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Suicide and Salvation

It’s 1 in the morning and I want to die.

I want to forget about the pain that keeps me up at night till I finally crash at around 6. Getting my third hour of sleep for the week.

I want to forget about the regret I deal with every day when I see a mom and her daughter. Knowing that could have been me. Knowing that should have been me. Knowing that I will no longer have that opportunity.

I want to forget about the self-loathing that cloaks me comfortingly. Because hating myself is better than feeling whole.

I want to forget about the guilt that weighs so heavily on me day in and day out. My body is tired from keeping busy. My mind is tired from constantly telling myself to act okay. My soul is tired, so tired, of being empty.

I just want to forget I exist. Because not existing is better than dealing with all of the above. Because not existing would be such a sweet salvation. Because not existing would be something that I got right, that I didn’t fail at.

I want to be forgotten. Just wipe my existence off with a simple cloth, never knowing I was ever here.

Yet the permanence of being forgotten, not existing, is what keeps me here. Oh, the irony.

It’s 1:07 and I still want to die.

It’s pretty dark to admit those words. Yet I’m also pretty normal in the statistical scheme of things. I’m probably not the only who wants to die at 1:07 am.

If I died I would be just another statistic. I would be just another, “Well she’s going to hell.” I would be just another, “Well she’s selfish for doing that!” I would be just another dead person who left people behind to pick up and sift through a mess that I couldn’t fix.

A salvation from all the hurt, the guilt, the regret, and the mess is what I want. Crave even.

It’s funny how death is still a taboo subject to talk about and even though I don’t like talking about it, I’m embracing the idea, more than once, to just end it all.

A salvation from all the hurt, the guilt, the regret, and the mess.

I know what I would be leaving behind. That part is not lost on me. I would be leaving behind a mother who loves me with every fiber of her being and sometimes wish she could take my pain away. I would be leaving behind a father, step or not, that would be heart broken because his wife, my mother, is heart broken.

But they don’t understand the hurt, the guilt, the regret, and the mess I feel. Sure they may understand a tiny bit. But that’s not very comforting.

It’s 1:15 and I still want to die. I still want to end it all. I could. But the finality of it all keeps me here.

I want everything to stop hurting.

A salvation from the pain.

That’s what my suicide note would read. Five little words that carry such finality. Five little words that differed eight months ago when I saw my daughter for the last time. Five little words that would somehow complete the hole in me but rip new ones for my loved ones. Five little words that would cause so much more mess.

A salvation from the pain turns into I am here for you.

Five better words that have begun to sink in more and more. Five better words that seem to make the hurt, the guilt, the regret, and the mess a little more bearable.

It’s 1:30 and I still want to die.

But I won’t. Not tonight.

If you or someone you care about has thoughts of suicide please call the National Suicide Hotline 1-800-273-8255. Available 24/7, including 1:30 am.

The First Cut IS The Deepest

Sheryl Crow was right. I usually hummed along and drummed my fingers when I hear her hit song come on the radio. I didn’t pay it too much mind since it was all about heartbreak and it couldn’t possibly relate to my life.

Until it did.

A couple of days ago I cut myself. It’s so hard to admit it and I haven’t even told my mother and I tell her everything! I guess she’ll find out now.

I’ve told her I need to go back and see my therapist but it’s just too hard. I don’t want to relive the last time I held my child. I don’t want to relive the moment where my heart broke into a million little pieces that won’t go back together. I don’t want to spend my hour crying on her couch and dealing with a headache the rest of the day.

I just don’t want to. But that’s the thing about wants versus needs. I need to go. I know it and so does my mom.

I’m the master of putting things off that I don’t want to do. Evidence being that I’ve crammed four years of college into like seven basically. If you need someone to give you reasons not to do something, I’m your girl.

All jokes aside, I need to go back and see my therapist. I know self harm isn’t the path I want to go down. Because I can’t escape my from my unbearable pain. The only way for me to do that is to die and I have my daughter to live for her. She doesn’t deserve to grow up without knowing me. She’ll have questions that only I can answer and depriving her of that isn’t the way to go.

