Am I the only one that thinks about what their eulogy would read?
“Here lies the woman no one could save, she told you she was drowning but you could not throw a life raft. She worked tirelessly to help those less fortunate than her, and got walked on her whole life. She was the scape goat for her family for speaking about the emotions, and trying to mend bridges that should have been burned. Her she lies, with no ability to find an affordable PTSD flashback dog to help her from self-injuring, the one that you took so often for granted. She lies here in the effort it took for you to bring her down and she finally succumbed by the pressure and the crushing weight of the world upon her should. The one who was shamed for putting up boundaries with people for her own mental sanity. The one that would give up everything, and did, for her baby sister; yet, her baby sister left her in the end after seeing her blog posts about trauma as family bashing. The one who’s brother walked away, brother in law, sister, father, and mother all because they could not bear the weight she carried on her shoulders every minute, hour, day, year of her life since the age of 12. The one that helped put a child molester behind bars, but was called a liar when she was raped at the age of 14. The one that kept reaching out to her psychiatrist for help because this Prozac just is not cutting it; it makes her rageful, suicidal, and self-injuring. The one labeled as crazy at work because she has PTSD, and has to take a cocktail of medication form. The one who waited for two hours one the phone for the crisis team to answer her pleas of help. The one that kept treading water until it engulfed her, and finally she was able to rest. No more pain, no more mental afflictions, no more lies, no more hatred, no more gossip, no more job, just the eternal bliss of not waking up in the morning.”
I often wonder who would even show up. Sure, I have “friends” but how many of them would even bother in death as they did in life. How many “but who could have known”, even when she was telling them that she wanted it over. I would rather have it over, and done with; yet, not an option. I have two kids that need me. My oldest’s father cannot keep a job, and my husband seems blissfully ignorant to my pleas.
He is supportive when he sees me in flashback and anxiety attacks, but he works nights. I do not know of a single person I could call to stay the night to ensure that I do not harm myself.
I know one thing though, I will not go back to hospital. I will not let the freedom of taking my own life taken away from me. In a room that is desolate.
Maybe, one day, people will understand me. But I believe it will take my death for people to finally hear me when I was asking for help.