19.7.2000

When I was six I wanted to die. I remember it clear as the day because of the guilt that followed afterwards. It wasn't a worthy attempt, I could never have succeeded, but I was six. I knew nothing about the human body, I knew nothing about death. I was a bright kid though. I never told anyone about it.

Of the about eleven close people I've ever had, family or otherwise, six or seven have been suicidal. A few have attempted, others haven't, none of them have succeeded this far.

I've been more or less willing to die on a permanent basis since I was nine or ten. Before that there was a brief period of being absolutely terrified of death and dying, and later, even when I was willing, it still took some time to get used to it. I was a very timid kid but I had reasons for it. There are only a few things I've never been afraid of. In fact, right now, I can't think of anything. Maybe books, though. Not much else.

I'm not sure what counts as 'active suicidality', therefore I can't say how long I've actively tried to kill myself. Most of the attempts have been very feeble indeed. None of them have ever been anywhere near succeeding. This doesn't make me want to die any less, nor does it make me want to die any more.

I've had SAD since I was eleven, maybe. I remember thinking I had SAD because I matched all the symptoms. I still do. Even cloudy days make me noticeably down. I should probably seek treatment and I think I will, next winter, because I can't live like that anymore. I spent last year... desperate. I couldn't even move. This summer I wonder how I could possibly lie down so much, how I could bear with having absolutely nothing to do. But last winter was, for me, a certain type of bliss. I didn't even have to try the impossible. Because nowadays 'real life' is something that's almost impossible.

I remember hoping my father would kill himself. I remember hoping my parents would kill each other because at least that would make it stop. I imagined my parents dying in a thousand different ways and it made me feel better, both because I hated them and because it made me hope that it would end at some point.

My role-model for cutting is my father. My shrink said I should rationalise, try to think of it from his point of view but I think that's useless. Otherwise she might've been a bright shrink, but that's what she got wrong. I've done enough thinking of his point of view. More than enough, thank you.

When I was young I thought that everyone was better off dead. I think I still think that way, I just managed to forget it. Perhaps I shouldn't have, because I'd probably be less alive right now, but lamenting the past is unnecessary and a waste of time.

I found a.s.h. when I was 16, or something. I remember reading it but the realisation that I actually belong didn't come right away, it took a few months. It was weird to realise there were other people like me. The same thing with self-injury, I didn't even know it had a name before I found Llama central. And I had never thought of suicide as an acceptable option for me before. I mean, yes, I wanted to die, but I still associated a lot of the guilt I had felt earlier with it. Ash made me realise that it's not a bad thing. That I'm entitled to live like I want to, not always like others want me to. It was the best thing to happen to me, even if some might argue that it made me more likely to make serious attempts. It also gave me methods, which I didn't have before.

But in the end, the fact that there are others like me, has been a source of great comfort over the years. I feel better about my life, sometimes, because of it. It helps me to rationalise, occasionally vent.
The worst thing about ash is that it regularly forces me to go through painful times. I like those people, I feel somehow connected to them. We share something (unlike me and the rest of the population) and therefore it pains me when they leave. They're very dear and very important to me, even if I don't 'know' them in the traditional sense. I'm sure a lot of people share this feeling.

I've grown accumstoned to the pain because I think of it as natural thing, and even a good thing because it forces me to feel. Feeling is something I'd normally avoid.
But I don't read ash all the time, it's emotionally too difficult sometimes. It's also very useful when I try to learn what I can deal with and what I cannot deal with, btw, just because of that pain it causes me sometimes. However, in certain real-life situations you can't break free from the pain. You can't close the computer, sit down and wait till the pain diminishes (because it always does).

This is no one's fault, of course. It differs from ash in one important aspect, merely the real-life -thing. Even if it's very comforting to have ash around, even if I feel connected to those people, I don't really know them and therefore I can't care about them that much. When I cry for losing them, I cry for myself. I cry out my disappointment with life, I cry out my fear and love of death, I cry because of how unfair it is to me and to them. But I don't cry because I love and adore those people, because their leaving leaves a gaping, permanent hole in my heart.

This is how I cry for people who I lose in real life. Real-life can sometimes be so odd... relative. I might fall in love with people I've never met, whom I might never meet. People who are more important than various real-life acquintances.

I don't call T because I know she doesn't really want to see me, nor do I want to see her. But I don't call P. because I'm frightened. I know what the loss will feel like. I don't want to like him. I don't want him to like me. Even then, I'd do almost anything just to meet him. Anything other than go through my own private hell. I know I can't keep him away forever. I know I can't have him forever. Everyone either dies or goes away.

I'm frightened because I like him too much. I wrote it once before and I meant it then in the same sense I mean it today. Remember me writing (of course you don't but that doesn't matter) about how I wanted to write about something but I was too afraid to? Well, that was about him. And what I would've said is that he's too important. "I'm unwise to concentrate so strongly on one person but I'll get hurt whatever I do." Those could've been my words, some time ago. Now I just don't care about other people, and whereas it doesn't really change the situation at all, it helps because I'm not constantly beating myself for not talking to more people. The whole point was just to avoid ending up in the exact situation where I am now. (And it's impossible to beat myself for it because I can't change it anymore.)

I can't help it and I don't even want to help it, in a way. It's impossible to fight emotions. Even if you think they're useless and stupid and... everything negative. Because I don't feel that way. I don't feel horrible and negative and useless. I feel good. I feel good when I think of him. You should know that by now. And on the other hand, the thought of pain losing him will cause frightens me to no end. That's the rational side, that's the side that tells me I'm not taking good enough care of myself. That's the side that says that people are horrible and hurtful and dangerous.

But he doesn't make me feel afraid. It's my courage that frightens me. It's the lack of control I'm almost willing to go through. It's the fact that I'd sacrifice everything if he asked. It's the fact that I call him when he asks just because he asks, even if I'm frigtened to death, even if I would rather do almost anything.
Just because he asks.

Can you imagine what losing him makes me feel like?
I was willing, before, to bottle it up inside me which would've eventually caused an emotional death, but today I don't want that anymore. I'm never past the point of caring. That causes (and has caused) me much grief. And it will continue to do that. I'm frightened for myself. I'm horribly frightened for myself.

Still, I can't stop caring about him. Still, I can't... I cling on him too much. I try to warn myself but I can't make myself listen. I can't make my emotions stop. They're (=I am) more or less out of my control.
Lack of control always frightens me, for practical reasons.

I should probably meet up with a therapist again.
I never allowed myself to regret any of my attempts. I never allowed myself to feel anything.
I'm too broken for this. I'll end up in a disaster. If I was wise, I wouldn't. I would sort this out with a therapist and arrive at some conclusion about the unhealthiness of these emotions and how they're only projections and blah blah blah. What frightens me is the lack of willingness to be rational. That makes me think the shrink would probably be right. That makes me think I'm going to have to sort this out. That makes me feel real and reality hurts.

- . -

I'll miss him. I already do.

Back again.