To Be Something More Than A Memory in Just Moments

~I remember when I started this. I used to be a member of Open Diary and when that site went down this is what many other people on OD were moving to. I decided at the time to also move. I remember that I thought it was weird that we could have different “books” on here with entries like chapters. If you wanted to post in a different story that was fine, you just select your book and boom you continue that story. I remember thinking hard about what I wanted to title my book. I knew that I wanted to keep this as a diary per say and what title would summarize my life. I joined 6 years ago and even then I knew that my life was composed of just moments…

~A couple days ago, I had another one of those moments happen. After it was over I spent a lot of time thinking about it. When I refer to these moments for the most part they are good ones. Ones that make me feel alive. Moments that make life seem worth living. I’m not sure if I ever mentioned this on here, but I’ve struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts for most of my life. There really isn’t a reason for me to have these thoughts or to be depressed. My life really isn’t bad. I have all the necessities of life. No one close to me died unexpectedly. I’m white and as many people would say I have the “privilege” that comes with that color of skin. I wasn’t beaten or abused as a child. Well only when I really did something wrong I might get the wooden spoon to the ass, but for the most part I grew up in the suburbs in a religious household with a stable family and friends. When I was 14 I’m not sure what happened but I just didn’t want to live anymore. I had a bottle of pills in my hand. That was back when AIM was a thing and everyone was instant messaging. I was messaging a student teacher I had and I don’t remember what we were talking about all I remember is I could hear the notification that he had responded to the last message I sent and instead of taking the pills, I put them back in the bottle, back on the cabinet, and walked back to the computer to see what he said. My second attempt came two years later. I had an ex boyfriend I was talking to. We weren’t together at this time, and I said something that made him really worried about me in a text message. He was about to drive from his dad’s to his mom’s and made the trip in about half the time it should have because he wanted to call me to make sure I didn’t do anything to myself. After that, I’ve never attempted again, but I’ve thought a lot about it. Those thoughts don’t ever go away. When I took a psychology class in college, we had a unit on depression and suicide. The professor of the course used to work solely in this field and took a whole class to just let anyone in the class ask questions. I asked her if depression/suicide could ever just go away by itself. She said that it could but referring to suicide, once it becomes an option for someone it’s always an option. I feel this.

~There are some days when I get this overwhelming feeling. I can’t even explain what I’m feeling. It’s just a heavy weight that doesn’t shake. This pressure crushing down on you. When I was younger I couldn’t hide that I was struggling with this. As I’ve aged I’ve gotten really really good at hiding it or at least putting up this great façade. It takes a lot of energy. I work in a field where you have to be happy all the time. I’ve gotten really good at pretending I’m happy. The phrase fake it till you make it kinda applies. I can fake it at work but once I’m home and there is no one else around to see, where I no longer have to hide, I don’t make it.

~There are some nights when I get so overwhelmed that I just cry for no reason. It just comes out of nowhere. I don’t weep and it usually doesn’t last all that long, but the tears will just silently slide down my cheeks. I don’t bother to wipe them away. I just let them come.

~Then there are moments like the other day. I felt alive. I felt worth it. I felt complete? I think that’s the correct term. It had been a while since I had last felt that way. You get used to the numb that follows you around most days. I’ll take the numb over the alternative, but it makes life very grey. We are meant to live in bright vivid colors. Not the grey. I wish I could find some way to make these moments happen more frequently. To push the bad back. To find something worth living for. I don’t want a life of just moments. But that’s all I’ve seemed to accumulate so far. A few perfect moments interspersed with many numb ones.

~I have often wondered if anyone would remember me if I all the sudden stopped existing. Or even if anyone would miss me if I just backed up and moved away. I assume my family would, but would there be anyone else? Have I made any impact on anyone? Sometimes being a memory is ok. Sometimes it’s not. I have several people in my life where I’m more than fine with them being memories that I don’t often think about. But do I want to be one of them? I’m not sure. The selfish part of me wants to be remembered. To be thought about often. To be missed. But the realistic part of me doesn’t want that for anyone. I’ve seen what missing someone can do to a person. It’s an all encompassing feeling that I’m sure isn’t much unlike what I feel on those dark days.

~So here we are at a crossroads. This is where I’ve been for the past few years. Thinking about living or dying. Thinking about what option is worth it. Pondering the effect one option would have on my family. I haven’t made a decision one way or the other, but until then, I’ll keep seeking out those moments where even though fleeting, life is worth it.