Depression and Suicide Part 2

Writing in the diary helped, it didn't help much, at the time it seemed a good idea. Looking at the diary now its gibberish, the writings of a desperate man close to the edge. The edge of what? I ask myself now, simple answer, I have no idea.

One of my biggest problems is thinking too much, its not a good thing, the simple stuff yea sure anyone can do that, like how far does space really go and how long is it before the world comes to a stop, simple shit like that is easy to answer, its the difficult stuff that gets me, like how can a good relationship turn sour right after getting married or how is it possible to be in an abusive relationship without knowing it?

I'm still not really sure of the answers, don't think I ever will. Some people say that getting married doesn't change anything, yea ok, well it does , it changes a lot of things, it changes how you look at each other, it changes how much effort goes into the relationship, those two rings and a bit of paper have a lot to be responsible for.

Referring back to my diary.

Page after page, right at the top it says "Do Not Contact Her" that was very difficult to do, I didn't recognise the downward spiral I was in, I tried not to dump on my friends to much, I mean who wants to hear some bloke droning on about how shit life is day after day? So no, I didn't and couldn't do that every day, I sat in my kitchen window contemplating where and how life had got so fucked up. The more I sat and thought about things the more bad thoughts entered my head the more I didn't sleep properly, stopped eating, stopped washing, stopped giving a fuck, my attitude started to swing more and more to putting an end to things.

Facebook? That was both a good and bad thing, I vented on facebook a lot, I didn't give a fuck what anybody thought about that, I still don't, I got lots of encouragement messages, quite a few man up ones as well, well fuck you then, those ones obviously didn't understand, so I started kicking them out my life. I have no regrets about that, I got rid of all her family members, got rid of anybody that had a slight connection with her however tenuous, that is the ones that didn't mean anything to me.

I suppose boredom was a factor, far to much time to think, no job at that time, nothing to really occupy my mind, I had a few books, no radio, no television, no internet, it was quiet, so very very quiet. Describing this downward spiral is harder than I thought it would be. What crossed my mind more than anything was, why? What had I done that was so wrong? Why did I fall for her in the first place? Why did she manipulate me so much? What gave her the right to tell me what I could and couldn't do? Why did it feel like my fault? and down the spiral I went, day after day, night after night.

I must have stank to high heaven, nothing was getting me out of the funk, no words of encouragement, made any difference, the things that people said I didn't believe anyway, and I knew that nobody believed me, why would they? after all men don't suffer abusive relationships from women do they? or that's what I thought, so everything must have been down to me, so it must be my fault, something must be wrong with me, I just cant see what it is. Further and further down, down lower than I have ever been in my life. 

I got desperate. Desperate for someone to believe me, desperate for someone to just say "its ok". My tired brain started to work overtime, started to make things up, started to make connections that didn't exist, I started to distrust everyone. I made a list, a list of all the things she had done over the years, I did it in the front of my diary, one thing after another, over three pages, it started at the beginning, with her pouring molten wax over my junk, even though I didn't want her to, it finished with the day she lied to the police about me.

I read that list over and over, I read it so many times that I would dream about it. The more I read it the further down I went, that damn list took over my life, the more I read it the further down I went, the further down I went the more I read it, a vicious never ending circle of misery that I created, so it went on day after day.

Gin helped, it helped about as much as a lead weight, half a bottle a day, sometimes the whole bottle, then Brandy at night, in hot chocolate, just to make oblivion a little easier, it didn't make anything easier, I just thought it did. The only easy thing was reading that list! and smoking, smoking was easy.

Sat in my kitchen window one morning, by this time I had stopped getting dressed and going out, I was reading that list again, a small voice in my mind spoke up, I don't know what prompted it or where it came from, I remember it well "Enough, finish it" what the fuck does that mean? "Go, out the window, theres nothing left, finish it"

That was it, my way out of this hell, away from all this shit, away from that list, away from the horrors of the last 12 years or so, suicide, oblivion, a release from this living hell. Things became very calm at that point, putting the diary down, I grabbed my phone, why did I grab my phone? I have no idea! I opened my kitchen window, climbed up onto the window sill and started to climb through.

It was simple enough, climb through the window and dive head first into the concrete below, crack the skull open, obliterate the stupid brain matter, job done, no more worries or cares forever. Just that welcoming darkness that is death. 

It wasn't my time, I was not on the reapers list to die that day, I wasn't scared or anything, very calm in fact, its just a big voice shouted in my brain "STOP! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, SHE'S NOT WORTH DYING OVER!" I climbed back inside, collapsed onto my kitchen floor and cried. Sobbed is the proper word for it, sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, I couldn't stop, for the rest of that day I would sob every five minutes or so, I couldn't control it, I didn't want to control it, every time I sobbed I felt a little bit better. It felt strange, It felt almost alien, I guess things had been bottling up for a long while.

I had hit rock bottom, no two ways about it, I had got as low as I was going. From here on in the only way was up.

Coming soon

Depression and Suicide Part 3

My Kitchen