Choosing Life

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.)