Being There

My therapist often asks me what I need from others when I am in a rough patch. It’s a harder question to answer than one would think.

 

I think about the question often. What do I need? What do I need when I a having a panic attack? What about an emotional overload? How about when I am suicidal?

 

I search and I search for that answer. I can never seem to think of anything besides one little need.

 

I need someone to be there for me.

 

They don’t need to be trying to solve my problems They don’t need to talk at all. All I need is someone to sit beside me, and maybe give me a hug.

 

Physical affection helps me a lot. A touch of a hand, a rub on the back, or even a simple arm around my shoulder and help me calm down. I crave the pressure of touch, which is probably part of my Asperger’s.

 

Being there with me mentally is just as important as being with me physically. Breathing with me or being beside me can be more than enough.

 

Why is “being there” enough for me? It makes me feel loved, like someone actually wants me to feel better. I feel less alone. I know that somebody cares about me, even when I don’t care about myself. I need validation of my pain. I need a safe space.

 

More than anything, I need to know that I am more than the nothing I feel I am.

 

When my therapist asks me if I need anything else, I am at a loss. What else am I supposed to ask for? I don’t need any material item. No food is going to save me from my feelings. I just need someone to be with me because they care. Hugs and deep breaths are more than enough.

 

I need someone. That’s all that can bring me down when nothing else can anchor me. I am lucky to have people in my life who can fulfill this small need of mine.
Being there is more than I could ever ask for. Be there for me, and i’ll try to come back for you.

Hope Is Now My Friend

I’m not quite at the surface

From six feet underneath

The soil is suffocating

My eyes can’t seem to see

 

I buried myself below

To see if I could stay

Broken as my tortured soul

Awaiting Judgement Day

 

I’m not deserving of love

From those who seem to care

I trick myself into thinking

That others will be there

 

I know I’m deeply cared for

Ny those who know me best

But will that really matter

When I’m in eternal rest?

 

I need to be there for me

The person I am now

Is not who I want to be

When the baby breaks the bough

 

She’ll break it and fall forward

When someone wants to help

I find out that I was her

And she is now myself

 

I am weak and helpless

Just like a younger child

Who needs someone to be there

When nightmares become wild

 

Vivid dreams await me

At the pearly gates

My infant form resists

While I ask “Why so late?”

 

Someday I’ll wake up

From these images inside

The outside me wants to live on

The inside wants to die

 

Wither into nothing

Except for new beginnings

A fetus full of roses

Not ready for the ending

 

I’ll see a brand new light

Death is needed to fully live

I rose above the graveyard trench

Gain all he has to give

 

I’m ready to start new

A being full of light

Radiating through the window

Leading the stray kite

 

Time to begin again

No longer giving in

Life is not the enemy

Hope is now my friend

The Beast That Is Suicide

Welcome to World Suicide Prevention Day. Today is a day to celebrate life and honor those who have left us. We stand together to fight this awful creature we call suicide.

To fight this this creature, we need to do so much more than put it in a cage. Locking up suicide and ignoring it can only make things worse. No, we need to unlock the beast and beat it to dust. We need to be asking “How are you?” and not accepting a simple “Okay”. We need to straight out ask, “Are you suicidal?’. Hiding behind the mask we often have on our faces and minds do not help.

Bringing up suicide does not cause a person to think of it. In fact, it can help people know they are cared for and people are here for them. Discussing the aftermath can be helpful as well. a person might not want to leave behind their mother, their dog, or their basketball team. We need to remind them that they are loved.

Love is a big word for some people. Some use it only for close relationships. I say we use it more openly. “I love you for who you are”, “You are loved by everybody who meets you”, or even a simple “I love how your blue eyes shine in the sunlight.”. There are multiple ways to let someone know they are deeply cared for by others.

How do we spread that love? We can do it by looking after each other. If you sense that someone might be struggling, reach out to them. Notice the signs. Are they talking about death? Giving things away? Depressed and isolated from others? Watch out for these signs among others.

For those who have died by suicide and those left behind by someone who has, we honor and remember you and your loved ones. The world is a tough place, and for some it is too hard to handle. This does not mean the person who left us was a coward. They just didn’t find another way out of their pain. This is why we need to talk to each other, so we can find a solution for the pain.

As someone who has dealt with suicidal thoughts, I know listening to others who are trying to help is not always easy. That is why we need to reach out to one another.

I, in now way, can fully understand what a person who has died by suicide felt like when they hit the edge and decided to fall off. Maybe decided isn’t the right word. Maybe it’s more like the person was pushed over the edge.

