QG, another blogger, left me a lovely, caring, and compassionate plea today on one of my former posts about suicide. Due to her reaction, and the comments of a couple of other people I feel compelled to write this post.
A couple of words about how I blog. Normally, in my life I edit my writing words ruthlessly. I reread, edit, change things until it comes out just perfectly. I also struggle with doing this in all parts of my life. I'm careful about what I say, I bite my tongue, I choose to not open myself up to people. I am careful to keep myself private and locked away from public view. And I'm careful about the person I present to people. This is probably a narcissistic flea to some extent. I just don't want to draw any attention to myself, negatively or positively, so I remain closed and 'edited'. With my blog, I wanted to be real and unedited and unvarnished. I rarely reread old posts. I barely skim them for grammar and spelling (and I only started this after I realized I my typos were confusing to readers). I can do this without really reading my words. Sometimes I don't reread the posts because I can't bring myself to. Sometimes I don't reread them because I want to move past them. But mostly, I want to be careful about editing myself. I want to speak truthfully to myself on here. I want to write authentically for myself. Otherwise, what the hell is the point?
A lot of my blog posts start out as a feeling in my stomach. Writing all of this has brought up a lot of memories. My NM REFUSED to allow me to process the crap in my childhood. When I brought it up, she denied things, attacked me and my character, or started crying like I had beat her. I hid so many things from other people that happened to me. And these memories started to bubble up. I would get a nauseous feeling inside of me, the toxicity of the memory would bubble up. And blogging felt like an opportunity to vomit that memory out of me. To expel the toxicity of my childhood from me. I always feel relieved and lighter and healthier when I purge those memories.
The suicidal memories kept popping up. (Ironically, as my sister is being swallowed by a pit of despair, this is also the memory that is triggering her. I wish I could help her...) Anyway, I also felt I needed to be honest with my self about my own attempts. I needed to put it out there. I needed to quit hiding my secrets. I'd been embarrassed by the fact that I'd gotten that "low" that "weak". I wanted to quit being ashamed of it. I wanted others to know that they can move past it too. For ACoNs in particular, I imagine the reasons for suicide have a slightly different flavor than other people's (and this is just my speculation). I kept feeling like other people were telling me that I was a problem. That other people had implied, oh so subtly, that without me, life would be better. That I was the root of all problems. And I couldn't reconcile that with my heart. I knew, somewhere that I was not a horrible person who caused all these other people's problems, despite how much they blamed me. I felt myself struggling desperately for myself. For my life. To find hope that I did deserve to be and fuck them.
My last moment of suicide was over half a year ago. I am not suicidal now. At all. I'm not naive enough to think it may never come back, but I don't think it will. Why? you ask. Because that moment was the last moment before I was awakened to NPD. I'm sure some people will think I'm a freak for saying this, but I think some angel (or something) guided me out of that moment by helping me discover NPD. Shortly after this incident, I stumbled upon NPD. I have a psych background, saw the prompt for NPD symptoms, thought 'that might be interesting', and clicked on it. And the rest, my friends, you know. I found blogs and Kiki and Upsi. I found lists and descriptions. I felt hope for the first time in a long time. I started my blog. I made some friends. I felt better. And I continue to feel better. I believe in myself for the first damn time in my life. I have changed. I still have a long way to go, but I go no longer "unknow" the knowledge that forever changed my life.
I wanted others to know that I am OK. I appreciated the concern and the outreach. But I don't want anyone worrying needlessly that I'm going to go to that place again. I am so much better than I was. And I felt badly that someone might be thinking I was currently battling suicidal thoughts and waste worry on me. I'm good. I may need you all in the future. I may find a dark day. I doubt I'll sink that far again. And if I do, I'll rush myself to the therapist faster than shit.
Thanks for reading. Thanks for your friendship. Thanks for caring. You've helped change my life (not to be all sappy and stuff.)
I related to a lot of this post. Maybe especially the idea of what I present to the world vs who I am inside. I don't present a false front, just a muted & edited one (as you called it ). I have literally realized in the past couple months that my shiny happy exterior is a deliberate (if unconscious) ruse -- because people don't question pleasant, cheerful folk. We're practically invisible. It doesn't feel like a lie to me, but it's like an instinct. The less I stir up anything other than calm in others, the safer I am. But when my troubling emotions inevitably begin to surface, I wish myself gone or dead. It's both scary and angry at the same time, and god forbid I need anything.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, great post. And I hope you don't start feeling suicidal again. I like having you around. :)
Thanks VR. I'm liking being around. It's kind of fun.
