I wrote my suicide note last night... (Written Oct. 18, 2016)
I decided to throw caution to the wind because this post has been sitting in my drafts unpublished for more than 5 years now, so I decided to be true to myself, say a final "Fuck it," and press 'Publish.' Obviously there are a plethora of trigger warnings I feel compelled to list before going forward: drug/alcohol addiction, suicide, abuse, mental health, thoughts of desperation and hopelessness.
I started writing my suicide letters at work two nights ago. I was just sitting there, at my desk taking a mini break, thinking of everything that I've dealt with over the last ten months and how hard I have worked to get absolutely nowhere. I don't know why I'm still alive right now, well, I do a little, but it's not due to some apparent greatness or turn of the moment brilliance that all of a sudden changed my mind. I still want to do it, I just don't want my kids to be the ones to find me.
I didn't want to tell anybody. This isn't a cry for attention because honestly, having been hospitalized for a suicide attempt when I was 14, then attempting suicide again at 19, both due to the abuse I was facing, I know that being hospitalized right now would be the exact opposite of a solution to my problems. I don't care what anyone could have to say on this here Internet -- public perception has never been something I've really worried about. I know this world is cruel. At this point I expect hatefulness and disregard from people. I've never really worried about acceptance from anyone else but myself, but I am definitely in pain. I just don't know how to heal it.
So I'm sitting at my desk designing when I get this overwhelming sadness that overcomes me. I pulled out my journal that I take with me sometimes, and I start writing my goodbyes. The list from highest importance to lowest: my kids, their fathers, my friends, my godparents, Twitter, my mother, my father, the will. I don't really have much, but if something happened to me, I'd want my things divvied up respectfully. Honestly, it was a bit overwhelming trying to organize and plan out all these thoughts. I don't really care how anyone feels about the outcome, but I do care about my feelings being respected.
There's this distance that I feel even now--a separation of sorts--from the rest of the world. I'm not as hopeful for the future as I once was. I believe my children can have whatever they want if they don't fuck up like I did, but I have no clue as to how I'm supposed to get them there. I don't feel I'm truly capable to prepare them the way they should be. Even now, two days later, the residue is still there... I'm not "over it." I still want to do it, I'm just not as intent on doing it. I talked to a few friends. They were upset at my words. I mean, how do you even tell someone you're suicidal and expect them to take you seriously? The ones who are about that life (no pun intended) just do it, right? But there was this overwhelming desire to just end it, to finally let go of the disappointment, negativity and suffocating sense that there is literally no way out for me.
I was brutally abused as a child. My parents are both alcoholics with no sense of responsibility to overcome their addictions. They're functioning addicts so they see it as their diseases are ok going untreated. They don't care about the negativity they bring to a room. There's no sense of remorse or willingness to stop hurting people around them, so I withdraw. I always have. But I'm not safe alone anymore. Inside my head the little girl who couldn't wait to be an adult so I could plan my own future, make my dreams come true and escape the unfortunate circumstances around me whenever my father drank his E&J and Pepsi has gone. She's grown up to be a person who has made mistakes and has tried to rectify those mistakes by moving on and forward, but keeps getting drug back down because of bearing the brunt of others' mistakes as well. "Take the 'L' and move on" has been the mantra of my last 11 years, and I'm tired. I knew being a single mother wouldn't be easy, but I had no clue graduating college wouldn't matter. Being smart, talented, and capable doesn't matter if no one is there to give me a chance.
For years since graduation I have applied to literally hundreds of jobs--all over the country. The stress of applying for a job while unemployed is disheartening at least, but add in my mother's, "You don't do shit," commentary (while paying her rent, putting food in the house, etc.--even throughout college) and my father's, "I told you not to fucking apply for jobs in your field!" (which I wasn't only applying for those jobs, but the whole point of going to college in my field of work was because I wanted to work in that field, so why wouldn't I apply for those jobs, sir?), I think disheartening as a descriptor is an understatement. Knowing that your parents are emotionally, mentally and physically abusive doesn't save you from the shit show. So I applied for a retail job, harassed the manager, nailed the interview and got the job. It was small, but he knew of my potential, stated it, and it was for me, at least, passable until something better came along.