I also, in no way, understand what it feels like to be left behind. You all are strong. You all can be more than survivors. You can be thrivers. Tell the world your loved one’s story once you are ready. If you are never ready, that is okay. Grief sits differently on the soldiers of every person. The person who left had strong weight on their shoulders, and it gets left behind on their loved ones.

Let’s recap: Love, Honor, Listen, Strong

That is not nearly enough to describe what today means, but as I am only one human being, I can’t do it all. We all need to join together and work to end the beast called suicide.

Life and Why It’s Meaningless

There are some days that I wake up and am excited to church. Others, I am tired, cranky, and don’t want to get out of bed for anything. Today was a mix of both. I was pretty tired, but I only stayed in bed about ten minutes after my dad told me to wake up, instead of twenty minutes and dragging me out of my comfy kingdom where dreams come true.

Waking up to face the world, where those dreams are far away, is never fun. However, today I was a bit excited for the church service. I figured they were going to talk about Dottie, the amazing woman who passed away recently.Our whole church was shaken by her death. I also was excited to be with my church family, who grieved along with me and to give each other a sort of comfort you can only find at a church.

Recently, I have been having a hard time keeping up and paying attention in church. The only thing I can keep my concentration at least part of the time iste sermon. This is where my pastor gets to use his own words to describe the lessons we are learning that day. Today. That theme was asking the question “Is life meaningless?”

As someone who has dealt with suicidal thoughts on and off for years, this question hit me hard. Is life meaningless? One example my pastor gave was from a baseball player. When the player was asked how he got through each game, he answered this: “Ten million years from now, when then sun burns out and the Earth is just a frozen iceball hurtling through space, nobody’s going to care whether or not I got this guy out.” (http://www.baseball-almanac.com/quotes/quomcg.shtml)

Is this true? Is nothing I am doing now going to matter to anyone when the world ends, or when I end, whichever comes first? To a person who has dealt with suicidal thoughts, the answer to this is NO. Nothing I’ve done, even if I someday become the most famous writer in the world, is going to matter the the sun sucking us in. I’ll matter as much as murderers. Even if it’s just me dying and the world doesn’t end for a million years, those million years later, no one is going to think about me at those million years, or in a thousand years, or even in a hundred. If the history books were to ever say my name, those books are going to be gone or worthless by the time the world ends. I am not special.

My pastor also talked about Dottie and her boyfriend John’s recent deaths. John, who also lived with Down syndrome, died very soon after Dottie. It is believed that he died of the stress of losing Dottie. The pastor talked about how even with their challenges, they lived a full life, even fuller than some of us without a disability. They didn’t think life was meaningless.

The Special Olympics choir sang a couple songs at Dottie’s funeral, and those kids were fully into it. Even though their friend was gone, they put their full hearts into the performance. They live every moment of their life in a meaningful way.

We need to be like them. Yes, I might feel like life is useless sometimes. I might think I’d rather be dead than face the reality that life means nothing, that I mean nothing. It sometimes feels like I have a weight on my chest keeping me from doing anything useful, and that I am worthless and nobody needs me. These people who live with disabilities don’t let them get in the way. They live life to the fullest, not caring if people are going to remember them or not.

While life might be a black hole in the times I am suicidal, it can also be the sun. Not the sun sucking us in, the sun giving us light, allowing us to live.

Who care’s if we are remembered in a thousand years? As long as we live a life that pleases us, why worry if we are a memory preserved in time? We are here. We are now. Let the future belong to those who live there. Dottie and John never let their disabilities define them. We shouldn’t let our problems tell us we are nothing.

Life might seem meaningless at times. To tell you the truth, I think that life is meaningless at times. This is just my brain talking. It is just your brain talking. We are not nothing. We are something. Our problems won’t keep us from heavens. If we act as a child, with no worries of being remembered, we will get a lot farther than adults who spend life thinking life has no point.

Suicidal thoughts are the stem of why this sermon was so meaningful. Everybody has their own reasons. I’m sure everyone was shocked and deeply moved by my pastors words. We all learned that we are not everything, but we are something that is worth being acknowledged in our lives and in God’s kingdom above.

 

Our Ears Are Closed

TW: Suicide and self-harm

After being diagnosed with PTSD for a couple months now, I have found what may be an even bigger stressor than the reason I was diagnosed. This one I don’t mind talking about.

I wrote a post a while ago about my last attempt to help people over Twitter, Our Ears Are Open, or OEAO to most of us working together. Let me explain a little, as I was just starting out Beautifully Bipolar when I wrote it.

