I don't speak for anyone besides myself when it comes to mental illness, but I've come to a point in my life where I'm just like 'Jesus fucking Christ can this shit please be just over with - can I please just be happy with the life I have left and not live my entire life being miserable over what used to exist or what terrible things may happen?'
Because when you dwell on suicide often enough, when you attempt suicide multiple times, when you get to that attempt where you are really sure, 'this is it - I actually have to say goodbye' eventually you realize 'I'm going to die one day. I'm convinced that day is today. Is this all the life I get? Was that it?'
And hopefully for others who go through something similar, and luckily in my case, I didn't die. Because even if I'm stuck in my head and think 'it really would be better if I was just dead', I don't want my whole life to be a combination of empty and shallow happiness I only realize I had, once it's gone entirely.
Hardship sucks for all of us. But the point is, don't focus on it when things are good. Life flies the fuck by otherwise, and what kind of an experience is that? Only happy when reminiscing, always sad when you actually have happiness, because you knew so well, that happiness is fleeting, and everything good in life must end eventually?
Mental illness is no joke to overcome, life is full of turmoil, sadness, pain, misery.
But I'm sure this will come across as callous and cruel to those still suffering with it, just as I felt when my family kept telling me to 'get over it' or how it's weakness or whatever the fuck people say to others to prove they are fed up with being miserable. It comes out fucked up, from anyone. People who go through it and come out the other side sound unsympathetic, but that's often because they are still suffering, but they want to feel like they have a choice. Not just a label they feel permanently stuck with until they die. What kind of a life is that to look forward to? Same patterns, same habits, same sickness. Same guilt and fear of proving the contrary - how will others take my triumph over misery? Will that make them feel defeated?
People with enormous amounts of sadness often have enormous amounts of empathy, and letting go of their sadness can seem like letting go of their empathy. So they cling to it. But it's something everyone with that kind of heart, I suppose, can choose to go through, or not, I don't know. I know myself. I know I'm sick of being miserable. I know talking about every sad and miserable thing I've ever been through only makes me more miserable. I know it affects others around me. I know it's a cycle one can be afraid of - how do I affect others when I feel so much pain? How can I be allowed to have my own feelings and get through them, without watching them dissipate across everyone around me?
I don't know if I'm better, I don't know if I'm worse. It's a curse, and a burden. But I know wholeheartedly, if I keep all of it in, it's going to kill me. And if I don't try to 'get over it' (again, the words can seem callous, but take this to mean whatever it should for the individual), in whatever way I can, it's going to hurt me and hurt everyone I try to connect with and love.
So sometimes I have to fucking laugh at it. Because, isn't that so fucked up? That I get what it does, and I can't do shit about it?
C. S. Lewis defined Joy as a desire-perhaps, if not probsbly unfulfilled-that is itself more desirable than any other satisfaction.
YMMV, but I think this is an accurate and essential insight. Maybe it's pertinent to your story, maybe not. At the same time, I suspect much of our internal suffering hinges on the fact.
Because when you dwell on suicide often enough, when you attempt suicide multiple times, when you get to that attempt where you are really sure, 'this is it - I actually have to say goodbye' eventually you realize 'I'm going to die one day. I'm convinced that day is today. Is this all the life I get? Was that it?'
And hopefully for others who go through something similar, and luckily in my case, I didn't die. Because even if I'm stuck in my head and think 'it really would be better if I was just dead', I don't want my whole life to be a combination of empty and shallow happiness I only realize I had, once it's gone entirely.
Hardship sucks for all of us. But the point is, don't focus on it when things are good. Life flies the fuck by otherwise, and what kind of an experience is that? Only happy when reminiscing, always sad when you actually have happiness, because you knew so well, that happiness is fleeting, and everything good in life must end eventually?
Mental illness is no joke to overcome, life is full of turmoil, sadness, pain, misery.
But I'm sure this will come across as callous and cruel to those still suffering with it, just as I felt when my family kept telling me to 'get over it' or how it's weakness or whatever the fuck people say to others to prove they are fed up with being miserable. It comes out fucked up, from anyone. People who go through it and come out the other side sound unsympathetic, but that's often because they are still suffering, but they want to feel like they have a choice. Not just a label they feel permanently stuck with until they die. What kind of a life is that to look forward to? Same patterns, same habits, same sickness. Same guilt and fear of proving the contrary - how will others take my triumph over misery? Will that make them feel defeated?
People with enormous amounts of sadness often have enormous amounts of empathy, and letting go of their sadness can seem like letting go of their empathy. So they cling to it. But it's something everyone with that kind of heart, I suppose, can choose to go through, or not, I don't know. I know myself. I know I'm sick of being miserable. I know talking about every sad and miserable thing I've ever been through only makes me more miserable. I know it affects others around me. I know it's a cycle one can be afraid of - how do I affect others when I feel so much pain? How can I be allowed to have my own feelings and get through them, without watching them dissipate across everyone around me?
I don't know if I'm better, I don't know if I'm worse. It's a curse, and a burden. But I know wholeheartedly, if I keep all of it in, it's going to kill me. And if I don't try to 'get over it' (again, the words can seem callous, but take this to mean whatever it should for the individual), in whatever way I can, it's going to hurt me and hurt everyone I try to connect with and love.
So sometimes I have to fucking laugh at it. Because, isn't that so fucked up? That I get what it does, and I can't do shit about it?
I'm sure that's how this author feels.