It would be two years post-graduation before something better came along. I had been promised promotion after promotion to no avail. I didn't really want to work in retail the rest of my life anyway, but the promotion business was about more than that. It was about my work ethic being respected, my leadership skills and talent being acknowledged, and the company didn't want to do that. So I took the offer considering I now have a car note and I wanted desperately to move out of my mother's house. I finally received an order for child support for my now 14 year old son (I left his father when he was 3), but he wasn't paying. I have worked multiple jobs before, but being on our own with no friends, no company I didn't want to have to work two jobs and be away from them too long. Plus, I'd much rather just have a job that takes care of the bulk of my bills so I don't have to worry about rent, car, lights, water anymore. Is that really too much to ask?
I didn't want to tell anybody. This isn't a cry for attention because honestly, having been hospitalized for a suicide attempt when I was 14, then attempting suicide again at 19, both due to the abuse I was facing, I know that being hospitalized right now would be the exact opposite of a solution to my problems. I don't care what anyone could have to say on this here Internet -- public perception has never been something I've really worried about. I know this world is cruel. At this point I expect hatefulness and disregard from people. I've never really worried about acceptance from anyone else but myself, but I am definitely in pain. I just don't know how to heal it.
So I'm sitting at my desk designing when I get this overwhelming sadness that overcomes me. I pulled out my journal that I take with me sometimes, and I start writing my goodbyes. The list from highest importance to lowest: my kids, their fathers, my friends, my godparents, Twitter, my mother, my father, the will. I don't really have much, but if something happened to me, I'd want my things divvied up respectfully. Honestly, it was a bit overwhelming trying to organize and plan out all these thoughts. I don't really care how anyone feels about the outcome, but I do care about my feelings being respected.
There's this distance that I feel even now--a separation of sorts--from the rest of the world. I'm not as hopeful for the future as I once was. I believe my children can have whatever they want if they don't fuck up like I did, but I have no clue as to how I'm supposed to get them there. I don't feel I'm truly capable to prepare them the way they should be. Even now, two days later, the residue is still there... I'm not "over it." I still want to do it, I'm just not as intent on doing it. I talked to a few friends. They were upset at my words. I mean, how do you even tell someone you're suicidal and expect them to take you seriously? The ones who are about that life (no pun intended) just do it, right? But there was this overwhelming desire to just end it, to finally let go of the disappointment, negativity and suffocating sense that there is literally no way out for me.
I was brutally abused as a child. My parents are both alcoholics with no sense of responsibility to overcome their addictions. They're functioning addicts so they see it as their diseases are ok going untreated. They don't care about the negativity they bring to a room. There's no sense of remorse or willingness to stop hurting people around them, so I withdraw. I always have. But I'm not safe alone anymore. Inside my head the little girl who couldn't wait to be an adult so I could plan my own future, make my dreams come true and escape the unfortunate circumstances around me whenever my father drank his E&J and Pepsi has gone. She's grown up to be a person who has made mistakes and has tried to rectify those mistakes by moving on and forward, but keeps getting drug back down because of bearing the brunt of others' mistakes as well. "Take the 'L' and move on" has been the mantra of my last 11 years, and I'm tired. I knew being a single mother wouldn't be easy, but I had no clue graduating college wouldn't matter. Being smart, talented, and capable doesn't matter if no one is there to give me a chance.
For years since graduation I have applied to literally hundreds of jobs--all over the country. The stress of applying for a job while unemployed is disheartening at least, but add in my mother's, "You don't do shit," commentary (while paying her rent, putting food in the house, etc.--even throughout college) and my father's, "I told you not to fucking apply for jobs in your field!" (which I wasn't only applying for those jobs, but the whole point of going to college in my field of work was because I wanted to work in that field, so why wouldn't I apply for those jobs, sir?), I think disheartening as a descriptor is an understatement. Knowing that your parents are emotionally, mentally and physically abusive doesn't save you from the shit show. So I applied for a retail job, harassed the manager, nailed the interview and got the job. It was small, but he knew of my potential, stated it, and it was for me, at least, passable until something better came along.
It would be two years post-graduation before something better came along. I had been promised promotion after promotion to no avail. I didn't really want to work in retail the rest of my life anyway, but the promotion business was about more than that. It was about my work ethic being respected, my leadership skills and talent being acknowledged, and the company didn't want to do that. So I took the offer considering I now have a car note and I wanted desperately to move out of my mother's house. I finally received an order for child support for my now 14 year old son (I left his father when he was 3), but he wasn't paying. I have worked multiple jobs before, but being on our own with no friends, no company I didn't want to have to work two jobs and be away from them too long. Plus, I'd much rather just have a job that takes care of the bulk of my bills so I don't have to worry about rent, car, lights, water anymore. Is that really too much to ask?
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