OEAO was a program I intended to help people by letting them have a person to talk to when they just wanted to talk. I had several people helping me out, including several people from my college, a friend of one of the college student, a person I went to high school with, and a couple I met on Twitter. I made a Facebook page, one for the people we helped and one for the team to talk in. Twitter was where most of the action happened, There was also a website, where we had resources, weekly songs, and  a few other things. I was pretty well set up.

We went for a while. Several people signed up, using an online form maker. Volunteers talked to the people, normally at a scheduled time. We told them that we were not therapists and couldn’t replace one. We had around 200 followers, which at that time was a good number for me. It was going well, as each of us had our people to talk to.  Then things turned downhill.

All of my volunteers were good with their people. Our very first signup decided she wanted to be with me. I was fine with that. She seemed like a good young lady. We talked for a while, about simple things, food, hobbies, books, and so on. We even wrote a poem together, with her giving me different answers to questions, which I then wrote the poem around.

She talked to me about her school. She talked about how much she hated it and nobody listened to her. Sometimes we talked about her strictly religious parents. I promised that we wouldn’t talk religion unless she wanted to.  She confided some very private information that I will not share. I thought she was just a struggling young girl.

Then, in one of our many conversations over Twitter, she started talking. She was talking about how much she wanted to hurt herself or die. Then she disappeared. I would wait 5 minutes, then 10. If she didn’t answer in that amount of time, I would ask her if she was here. I would start freaking out, as I didn’t know what she was doing to herself. Eventually I told her that I was going to have to find her help if she didn’t come back. She would immediately come back and begged me not to call for help. I didn’t.

I think most of our messages went that way. She would act upset, or angry at something and then disappeared. This became stressful to me, and every now and again I’d have to have one of the other volunteers talk to her. They would report back and tell me either she was fine with them or wouldn’t give super long answers.

I was confused. Why would she do what she did to me, but no one else? Was something wrong with me?

Then there was a whole mess with her Twitter friend from another country.  The person I talked to was upset because her friend hadn’t messaged her in days. She was freaking out about how the person was suicidal and was in danger. I told her to call somebody to help, which she said she couldn’t without her parents hearing. I prompted her to go to a crisis chat sites She didn’t want to because she thought it would take longer. When I asked her if I could use the chat and tell the staff that someone was in trouble, she didn’t know where they lived. I  couldn’t figure out what to do.

Eventually, I moved into my dorm room at school. We made a schedule that we would talk to each other at that time. I made the mistake of telling her that if she really needed to just talk, I’d try to talk to her.She messaged me at random times. I had to cancel my plans a lot so I could talk to her. Each conversation went the same. Positive, suicidal messages, not answering for several minutes, then an “okay” with a frowny face when I said goodnight.

During this whole stretch, I was not eating, not sleeping in case she messaged me, and calling my parents every night in tears. They kept telling me to stop OEAO. I would always say no, because I didn’t want to leave the girl. I felt like if I left her, she would kill herself.

One night, an unscheduled night, she messaged me and told me she was going to kill herself and I couldn’t stop her. I stopped for a second and told her that I couldn’t handle it any more. She needed to get help from someone who could actually help her. I never talked to her again.

That night, I called my parents and told them I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t keep talking to her, and I couldn’t stay alive any longer. They told me to sleep a little bit and see if things got better. It didn’t work.

I went to the hospital the next day.

Just now as I write this, I see how manipulating and emotionally abusing she was. I stopped what I wanted to so I could help her. I gave into her need for attention by asking her to stay with me when she disappeared. She knew I would freak out if she didn’t respond. She had me worrying about her when I should have been studying or having fun. I was not able to have fun because I was worried if she was alive. She told me about her self-harm so I would feel sorry for her. I would send her kind notes, and she would dismiss them, just so I would tell her that she was wrong.

I let her take control of me. I let a  young girl take over my life. Yes, I know she was struggling as well. I was not the only one hurt by this. She didn’t have a good home or school life. I still feel like I shouldn’t have left her. I often wonder if she is still alive.

I also wonder if she knew she was hurting me. Part of me tells me she didn’t know. She was young and wanted attention. She found a way to get it through me. I was her only support at that time, and needed somewhere to let it out. Part of me though, feels like she knew what she was doing. She knew I was worried about her, and used that at her advantage to make me feel like I was her play toy. I bent over backwards for her and she knew this. She wanted to control something until some control came into her life.

