Too be honest

To be honest

By: Silentsally

When the therapist asked me if I wanted to kill myself, If I thought in my head “is life worth living” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know the answer, and it opened an old wound that I didn’t want to feel or haven’t felt in a long time. I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that question to my face before. I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t say anything. I looked at her for a long time. that question scares me, honestly. Honestly it scares me, because I don’t know the answer, I never know the answer, I want to say no because I feel like that’s the most humane answer possible. But, I can’t fully say no. because it’s not the truth. And I can’t say yes. I couldn’t say yes, because saying yes means that I am an “at risk” human. That means the therapist will tell my mother. And then after that it means … well I don’t exactly know what it means. And I guess that’s the part I don’t know, and I’m scared of. And I don’t want to die. I really don’t. because there is a little piece of me that has hope. A little piece of me that believes I will get better. And I want to get better, I’m not like a depressed girl who enjoys dwelling in their own hole of insecurities and self-hate. And I don’t hate myself, it’s just that I go through these things I like to call dots. I call them dots because every time it happens I imagine an ink drop falling a piece of paper I like to call my life, just interrupting the positive wave length I’m going through. I could be smiling, laughing, having the best conversation in my life, and then just like that; Bam! A dot, a stupid ugly dot that just wants to ruin my life and everything I have going for me. And during one of these dots, I contemplate everything possible to mankind. I go through one of these dots at least 5 times a day, well today I’ve went through two so far, new record. Anyway, back to the dots. During the dots I want to cut myself, everything around me turns dark, I find disgust in myself, suicide becomes an option. Sometimes I want to run away, and I become very tired. And I don’t do anything in a day so there is no reason for me to be tired, and I really don’t like going through these dots. But I have no control over my life. Or my mind. Its like I’m in the sunken place from get out and I’m just watching myself contemplate death right in front of my eyes. And right before my mind goes to a place of no return, there is a little voice in my head that says “no!” “please” “your sister” “your friends” “don’t do this” and that little voice is the only reason I think I haven’t drowned by now. If I didn’t have the voice I don’t know where I would be by now. Anyway, I got side tracked back to the therapist. Once she asked that question all I could say was “sometimes” but inside of my it was like my brain was saying “YES! JESUS FINALLY SOMEONE ASKS! TELL HER THE TRUTH” and I was to pussy to tell her, I guess I do need the help. I’m scared of help, because I don’t know what will happen, I don’t tell anyone my thoughts and my feelings because I don’t want to be treated like a glass. I don’t want people to treat me like I’m going to break, because if we are being completely honest, I’m already broken. I’m still broken and I’m going to continue to be broken. Nothing is going to change. And I don’t want people to blame everything on my depression. Like “oh she’s wearing a jean jacket in 90-degree weather, she obviously has cuts on her arm. Aw that poor thing” when in reality, when I actually do have cuts on my arm I’m wearing a short sleeve shirt, maybe I’m wearing a jean jacket because I like the way it looks with my outfit. I don’t know, I don’t tell people how I feel. I know the healthy thing to do is tell someone like “okay look, I’m going through this thing and I really have been contemplating suicide or cutting and I know I shouldn’t be doing this stuff, but I can’t help it. I can’t help thinking that way and don’t tell me I’m perfect or I’m beautiful or you shouldn’t be feeling this sort of pain, you don’t deserve it. Because I do, I really do, I don’t deserve anything I have, I don’t deserve the outpour of love I get from my mother, or the undeniable reassurance from my father, or the support for anything from my boyfriend. I really don’t. so, I don’t want you to treat me like I’m different. Or that I’m a glass. I’m a normal human being, and I just want to tell you that I’m thinking because it’s the most human thing to do.” That’s my suicide confession right there. That is what I would say if I was to tell any one who asked me that question or said “are you contemplating suicide” because I really want to say that but instead I laugh it off and say “um no” or “sometimes, it’s not that serious” when it really is. I want someone to just save me. I know it’s a cliché thought but I really want someone to save me because I can’t do it for myself. I need help and I don’t know how to ask…. Wow I should’ve just said all of that when the therapist asked do you want to kill yourself.