I told everyone I was coming to Boston for a class, which is not false. I am here for this class and it’s long and it’s intense and I’m learning a lot. And I’m glad I got to be here for my birthday weekend and see the people who once upon a time were my rocks (and still are). And I told my friends back home and my family that I’d see them in a week, that I’ll be back to work ready to go and take on whatever life choses to throw at me next.
I wasn’t lying when I said all that though I guess I was lying because I didn’t tell the whole truth. I didn’t say the other part of what I was thinking but no one really asked. Then again, I doubt anyone really thought I would think of something like this.
The truth is, I was glad for the chance to be traveling around my birthday because that means I would have just had the chance to celebrate with the people I care about, that they got to see me happy and whole just in case that’s the last thing they have to remember me by. It’s selfish I know but if I was to leave them with just one memory I’d want it to be a happy one. My one regret is not seeing my parents or little brother one time before I left just in case I didn’t come back.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not planning to hurt myself. I don’t have a plan or anything like that. I just have been thinking that if I was to disappear while en route to Boston or San Diego, people would maybe just think I had a freak accident and my body wasn’t found. Then maybe I could just walk away from my life. I know it’s selfish and sudden and I didn’t wrap everything up in a neat little bow the way I like it. And I’d be leaving behind a shit ton of work and crap for people to deal with. And even if people remember me as happy the last time they saw me, it won’t take away the pain. I could never do it but sometimes it’s just hard to breathe and these thoughts cross my mind and I entertain them.
Today was a tough day. My chest felt tight and there were many moments I had to stop myself and breathe. I had to fight an overwhelming urge to cut as I was holding a knife to my wrist. I forced myself to eat and to stay awake and take notes and engage in the lectures and text people and make plans for Friday and let go of the knife and laugh and hang out and cook and did normal people things to distract myself. Things have been getting so heavy the last two weeks ever since that night. And that patient. And that bill. And that conversation. And that panic attack. Just so heavy.
But there is a voice inside of me reminding me that the last time it was this bad, I got past it. The feelings eventually went away, I felt better, I took care of myself, I talked to people, I moved on. So I can do it again this time.
I won’t go through with anything. These are just impulses fleeting through my brain but I tamp them down because that’s what you do when you’ve learned how to cope. You think the thoughts but you fight them and you don’t act on them. You fight them with every last breath because fuck them. You get up and show up because someone is counting on you to be there. I just have to believe that someone is counting on me to keep doing what I’m doing, that my work is useful and good and helping others. Someone needs me in their life and I can’t let them down.