(Don’t) Kill Yourself?

Sometimes we can’t live with what we’ve done to others, or the pain that others have caused us. Sometimes the things that people do to us screw us up so bad that it’s pretty likely we’ll never be the same again. Sometimes, life just really, really sucks. So if life is this bad and things aren’t ever going to get better, what are the alternatives?

Week 1, Day 7

I’ve felt satisfied and fulfilled, and frustrated and scared. Today, I was hit with a powerful burst of longing for the life I used to have. Mostly, I’ve been tired. It’s been hard getting used to sleeping in the cold, and even though I’ve managed to stay quite warm under the blankets with layers of clothes, it’s never easy to poke my head up into the frosty air.

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Today is the first day of the rest of my life. or at least that’s what the dramatic voice over in my head is telling me.

Love Languages? – Conclusion

I hope that we can build relationships with others where love can flow freely. By understanding when people are trying to love us or trying to ask for love, we can probably clear up a lot of the backlog that causes people to try and take that love by force, or force it on others, which is part of the cause of abuse.

Love Languages? – Gifts

Don’t get me wrong, I loved receiving gifts as a child. I loved birthdays and Christmas mornings and opening up the packages. We sometimes even got Easter gifts. I loved trying to find gifts for friends and family that they would like. We occasionally did Operation Christmas Child.

Love Languages? – Physical Touch

ouching can be more complicated than the other love languages. It’s the opposite of something like acts of service or gifts in that it brings you more up-close-and-personal with someone else. It’s a lot harder to go stealth with this love language.

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So I wonder, does God see only the fiftieth time that I’ve messed up that day? Does He hear my cries when my heart can’t take it anymore? Does He hold my dreams as tenderly as I do? Does He look at the efforts I expend to try and make the world a better place and smile? The same way I smile when I see my son doing the same?

Love Languages? – Acts of Service

I think there are necessary maintenance activities for each love language, but there’s also enhancement activities that really bring people closer. The “tinglies,” as I mentioned. Which isn’t always romantic. It’s that little jolt of love you get when someone really connects with you.

Love Languages? – Words of Affirmation

And yet, I dream of being famous and having accolades and being appreciated by the masses. I dream of having adoring fans who fall in love with my work and tell me that I’ve touched their lives in one way or another. I also dream of having friends who compliment how smart, helpful, beautiful, and integral I am to them.

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Sleep calls to you, but it’s a siren song, beckoning you to ruin. No, best stay in the middle and not seek solace on the shores to the left or to the right. Best not to even look overboard, because you might be dragged over before you even know what’s happening, and then where would you be?

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What will I do? What will I do to help it pass so that I don’t do something destructive? So that I can keep going after this interruption and still achieve some things today? 

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I write this on behalf of you and other survivors who can’t face their abusers. I write this on behalf of my own child who will one day realize the extent of the damage that my own pain caused him. I do hope that I can be well enough one day to receive his honesty and honour his story, but if I can’t, at least he’ll know that once upon a time I knew how he feels. I also write this on behalf of the perpetrators of emotional violence, like I myself sometimes am.

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So, sometimes I forget that I have this thing. Sometimes, life will be going so well that I forget that I’m sick. All it takes is a few good days, and for some reason, my brain thinks that I’m cured, that I’ll never have a bad day again, or if I do, it will feel different, and I’ll be able to rise above.

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So I wonder, does God see only the fiftieth time that I’ve messed up that day? Does He hear my cries when my heart can’t take it anymore? Does He hold my dreams as tenderly as I do? Does He look at the efforts I expend to try and make the world a better place and smile? The same way I smile when I see my son doing the same?

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I don’t know what your story is. What I know is that even if your trauma isn’t “as bad” as mine, I won’t hold it against you for having a more severe reaction than me. And I hope you can understand that even if my trauma isn’t as bad as yours and I still can’t keep it together like you, it’s not because I’m trying to take attention from your pain, or imply that people like us are incapable of healing. I don’t want to disrespect your trauma by appearing to complain about something that seems minor to you.

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From deep in this wretched pit, I’m the most philosophical, because my mind has disconnected from my brain somewhat. My metaphysical musings and self-reflection on the nature and causes of this miserable existence of mine become as sharp as glass, while the rest of the world fades away into a manageable haze.

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In our sunnier days, we might get involved in things that we think might make us feel better. But we can’t see into the future to know how we’ll actually feel when the time comes around. Something that we were excited about when we took it on suddenly looms terrifying. Why did we get ourselves into it? Instead of stressing about it today, we could just have the day off to sleep and not dream.

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Honestly, I should make a list of all of the weird borderline moments I’ve had. With a lot of distance, they start to become almost funny. But my hope is that if you have these thoughts too, you’ll see that you’re not the only one, and even if it doesn’t make the feelings go away, you’ll feel a little less stupid for feeling that way.

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I wanted to keep track of how I’ve been feeling throughout these endless cycles, and share with you ways of rising above and moving beyond these bricks that keep landing in our path. Ways of coping that allow us to live lives that we can be proud of, even if it’s just a quarter mile at a time. But I know what it’s like to sit there, knowing there are all sorts of things that need your attention, but those things are like bats beating their wings outside of your glass box.

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Poverty keeps us waiting. Waiting in lines, waiting for applications to be approved, waiting to see a specialist who might be able to help. Waiting in droves, waiting forever, always with the high possibility that we’re just not bad off enough yet, and we must go back to the start and try again.