Cutting isn’t either. It only prolongs my pain though in those few euphoric moments, it brought me relief from my emotional pain. It’s heady and intoxicating to want to get lost into not feeling pain anymore.

Looking at the remains of my cutting episode, I can’t help but feel scared. It felt good to cut, almost too good. Like this could be my high. Which being born addicted to hard drugs as a baby, addiction of any form doesn’t need to be in my life.

But I want more.

I told myself that after I finished the second cut. It only takes away the pain temporarily sadly. Then I’m forced to face the pain that’s still there long after the physical pain wears off. It’s that pain that I have to deal with in order to be healthy again. It’s that pain that I need to deal with in order to feel like a good person.

I wanted to feel other pain that would take away the hate I have for myself. But cutting isn’t the way. It’s only a temporary option. It’ll put a band aid over the wound for now until I just rip it off and actually deal with it.

Band aids prevent healing and that’s what cutting is for me. A bandaid for my emotional pain that only I can fix by seeing my therapist.

A Beautiful Mess.

Grief is messy. There is no way to pack grief up in a nice little box and simply slide it in to the nearest, darkest corner of my closet. Grief leaves me a heaving mess of snot, tears, and sore eyeballs from crying so much.

However, that’s the beautiful part of it. Grief reminds me that I am human and not a robot that can’t feel. Feelings, emotions, whatever you want to call them, are a powerful thing to experience. Including all the messy ones.

Grief is painful and that’s also a beautiful part of it. I can feel the most painful things and that reminds me that I am alive and can experience whatever the next day brings me. I’m not dead, even though I feel like that. The body wracking sobs the first night home after leaving my beautiful baby girl in the nursery, reminded me that I have to live for her. As painful as that was, those moments of harsh grief told me that I can’t give up. Not giving up is such a beautiful thing.

It’s only been five days since I’ve given birth. Three days since I held her and said my goodbye in the hospital. And just one evening since I was in court, entrusting my gift to the best people I could have picked. There is no timeline for grief. I just have to ride the waves and remind myself that as much as it’s messy and so very painful, it’s also a beautiful thing to experience because I am human.

I am alive.

Uneven v. Changing

via Daily Prompt: Uneven

I think my favorite synonym for uneven would have to be changing. The word sounds way more positive than uneven does; almost like the path will never become straight again (uneven) as opposed to the path is ever changing.

The journey that I am on in life is definitely changing and frankly that terrifies me. All this change leaves me vulnerable. I don’t like being vulnerable.

Too exposed.

Too flawed.

Too raw.

This adoption process that I’ve been dealing with has definitely left me too exposed. I have come face to face with baby girl’s adoptive parents and it was like looking in the mirror of what my life could have been had I made all the ‘right’ choices. But their right choices they made in life could very well have been my ‘bad’ choices. That’s the tough part of being all exposed. You have to come to terms with the choices you’ve made leading up to the point that’s made you vulnerable.

July 10, 2016 was my too flawed moment. The hours after I had gotten off the phone with all the people that needed to know I was pregnant, I sat in my room listing all my flaws and what I could have done differently. I was feeding that negative bottomless pit and with each flaw I thought about made me feel the lowest that I’ve ever felt in my life. I felt like I had already failed this human being that I’m giving life to. I could create life but I couldn’t care for her already. That failing feeling weighed pretty heavily on me and still does today.

My too raw moment? That’s to be determined in the next couple of months. I have a feeling that moment will come shortly after baby girl has gotten here and then she has to go home with her adopted parents and I will be left alone with nothing but my emotions and grief. That’s going to be as raw as it gets.

With each exposed, flaw, and raw moment that appears in my uneven, changing path, I’ll tackle them head on. I can’t just jump off the path and expect to hop back on in the same place I left on. That’s not how change works. You have to work through the change and deal with consequences, good and bad.

Too exposed becomes protected.

Too flawed becomes intact.

Too raw becomes mature.

 

Shine on, baby girl, shine on.

via Daily Prompt: Shine

“If you want the beautiful moments to shine, you have to contrast that with dark and gruesome moments. That’s the way life is.” – Tony DiTerlizzi

Wow.

