“I go to sleep at night praying – begging – not to wake up the next day.”

Words that echo in my mind daily that punched me in the gut when I uttered them into Skype to my therapist this morning,

I am suicidal. There. I wrote it. Said it. I want to die. More than that, I want to stop living.

When I read similar words that people write on Facebook I get mad. I’ve known several people who have taken their own lives, and not one of them courted dramatic engagement on social media before ending it. They just did it.

So when I read words like these on Facebook I get angry. Yet here I am, writing out the same words.

Why? Maybe to disarm them? To admit I am struggling, as if that much wasn’t clear to everyone around me?

I don’t know.

But what I do know is that writing these thoughts helps me contain and define them. Helps me put down things I need to speak to my therapist about.

So. Let’s finish that thought: I am suicidal, but I am getting help.

There will be so much more pain and plenty of tears in the coming weeks, and fuck, we all know how great I am at handling those. Nearly seven years drug-free, but when it comes to the emotional bull that life is filled with, my craving for those long white lines of escape is as strong as ever. But so is my resolve that cocaine will never be the answer to anything ever again.

Today was rough. But it was still better than yesterday. Tomorrow? Well, I’ll deal with tomorrow tomorrow.

Just for today, I am ok.

©️ Dave Luis 2018. All Rights Reserved.

Image by Kristina Tripkovic at Unsplash


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