I am sad for her. It feel’s like her life was in my hands,and I threw it away. While she was hurt, I was also sad for myself. I fell for her tricks. My heart get in the way of my mind. I just wanted to help her, and we were both in harm’s way. She controlled my life then, and still sometimes now.

Falling for those who need help is a big problem for me, but this was a much bigger situation.

I will not hurt myself over someone I don’t even know well. I will let her live her life, while I live mine. She will not hurt me any longer.

I am safe. I’m not sure if she is, but that isn’t my problem. I hope she is well, but she doesn’t have me caught anymore. To answer the earlier questions, I  have two answers. The reason why I she chose me instead of someone else is because I was the only one who gave into her. I should have known that my high levels of wanting to help would get me in the way. The other question asked what was wrong with me.  It took me a while to figure out that question, but no, there is nothing wrong with me. I trust too easily and let others take control. I need to work on those qualities. I might have some struggles, but I am not wrong. I tried my hardest until I couldn’t anymore. That is okay. I learned my lesson. What can be more right than that? Nothing, except complete perfection. Since that’s not possible, learning a lesson is as right as we will ever be.

I will be fine. Emotional abuse and manipulation have been hard to deal with. There are two things I’ve learned. One is I’m allowed to feel uncomfortable.  Two is I am allowed to change it.

“I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul”

  • William Ernest Henley

Beauty Is A Mess Sometimes (Tears)

I stand here waiting

In the rain, no umbrella

While the thunder sings a capella

The artist picks up the brush

Starting painting streaks, creating

 

Each streak is a strike

Bringing people to their knees

Wonder if they could break free

Tears mix in with puddles

Tearstains on the sheets at night

 

Beauty is a mess sometimes

We bend, and sin, and break

Life is shorter if you are afraid

Unless you have a beautiful mind

Love is a fire, burning in your heart

Fear is strong, it blows it out

Anxiety has seen so much, it’s blind

Beauty is a mess sometimes

 

Sleep with one eye open

After everything is taken

Feel you must be mistaken

 

The artist is back

Painting the sky with light

Ribbons of clouds colored white

To help minds recover

From the darkness of black

t

 

Beauty is a mess sometimes

We bend, and sin, and break

Life is shorter if you are afraid

Unless you have a beautiful mind

Love is a fire, burning in your heart

Fear is strong, it blows it out

Anxiety has seen so much, it’s blind

Beauty is a mess sometimes

 

Rain and pain mix together so well

Crying happens as frequent as storms

Families are broken and friends are no more

Cloudbursts fall while tears run

While walking barefoot on eggshells

 

Forgive yourself, you didn’t make it start

Drops and tears are a lot alike

They both bring water to your eyes

Ready for the next life to soon.

Their end, like storms, were ready to depart

 

Beauty is a mess sometimes

We bend, and sin, and break

Life is shorter if you are afraid

Unless you have a beautiful mind

Love is a fire, burning in your heart

Fear is strong, it blows it out

Anxiety has seen so much, it’s blind

Beauty is a mess sometimes

 

Beauty is a mess sometimes

We bend, and sin, and break

Life is shorter if you are afraid

Unless you have a beautiful mind

Love is a fire, burning in your heart

Fear is strong, it blows it out

Anxiety has seen so much, it’s blind

Beauty doesn’t want to be defined


Storms by Fleetwood Mac has been a huge inspiration  or this poem/lyrics  and all my writing.

Here

Trigger Warning: Suicide. Don’t read if you are struggling. Take care of yourself.

Note: I am not feeling like this AT ALL. I am fine, these are just thoughts I had in the past. Don’t worry about me.

 

I run with a pointing up knife

Hoping it will take away my life

I carry on into the darkness at night

Until somebody tells me “You’ll be alright

 

Pick up the blade

Remember the last time it slayed

My stomach is healing, don’t want to break

The promise of mine that I stupidly made

 

Pills call my name each time I go there

Bottles fill my eyes with hopes to share

The tiny tablets go in my hand, pair by pair

Feed them back to the bottle, I am too scared

 

Belts that loop are in my hand

They say put it down, but I’m not sure I can

I can’t find the strength to get up and stand

So I sit down and discard my very own plan

 

Notes written out with love and pain

I will give it all away, as there is nothing else to gain

Love and hurt are expressed in my strain

To everybody, I love you, you’ll see me someday

 


One night I set my alarm to three

Early in the morning I was going to be free

Changed into my clothes and started to flee

Gave up at their house because I needed to breathe

 

It’s scary to talk about, it might be a fear

But now that I did that, I am actually here

I decided my brain wouldn’t be the one to steer

Without all the thoughts, my mind is clear