Can you imagine that I feel so much pain that if I had a gun right now I would hold it against my head and shoot?
Can you imagine that it hurts me even more knowing that I can’t do this? Because I know that pulling the trigger wouldn’t make anything better. Pulling the trigger wouldn’t get me what I want. Pulling the trigger wouldn’t make me happy.
It’s the realisation that no solace can be found in death that truly makes this experience so painful. It’s because it means I’m stuck with these feelings and can’t do anything about them. It’s because for all I know I have x amount of days left in which I have to deal with this feeling and the thought of this, the weight of this implication, is too heavy for me to carry.
People make to-do lists when they have so much to do that it overwhelms them. Once the activities are written down in a neat, contained list, it can suddenly seem manageable again.
In order to come down from this feeling, I have to make the thought of living bearable too. Ironically enough, living isn’t as hard as it seems. I’m breathing so I’m alive. All I have to do is keep on breathing; nothing else is expected of me. Not at this moment. Not until I’m ready to do more.
The imaginary gun disappears and I’m left feeling empty. In just a few minutes, sleep will take me. I’ve made it another day. I’ve given myself another chance to be happy.
I’m okay because I can write about this rather than suffering in silence.