I fully admit that I am way more of a pessimist than I am an optimist so this quote that I read by Mr. DiTerlizzi resonated with me. When the going gets tough in life, I am usually one to be like oh this could get worse and then complain and cry when it does; forgetting that life is a two-sided coin. The bad doesn’t stay bad forever and will almost always turn good in the end.

*Insert much more corny and cliche sayings here.*

The beautiful moment I’m waiting on is for the day where I place my baby girl into the arms of her adopted parents. That moment is going to be so beautiful because of all the love that everyone, both from biological and adoptive, will have for her in that very moment.

That moment is also contrasted by all the tears I’ve shed through this adoption process. The worst being where I was curled up on the floor unable to move as the sobs wracked my body. The bloody nose was just wonderful too. Those body wracking sobs came after I had finally picked the family where my baby girl would be going to in just short three months. My parents and I had met them two days prior and everything just felt so right, even though my heart was continually breaking. I didn’t cry after that meeting nor did I cry the day after. I kind of let it stew and when I couldn’t get the tab off the milk, I just exploded. That’s the thing about dark and gruesome moments, they just come out of no where and demand to be felt and worked through.

The beautiful moment of the adoptive parents hearts becoming full would be because of the dark moment of mine becoming empty. They get to be complete while I have to work through becoming incomplete for the first time in my life.

I always thought I had moments where I wasn’t completely whole – like not graduating college at a certain time or not even being in a healthy relationship with marriage as the goal. But boy was I wrong about that.

I can’t say that this process has all been gruesome because her adoptive parents have been quite a shining moment throughout all this. Having them is  a nice reminder that I didn’t do too badly, even if I got pregnant out of wedlock. (Thank you rude ultra sound tech.)

Bright and shining moments: 2

Dark and gruesome moments: 2

They may be tied now but in the end bright and shining will win out. Why? Because there really isn’t anything dark and gruesome about the love of parents for a child, biological and adoptive.

Infinite Grief.

via Daily Prompt: Infinite

Grief is an infinite thing. Sure it lessens over time but grief never really ends. Nor does grief have a time limit. Maybe there will come a day you’ll wake up and it won’t be that bad and just bad. That’s okay. Ignore those people that will undoubtedly come up and be all like, “It’s been a year now. You should be okay.” Ignore them. You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life.

The thing about grief is that it sucks and it’s not easy to deal with. I’m currently grieving the loss of my child. No, my child hasn’t passed away. She’s still very much alive and hasn’t been born yet. However I am placing her up for adoption. That is still a loss. I will be giving birth to her and going home empty handed and with an empty heart.

Adoption is never an easy choice no matter what people say. This process has been doubly worse for me because I am an adoptee and even though I have said I never wanted kids, there is the part of me that wouldn’t ever want to give my child up for adoption because I am adopted. Being 24 years old and living with my aunt, I financially cannot afford a child. Not because I just spend my money willy-nilly, but because I haven’t finished college and am stuck working retail.

I had a great childhood growing up. I didn’t know what it was like to grow up poor and wonder where my next meal was coming from. My mom would always find a way to take care of us. If I do decide to have another child, I hope I can be the mom to him/her that my mom is to me. Because I cannot financially support a child at this moment in my life, I decided adoption would be the best option for her. My child doesn’t deserve to know what it’s like to struggle right from the beginning. I want the best life for her and I know I can’t give her that. That makes me feel like such a failure but I realize that it actually doesn’t. I’m giving her the best life that I can with a family that will love her, cherish her, support her, and provide the greatest life for her. She wouldn’t have a terrible life with me, I know that.

She would have the life I want for her with this other family.

That sentence always breaks my heart in two because I already love her so much. I love her so much that I know I am making the right choice, however life changing it is for the both of us. I love her so much that she deserves someone who won’t fail her.

I love her so, so much.

Grief will be infinite during this time for me. With each new choice and step I make in this process, this grief will surface and swallow me whole, spitting me back out broken-hearted once more. However, I will not let grief win.

Grief will still be infinite but less dark and gloomy and that I’m okay with.