a Bittersweet Breakthrough

PSA: This post is about suicidal thoughts.

Disassociation. That’s what I have to call it, because “constantly bombarded by a graphic, intense obsession with suicide” is off-putting. It also sounds absolutely fucking crazy. Yet, it’s been my reality for thirty years.

I’ve tried to tell people. I’ve worded it carefully and crassly, described it in writing and over coffee, in lengthy text paragraphs and mumbled check-ins with friends. I’ve called it “suicidal ideation,” placed it in a “symptom box,” and allowed it to coexist with my brain, like a nice tame demon in my head.

But the true horror of it can’t be told. Y’all look at me with my sparkles and my twirling and you think I’ve got it mainly under control. High functioning crazy lady, or maybe not all that crazy at all maybe just making attention-seeking victim content – and I don’t blame anyone for any judgements like that about me. Because I am about as high functioning as they come, huh?

I smile loudly to drown out the suicide screaming inside my head.

Had I not the skills and spirituality I do, I would’ve been gone already. And this often feels like a lie to say. But, thankfully, things got real bad again this summer and I finally reached out for help – like, ongoing help, a “real doctor,” in the form of therapy (she’s woo woo but she’s accredited and that’s enough for me).

Anyway. We finally figured out where this is coming from, and it’s kind of bittersweet.

I don’t really want to suicide myself. Sure, I get hopeless and depressed and frustrated, but I learned long ago to separate myself from my pesky thoughts. I am not the obsession; it just lives here.

Turns out, when I really looked at it – this screaming urge inside my head – I recognized her. She is the very well established subconscious voice of an 8-year-old version of me that has decided to take her destiny into her own hands. The “I can just kill myself right now” urge is old programming, like a suicide pill hidden in the pocket of a coat I used to wear when I was behind enemy lines, developed at a time when people literally were trying to kill me (or threatening it, or killing parts of my soul, one trauma at a time).

So it’s not even darkness. It’s not even sickness. It’s not even a fucking symptom.

It’s deep, embedded, established neuropathway nonsense that attempts to hijack my life (to save it!!!) whenever my defenses are down, or chaos comes to call, or I feel uncertain about the future. This “you should jump off a cliff” urge is a very brave and loving little me that is attempting a final fail-safe of control, of free will, of … if not “happy,” at least “not defeated.”

Cool, cool. So my brain really is trying to kill me. All day, every day. Honestly – that felt like a relief to hear.

I am told we can retrain this little me. I’ve already started … in fact, for her to even be visible, to have come out of hiding from the depths of my soul, and to let me see her for who she is (instead of the demon I let myself make her into), took incredible courage. She is ready to heal, to be loved, to consider an alternate ending: a long life. A happy life. A life without torture – at all.

PSA: I do not want to, nor plan to, hurt or kill myself or anyone else. This is being shared from a place of empowerment and transparency, in hopes I may connect with like-hearted others. I am under the supervision of a therapist, so no further reporting is necessary.