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The problem is that I lived the first chunk of my life with the idea that I was going to die. Mostly, suicide. But I lived a life of purposeful isolation. I am close with my family and I have one close friend I've managed to keep, but I've still managed those relationships in a manner that if I were to die tomorrow I know they'd be okay. I am not important to anyone, and I've conciously made it that way.
The problem is, I don't want to live that way anymore. I made the decision several years ago that suicide wasn't an option for me anymore. I threw away all the collections of pills, I made a conscious effort to stop all the self harming behavior I had allowed to grow. I made a concerted effort to LIVE. And it went pretty well for about a year or two.
Then I very slowly sank back down into nothingness. And I've been living that way for about eight years now. I have no friends. I have a job that I enjoy but is extremely isolating. I wake up, I work, I sleep. I can go days without talking to anyone other than the few people via work.
I've lost my way.
I used to have a personality. I used to have opinions and style and thoughts and dreams. Right now I have nothing. And I've floated along long enough. I am fighting and clawing my way out of this, but every single day is a struggle. A struggle to even remember I want to try, let alone actually making the effort.
I'm hoping getting back into writing and keeping a journal will help me. I want to write about the things I try, the things that work and don't, the attempts and the failures. But I want to keep trying, and even if nobody but myself reads this it still feels like writing it down is a minimal attempt at accountability. So here we are.
The problem is, I don't want to live that way anymore. I made the decision several years ago that suicide wasn't an option for me anymore. I threw away all the collections of pills, I made a conscious effort to stop all the self harming behavior I had allowed to grow. I made a concerted effort to LIVE. And it went pretty well for about a year or two.
Then I very slowly sank back down into nothingness. And I've been living that way for about eight years now. I have no friends. I have a job that I enjoy but is extremely isolating. I wake up, I work, I sleep. I can go days without talking to anyone other than the few people via work.
I've lost my way.
I used to have a personality. I used to have opinions and style and thoughts and dreams. Right now I have nothing. And I've floated along long enough. I am fighting and clawing my way out of this, but every single day is a struggle. A struggle to even remember I want to try, let alone actually making the effort.
I'm hoping getting back into writing and keeping a journal will help me. I want to write about the things I try, the things that work and don't, the attempts and the failures. But I want to keep trying, and even if nobody but myself reads this it still feels like writing it down is a minimal attempt at accountability. So here we are.
