I thought about killing myself last week.
Obviously, I didn’t. Here’s why.
It’s been a no good, very bad, fucking-annoying year.
And it’s only March.
I sat in my room, my restless leg syndrome working up as I realized I hadn’t had a good night sleep in a week. The Indeed job postings sat still on the computer screen. I realized that my days had turned into caretaking activities and sitting by myself for an extended period of time and endlessly re-evaluating every move I hadn’t even made yet.
Just thinking. Always thinking. Sometimes I wonder if I was taught to have an overreactive mind or if I have some chemical imbalance or if the expectations of the world have beaten me down more than I ever expected.
It wasn’t thoughts of my family that kept my mind from trying to murder me. It wasn’t getting a job or having a nice phone call with a therapist. It really wasn’t.
It was going for a walk. But more specifically, getting really quiet.
Just listening. And feeling. Instinctually. Like a tiger.
At a certain point of trying to be an adult and doing shit you don’t want to do day in and day out, you forget what you actually want to do. Isn’t that wild?
I think about the times I was most alive in my life. I think about the moments I just went for things that I wanted and didn’t look back because they just made me super happy. They filled me up and they didn’t drag me down.
A lot of gurus online like to say that you need “purpose”. I think that’s kinda narrow-minded. Because over the past week I’ve had plenty of purposeful things to do and I still wanted to walk off a cliff. It’s not that.
It’s weird because I think we really do instinctively know what we want. Which, oddly enough, would probably save us a lot of money on those career tests.
I’m trying, right now, to focus on things that light me up. Going for things that, in my gut, spark a little fire. It’s something I realized I have been missing after years of trying to follow a script. Chasing acceptance. Chasing money. Chasing comfort.
I wonder how many of us wake up every day disconnected from what we really want.
How much of ourselves we suppress because we’re embarrassed or think there’s no money in it or believe we’ll fail. It makes me emotional because I told myself I’d never get stuck in that trap. The child underneath is knocking, begging to be let out again.
Phew, heavy stuff. But I guess I am just getting through today because of that trust in my gut.
That bitch has to have some answers, right?