That’s who I am now. Might as well embrace it.
Suicidal ideation. The real kind this time, not the intrusive kind. I hurt that much today, that it makes me want to stop feeling. Not really. It’s not a real desire. If you’ve lived it, you know what I mean. Don’t worry about me hurting myself; I won’t. But I want to, even though I don’t. I don’t know how to describe it. It hurts. So much. So damn much.
Fucking suicidal ideation. It’s now something that comes along, unwelcome and unaccepted, every couple of months for only a day or two, it seems. So, I mean, that’s hugely better. I honestly think it’s more vestigial than indicative of my current state of mental health, but who knows? Anyway, happening today, which is reasonable because today I have a lot of reason to be very sad, but it’ll pass, and be gone for a while. I don’t know how much it’ll come up between now and Christmas. Hopefully not a lot, but we’ll see. I’ll be okay, though; I’m doing really well in general. Living the middle of the book does kind of suck, though.
So I have anxiety. It seems pretty clear now. I’ve been having a nasty anxiety attack all day long today, and this isn’t the first one. It seems to come in rare, acute bouts. I’ve only identified it since my depression got under control. The depression just overpowered everything else, and put its flavour on everything else, and basically was just such a dick all the time that I didn’t even know there was other shit going on. It was all just one giant stew of feeling like shit. Depression-flavoured shit. So I have anxiety. I’m having a terrible anxiety attack. I have no fucking clue what to do about it. I don’t have tools for it. There’s one thing I know would help, and it’s the one thing I know I absolutely can’t do (no not self-harm – that ideation is weaseling its way in on this, but I don’t have any intention, and I don’t fear acting on the ideas) – anyway there’s only one thing I know would help, and it’s the one thing I absolutely can’t do. So that fucking sucks. Writing this is helping, so that’s something. But I have no damn tools or skills for this! Fuck you, depression. Seriously. Fuck you. I should have at least some idea of what to do about this, but no, you had to make everything about you for 25 years. You’re an asshole.
Between things a couple of friends have said recently, I suddenly realized why I love Superman so much. He and the Flash are unshakably my favourites. Recently a friend explained that why he never really found Superman very interesting was that Superman is just so powerful that there was no suspense, or excitement: you just knew he was going to defeat the bad guy.
That’s why I loved Superman. He could do and solve anything. Defeat any enemy. And he could just do it; it was certain. That’s what I wished I could do. I didn’t want to battle the kids that bullied me, or win some noble struggle. I wanted to end it; eradicate the problem, the problematic people, whatever. I wanted to throw them over with a flick of my wrist, not win an epic, evenly matched battle. I felt totally powerless, all the time, and I just wanted to be Superman. Superman couldn’t lose. They’d have to leave Superman alone. Nothing could happen to Superman. Why couldn’t I just be Superman?
I guess that’s also why I always cry at the end of Fred Claus.
I. Fucking. Rule.
I figured out the one thing that underpins all of the terrible things I’ve done that have landed me here. I figured out the one thing that led to all the other things. I have found the root of all the wrongs. They are all results of the same repeated mistake.
And now I can fix it! Now I can fix everything! It’s not too late. There’s no such thing.