…if you can’t take the heat. I know what it’s like to be triggered. If you can’t hack it, walk away. Now. Right now. If you stay, don’t blame me for setting you off or throwing you down your well. YOU have the power. Click that “x” and be gone. POOF!
Still here? Fine. Suit yourself. So, the good and the bad will come and go. This moment is about the ugly. MY ugly. I’m MDD with suicidal tendencies. Don’t go calling the police cause some bitch with anxiety is blogging about killing herself. I’m not working my plan, so stop yourself right there, Hasselhoff. What plan? Good question. Great timing.
I honestly think that every person with suicidal tendencies has a plan. How can you hold something as close as a lover, knowing it will solve everything and nothing, and not have a plan to meet? For me, the idea is love, freedom, passion, and private as hell. I will never share it with you because it is so intimately entwined in my soul. It is between us…and us just isn’t you. Sorry, babe. Again, I’m *not* working through my plan. So again, stop toying with playing the hero. We haven’t hit DEFCON 1 here. But when things get really dark and sticky smooth, I take the book of my escape down from the shelf in my mind and I allow myself to read a few brief pages. Think of it like a junkie taking just 1 hit to get by. That’s me.
Knowing I can end this pain at any time is simultaneously empowering and crushing. It’s all in MY hands and bitch, no one could stop me. But I’m not there. I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. And sometimes I feel like a complete and utter failure because I’m not there. Like I’m inept or something. Dammit, man. I reject the thing that could save me. NOT giving in to the desire is a failure. Another. Damn. Failure. It’s as though the most decadent thing in the history of ever is in front of me, but I’ll only smell it, feel it in my arms, hold it tenderly and tell it how much I love it’s eloquent beauty. And then, I walk away. And I snivel and moan…and walk away. Like. The. BITCH. I. AM.