I’m actually posting this on March 9, 2023. I’m going through my drafts right now and I found this. I’ve gone back and forth since the day after I wrote this and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to post it or not, but this is my public diary/journal and I decided when I started this blog to keep it as such. My wish is that all of these words in my posts may find someone who is in the same shoes as me and might comfort them to know they’re not alone. Everything between the 3 dots is what I wrote that night. The stories afterward are just some things I find funny in a dark way.
Suicide Hotline: 988
NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness)
What do you do when you have no one to talk to?
Where do you go? Who exactly are you supposed to turn to? These are the questions I face tonight.
Do I call the suicide hotline? Do I cry it out? Do I call someone in my contact list who I think will listen?
For what? No one really knows who I am anymore. The suicide hotline isn’t there for the in-betweeners, the “I don’t want to be here, but I’d feel too guilty if I kill myself, but I also wouldn’t be upset if I suddenly were killed right here, right now on the spot for no apparent reason” crowd. Is there an “I just need someone to talk to because I would feel like a burden to anyone in my life if I called them up right now in the middle of the night, but I also don’t want to do something so stupid and irreversible that if they read this or knew how I was feeling before I did something stupid, they would be screaming, ‘YOU COULD HAVE CALLED ME, I WOULD HAVE LISTENED TO YOU, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!! Why didn’t you just call me?‘” hotline?
I felt like this after I learned this kid known around town as Slim Jim killed himself. He posted on Facebook before he did it, and I read the comments. “Why didn’t you call me…?” “Slim Jim, call me! What are you doing?” I remember reading these and thinking, “if you knew where he lived, why not go bust down his door instead of these empty comments claiming you’re there when you’re really not?” Is it unfair of me to put that blame on them? I guess being in his shoes before the courage (is that considered B.C.?), it’s easy to judge because I know what is coming next. Once you post on Facebook for the world to see, it’s almost a place marker. The feeling of “No turning back now so I might as well do it since I wanted to anyway, but now I have an audience so I can’t just not do it even though I can, but my brain won’t let me not do it since it already is posted, so now I feel a weird sense of accountability to do something that no one but the demons inside my heart wants.”
Demons. Backward, you’re one upside-down letter from “snowed.” What a treat, what a leap. These “demons” we talk of… “I’m fighting my demons” or “he/she/whoever lost their fight with their demons”… when is society going to EXERCISE these “demons”? Are we going to continue to put our heads in the sand before we address what’s really going on? Some people are just not fit for this world. Maybe the “demons” they are fighting are the guilt of staying here to not disappoint others or make those loved ones live a life of guilt even though they’re feeling completely isolated.
The first time I called the suicide hotline was years ago, I was connected with a woman who was very gentle and caring and really helped me through that time. I was very upset and she calmed me down. It was a very good experience, especially for my first time calling. I have always been terrified of calling because I thought they would track my number and send the police. It would’ve been helpful to know when I was a teenager in a very dark space that they lend a helping hand and an ear when you need it.
Anyway, the second time I called, I was put on hold and all of my anxiety/depression/anger/whatever instantly vanished and I started laughing. They didn’t ask me my situation or anything, they just answered and said, “Suicide Hotline, please hold.” Like I was calling to order food or something. It was comical and I just let everything go. I wasn’t even upset anymore, but I was worried about the people who called and were also put on hold who were worse off than me.
The third time I called The Trevor Project not realizing they were only for LGBTQ+ youth and after venting my situation, the person asked how old I was and I told them and they told me to just call the regular hotline. I was even more deflated and didn’t even want to talk to anyone anymore.
The fourth time I called, I told the person my entire situation and their advice and responses were horrible. I felt like they were doing something else and they weren’t listening. I ended up just ending the conversation by agreeing with them and hanging up. I wanted to tell them they weren’t helpful, but I didn’t want to come off as an unhinged asshole.
Since then, I haven’t called. Alcohol had a lot to do with all of these feelings and calls and I recognize that. I also wasn’t as consistent with my medications as I should’ve been, so I’ve been really making an effort to keep up with them with alarms and such. I think that’s helped quite a bit.
Just to clarify here: I’m not suicidal, but I have never been one to be so careful with life as others around me seem to be. I have always felt like if there was a chance to save someone and it meant sacrificing myself, I’d do it without hesitation. I wasn’t so daring to jump off cliffs into lakes, but it was more of a bank robbery situation, you know? I was still afraid, but just some days not as much. Does that make sense? Lately, as the years climb since my wife and I first got together, I’ve been rethinking that angle. I’ve been more into self-preservation and especially protecting her. Of course, I’d give myself for her any millisecond, but you get the drift here.
My Awkward Life 
Leave a comment