Apologies, first of all, for falling quiet over the last week or so. Not that anyone is particularly following this, but I’m trying to keep up with actively posting. There are just times I disconnect and collapse into myself… And that kind of happened.
While those periods of isolated, musing melancholy can be burdensome – they can also (at times) stimulate thought. And I’ve been thinking about suicide…for better or worse.
To start with, let’s cover some basic definitions.
Suicidal ideation refers to thoughts of/about suicide. While this could include intent or plans of action, ‘ideation’ is used to indicate the presence of recurrent thoughts as a symptom/manifestation unto itself.
Suicidal planning would refer to having a plan of action. This is clearly considered a more severe ‘red flag’ as it indicates one is moving past thought and potentially preparing for action.
I’ve had both, and am coping with both now.
My obsessive/intrusive thoughts include less frequent (but still present) suicidal themes. And the thoughts that splinter from my depression, particularly when I’m spiraling, could easily qualify as suicidal ideation too.
But…the planning is more rare for me.
Certainly, in some vague sense I have an idea of what I’d do if I chose to end things. Some sense of the few options I could easily choose from, and which would be most to my tastes.
But… It’s not some vague, distant idea at the moment. It’s something in the forefront of my mind, most days for several months now. Not that I’ve been moments away from killing myself this entire time, but that… I find myself considering it, planning for it, and trying to make certain limited preparations.
Two big things are holding me back, limiting my action at this point.
First, and most honestly? A sense of fear (or, perhaps cowardice). Partly from a vague spiritual/religious fear of judgment, but far more from a fear of failure. The idea of attempting to end my life, surviving, but being even more limited and poorly functional than I already am? That’s…terrifying. On the other hand? I suspect that even a poor attempt at suicide would have high odds of success. I live in such intense isolation that it’s unlikely anyone would venture out to my house, physically, to check on me for days at least. Weeks would be more realistic. …but I digress.
Second? I want to leave something worthwhile behind. Realistically I don’t think I can do that at this point, not without lingering far longer than I want to. But… Maybe this collection of short stories I’m struggling to complete will suffice.
None of them are ground-breaking or game-changing, nor will the book top best-seller charts.
But… At least it would be one final endeavor, completed.
And questionable though the content of those stories might be? One – at least – was based on feelings of love. I find myself wondering if it might suffice as a love letter to her that will outlast me, completed by the presence of a few other works… But allowing my amorous affect for her to outlast me.
I just… Don’t want to keep writing, though. Not when I feel this hollow, and void, and empty.
And I don’t want to burden others with my bullshit.
So… I’m alone with it.
Failing to function, and barely writing.
But planning, if resisting for now.
Just…festering in this darkness.