The Will

I’m sitting here, realizing, “damn, I have a strong will.”

Then I think, “well that’s ridiculous of someone who has a hard time getting out of bed most days to say.”

But in all honesty, I really do think that I have a strong will.

My theory: I haven’t cut in years, though, the thought is ever present in my beautiful, chaotic mind. I have not attempted to take my life, though, on several occasions, I have seriously considered taking all the pills in the med cabinet or drinking all of the alcohol in the fridge. I’ve thought about purposefully wrecking my car on the way to work, or just drowning my sorrows in the bath tub. But I have never actually acted on those ideas.

So, I start to wonder, “why?” Why is it that, though I deal with these overwhelming thoughts daily, I haven’t acted on any of the suggestions? Voices booming in my mind, “Do it! Save yourself the pain!” And yet, I’m still here. Shattered, though I maybe, I haven’t caved in yet. I haven’t given in.

I’m wondering where the strength comes from. Maybe it’s the idea that I would be in trouble. Say that I failed, I would be in trouble with everyone. Then there are those that really don’t understand anyhow, and they would consider having me locked away for good. Hubby, it would kill him, he would probably leave me. Although, I guess if he did, there would be very little holding me back. I mean, there would be the thought of my mom having to bury a child, which would probably kill her, but she would have someone where I would not. Of course, if I were dead I don’t guess that it would really matter would it? That I didn’t have anyone?

Life is so short though. I can’t imagine actually acting out the ideas in my head. Though, some days, they really do seem to be the thing to do. Instead, I sleep. And, I panic in my sleep, but I’m not cutting, or crashing, or drowning.

On the days that I can’t get out of bed, I’m glad that no one can see me. I’m glad that, for those few hours when I’m alone, I’m invisible to the world. I don’t talk or text, I just sleep. I stay under the covers or on the couch staring or crying. I don’t have to go outside, I don’t have to see another soul. I sit and weep or sleep the day away.

Sleeping doesn’t always help my depression. Sometimes, it really hurts. Why? Because I get mad at myself for wasting the day. Which is stupid, I know. But I did, and now I’m upset that I did.

I worry about some of my readers, when I post things like this. I am thankful that someone is reading, but when I go and read your site, I just wonder that if I post this, and you read it, will it trigger something for you? And, that is not my goal at all.

I want to start writing poetry again. I’ve read a few posts that I liked and sounds like something that I would have written. But I haven’t written in years. Why? Because the last time I did landed me in the counselor’s office of my school with my parents. I’m just saying that this would have been the huge sign saying “help me.”

I think that I have finally fixed my site the way I want it. To which, I am ecstatic! Finally! I can stop messing with it, at least for a while.

Hope you all enjoy. I enjoy reading your posts too.

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About Preslee

I am diagnosed with Bipolar 2 Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Panic and Anxiety disorders, and PTSD. I write about my own personal experiences and thoughts.

Posted on March 28, 2013, in Life, Mental Health, Support and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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