my preoccupation with death
a brief outline, without much detail for now:
i took an overdose of baby aspirins at age 3 (family-sized bottle), knowing it was dangerous. at about 8, i told my mother i wanted to die. my family moved a lot, and my parents split up when i was 9. i excelled in school wherever we went, but i was always uncomfortable and didn't feel like i fit in. by age 13, i had conscious awareness that i was severely depressed. by age 14, i was so anxious that going to school caused me to sweat profusely, shake, and have excruciating stomach pains. doctors couldn't find anything physically wrong. by age 15, i asked to see a pdoc, but it didn't work out, and everything was dropped. at that point, i started to act out. i started skipping school (not really to be rebellious, but because i couldn't deal with the stress of going to school), i did some reckless things, tried alcohol and drugs, and eventually wrote some exams drunk and failed some, which led to a suicide attempt at age 16. after that, i continued to be self-destructive after an initial attempt to force myself to get my life back on track, and in addition some traumatic things occurred in my life that were beyond my control. and then i just couldn't leave the house for half a year. this led to a pattern that i have been unable to escape over the years. i made some attempts to leave the pattern behind, but i'd always end up back inside, with way too much time to think. i was eventually removed from the family home by the police, and thereafter i was supported by the government or men.
i desperately wanted to interact with the world, to know people, to travel, to learn, to express myself. i even thought that my experiences would make it possible for me to help others. i just couldn't deal with the outside world for more than very short periods, though. through the years i became more and more hopeless about it all, until it seemed that constantly what i really wanted was to die. i could always see that there were vague possibilities that might make it possible for me to live, but they were so remote as to be unrealistic, and eventually, it actually seemed an exciting goal to me to kill myself before i got old. i'm not sure if anyone ever really understood just how hard it was for me to not be able to support myself or interact with the world. i always felt so much shame and longing, and was always so incredibly insecure about myself.
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i am not planning on cutting my wrists as a method. i think i have chosen the image above in part because i seem to have some fixation with attaching images because i don't think i have anything to say that anyone will want to read, and also because i often wonder if others feel that all my suicidal feelings over the years amount to self-created drama, or nothing serious.
i'll try to add something to this page when i can. i wrote some things today (27/04/05), but didn't like any of it and deleted it. maybe i'll try again sometime soon. it seems so impossible to figure out how to give an accurate idea of my daily reality, the extreme unlikelihood of solutions to my particular issues, and how it stays consistent, that even in my best moments, i feel sure that i want to die, except i don't seem to have enough of the 'right' kind of energy to manage it. i keep trying to refocus, to try to channel my energy into killing myself before the situation deteriorates further and there's less chance i will manage. it seems like i already am incapacitated and incapable, but my handicaps aren't recognizable, identifiable, and so i'm lying here on my back, messing myself (which is part of what this website represents), and there's no way out.