Statistic: Two suicide attempts landed me in hospital each time within the last 12 months. First one for 9 days, and I walked out in crutches. Second one for 3 days in ICU and on life support.
And yet I live to see another birthday. What were the odds?
Birthdays always make me think about the fact that I am still alive at this point in time. It makes me think about the possibility that I wouldn’t be here. It makes me think about how someone could have written my name this way:
Polar Bear, 1973 – 2005
Nothing more, nothing less. I wouldn’t expect anything different.
It’s still so hard to think about the fact that I am still here. So hard to think that all the battles I won has gotten me only more heartache, more pain. Sacrificing my soul for more unhappiness, how does this make sense?
Therapy today – I told V I’ll go to group in July when it starts. It surprised her, I think because I’d always been resistant before. It’s just one more thing to try – what have I got to lose?
We talked about M’s leaving too, and relating it to that whole incident in Wellington. It’s been weighing so heavily on me I thought I’d see if it made any difference talking about it and acknowledging my feelings to someone else. V was surprised at this too, I think. I guess therapy has made some small difference in the way I think. Sometimes coming out of the dark a person simply becomes blind. And blind people’s other senses are so much stronger. They hear so much better, feel so much more.
Sometimes it is so bright that I cringe from it all. It is so bright I feel as though my entire world has exploded. And all I really want to do is to crawl back into the soft caress of that familiar darkness.