DeleteI have been mulling around some of these thoughts for another post that I've been thinking about. I'll probably still write that one, but as I was thinking about how I present myself, it kept coming up like this: vanilla. I kept thinking saying I'm a "perfectionist" didn't really fit me. Yet, I was presenting an image to the world that was edited. And being perfect isn't my thing. In fact, I hated to be thought of as "perfect" too. And then I stumbled upon vanilla. Not good, not bad. Not happy, not sad. Nothing. Neutral. Taupe ;). Anything to not draw attention to myself. And I think it is an instinct to not draw attention to myself. If I was good at anything, my NM liked to take me down a peg (as do some other narcs in my life). Being "bad" brought on shame and little happy dances from my narcs. They LOVE any and all opportunities to find fault with me.
I go through dark moments. My blog is my way of kicking out of my head what I can't quiet by letting go or thinking about something else.
ReplyDeleteMe too, Judy.
DeleteOh to be vanilla or taupe! Lol. My mom stuck me with "odd". Lucky for me, I embrace being a weirdo now.
ReplyDeleteMy mom calls herself perfect, so I reject that one too. It's too hard to maintain and definitely isn't part of being a human being.
I think I was always considered 'odd' too by NM. I think i chose vanilla. But I'm cool with weird. Weird is good!
DeleteI can relate, Jessie. I still have suicidal feelings, ideation, when I feel too small and fucked up to face life. It always passes, but it still happens. So to hear that you have even 6 months of living free of these feelings gives me hope: that it can get better.
ReplyDeleteIt's also really thoughtful of you to offer this update because it's a tough subject and carries all kinds of connotations. But I think keeping inside makes it worse. Glad that you are letting all that stuff out - and glad you found us.
There was a scene in The Walking Dead where one girl was like, why the fuck even try to live if we're just going to get torn up by the zombies? And her family rushed to her side to say no, don't do it, we love you, we want you to live. But there was one woman who had been on the edge herself, and she gave the girl a knife and let her go into the bathroom by herself. She told her to decide for herself. That she had to make the choice to live for herself. It was some seriously compelling TV and touched a part of me that wanted permission to make it my CHOICE to live, not just because I shouldn't want to die.
xo
upsi
I think we all have to take our lives back and decide to chose to live, chose to be ourselves, chose to let go. It's hard.
DeleteUpsi, we seem to like the same kind of TV. Damn, I wish that we could beam ourselves into a room together and pass the popcorn. I have such a hard time relating to many people, but when I do relate to them, their like my freaking tribe. Can you imagine how awesome it would be to just hang out together without agendas? It'd be like oxygen. ACoN slumber party!
ReplyDeleteJessie, if I might be so presumptuous, if you have an interest in stopping by my blog, just email me at vicariousrising at msn dot com.
Sign me up, VR, I'll veg hard with your sweetass self. freakin tribal style. get the teleporter warmed up.
DeleteThanks for this post and the assurance that you are in a place where suicide isn't pushing for attention. I understand the need to look at suicide from the perspective of why do I feel this way. My counselor was surprise when he realized I wasn't afraid of dying, I was afraid of living. I really connected with your statement "I kept feeling like other people were telling me that I was a problem. That other people had implied, oh so subtly, that without me, life would be better." When I considered suicide I felt in a weird way I would be doing what they wanted getting myself out of their way so they could be happy. Fortunately, I hung on. I also learned that if I was out of the way they just found something or someone else to blame. I admire your courage and I agree we don't unlearn what brought us to this new place of living.
ReplyDeleteThanks Ruth.
DeleteI've been on antidepressant meds for a few years because every time I'd wean myself off, the darkness was right there waiting for me. When I decided to start blogging, I wasn't fully conscious of the therapeutic benefit, but it's awesome. Having a forum to express myself in is helping me deal with my dark.
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing your experiences, guys.
I think writing it out has a huge benefit. Glad you are here Bess.
Deleteme too.
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