receiving the same in return.

At my childhood experiences, for growing up with so few friends and being socially isolated in the school yard that it made it hard to learn skills that would help avoid this.

At people I went to school with, for being – as children and teens are prone to be – awful people who didn’t how others felt as a result of what they said, or did, or didn’t do, leaving me with scars – both physical, and the emotional which there are some I still haven’t recovered from.

At my teachers, for not realising or bothering to take action to correct the struggles of their students, and doing everything within their power to help someone reach their potential, and not feel discouraged by all that – at least within the school environment – that was holding them back.

At myself again, for not seeing things through. For reaching a point where after so much time battling and fighting, I felt mentally exhausted and gave up on trying. Not pushing myself to that next level. For pursuing university, or an MBA, or even a Diploma course that might give me some chance at being where I want to be, or have the potential to be, in my current field.

At my parents, for bringing me up in a religion which frankly I should have rebelled against and gone and lived the life and experiences a normal teenager/young adult would have.

To not be so uptight, taking the missed opportunity for a sneaky pash in the school yard with the hot girl, going out, partying, staying up late, all experiences I missed out on growing up.

Of course leaving out the drinking. Sorry, I still don’t see the value in that.

At my father, for being an emotional cripple, and dealing with his inadequacies through physical and psychological violence towards his eldest – who is to this day frankly smarter than his father could ever have been. Like the school yard, the emotional scars haven’t even come close to healing as well as they need to.

And at myself again, for lacking the confidence to address any of this to the point where I’ve been able to put it behind me.

It leaves me with this piece of dialogue floating around in my head:

I studied a lot in school. I studied hard in high school and at Harvard and in law school.
My IQ doesn’t break the bank, and I wanted to do this so I studied all the time. And I missed something or it’s like I skipped a year ’cause I never learned what you do after you think you like somebody– what you do next.
And every-everybody did learn. A lot of other people, anyway.

 

I was too focused on trying to be as good as I could be, that I missed learning how to have fun.

And right now, it honestly feels like I’ve missed that chance.

Some people have made welcome suggestions lately, but I don’t know if I have the willpower or the strength to give it a proper go.

Even going to the gym every couple of days feels uncomfortable. Not withstanding nobody to go with, but feeling out of my depth, especially with extremely fit people, and sometimes some very desirable women, around the place leaving me to feel like I don’t belong.

Which pivots back to where I started, and only just recognising and acknowledging – literally as I’ve started to write this very paragraph – why this awful thought isnt go away.

I feel like I don’t belong. In amongst everything going on around me, I feel like a square peg in a round hole.

I haven’t found where I fit in.

I don’t know how to find where I fit in.

And I’m not sure how to find it, or if anyone else knows the way.

The best I can hope for is an end to this spiral of unwelcome thoughts.

An end that is positive, and does not result in the sadness, and perceived cowardice, of early death.

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