I began this blog last year for many reasons. If anything I’ve written thus far on my blog seems a bit too personal to share (okay, all of it is pretty much super personal), I would only ask, “Why do so many people seek out blogs like my own to read?” I think the answer to that question is simply that everyone is searching for connection to drown out the loneliness of existence. We want to feel not so alone in our struggles. Even with everything I have shared here, know that there is plenty that I have not. Imagine what I don’t say or write. No, I take that back — don’t. It’s probably better not to imagine.
To date, over the last year, “Echoes of My Past” was viewed 1,941 times. That’s not a whole lot in the blogosphere world; but given the topic of discussion and my lack of interaction with readers, it’s a great many more views than I expected to receive. Again, my most sincere thanks to each and every one of you who took the time to read (I can’t say this enough). I have blogged elsewhere for more than 5 years, probably closer to 8; but only one other blog of mine survived my inner critic and is still in existence. Today is that blog’s 5 year anniversary. To date, over the last 5 years, it (I’m sorry. I’m still not ready to publicly disclose my “real” name.) was viewed 18,227 times. Again, I doubt that’s an impressive number considering the sheer amount of work I put into it; but that one was actually a lot of fun — for a while. I haven’t posted there since early December 2014.
I’m questioning whether or not I should continue blogging — on either blog. I’m reminding myself that I blog for “me.” Readers are great and oftentimes inspiring, but in the end it comes down to the fact that I do this for myself — to purge the “stuff” that clogs my brain and prevents me from thriving, at least that was part of this blog’s intent. My other blog was more for inspiring others to take the time to pause and reflect. It’s really hard to inspire others, though, when I’m lacking that inspiration for myself. I feel like a mess of unresolved emotions and triggers that are on the verge of exploding like a volcano.
I’m questioning my personal strength of character. Do I have it in me to go about this alone again? (I’m afraid KR isn’t much help in matters of emotion. I’m not blaming him for that. We’re just wired differently.) I don’t think I really have much choice in the matter. No one else has a vested interest in my life. Only me.
I’m questioning my will to survive, my will to live. Déjà vu. At the time I began therapy this last time, I vowed not to discuss the obsessive suicidal thoughts that I have endured for so many years, saying as much at the intake appointment and again to my case manager. These thoughts were not up for discussion because I feared making them worse to the point of another attempt on my life. Fear. Fear has controlled my life far too long. She is a bitch of an opponent.
I’m questioning the observations of those closest to me who have said that I have “given up.” I don’t think I have. Had I given up, I would be DEAD. Period. Whether suicide is giving up or giving in, either way, it’s a matter of having struggled for far too long with little to no hope of improvement. I may have only the tiniest amount of “hope” left in me, but at least I have that. Don’t tell me I have given up because I have not. If ever I do, well, it’s my choice and mine alone; and I see no shame in it.
On a side note, I’m seeing a disturbing new trend in the mental health community of turning away those who are the sickest because they don’t yet “want” help. I agree that you can’t force help on anyone; but god damn it, figure out some way to help us “want” to get better because I guarantee you that those of us who have been in the system for an extended period of time have lost faith in that system that was once set up to protect us from ourselves.
I’m still alive. Help me want to live. Maybe that really is too much to ask.
My M3 Score is 83, the highest it has been in a very, very long time.
My thoughts return to the abrupt end to therapy last week. I’m feeling lost. I’m obsessing over thoughts and constant questions like the ones above, as well as others I can’t answer: What did I do wrong? What’s wrong with me that I can’t even keep a therapist? Why couldn’t I just make myself talk? Why can’t I just be like everyone else and get a job and live my life? Why can’t I be a “responsible” adult?
Yeah, I’m stuck in rumination hell.