Nine Years and One Week
This week is Suicide Prevention Week, which I didn’t know about until I logged into Tumblr this morning. I wrote this there, and wasn’t going to post it here. But then I read Jenny‘s post. And Wil‘s. And the whole “this doesn’t belong on your professional blog” part of me fucked off. So here it is.
If Rule One is “the Doctor lies”, Rule Zero should be “your head lies.”
Nine years and a week ago, I thought life wasn’t worth living.
Nine years and a week ago, I thought nobody cared.
Nine years and a week ago, I couldn’t see past tomorrow.
I was wrong. All of it. All lies.
Lies that the chemicals in my head told me. Because they couldn’t communicate with each other, so I effectively couldn’t communicate with me.
Nine years and a week ago, the words “it gets better” would have meant nothing.
Nine years and a week ago, friends were the people I had to pretend around. Family were the people I wanted to ignore. Hobbies were things I used to do.
The place I was, the person I was, that night had very little to do with happiness (or sadness), romance (or broken hearts), attention (or lack thereof), or really anything outside my own head.
And my head was lying.
Nine years and a week ago, I don’t know what, if anything, could have “saved” me, changed my mind, or made me see straight.
But nine years and a month ago?
Nine years and three months ago?
Even for me, the crazy bipolar chick whose moods flip on a dime, that night didn’t come out of nowhere.
If you stop caring, talk to someone.
If the world loses meaning, talk to someone.
If you think nobody cares, and that none of if matters, talk to someone.
Think it’s not worth it? Think you’re not worth it? Remember Rule Zero: your head lies.
Nine years and a week later, these are what’s left of my scars.
There are people out there that care. I’m one of them. Don’t listen to your head. Get help.