I said on my first post that the first month after a suicide attempt is the hardest, the weirdest. I was right, but now I’m at the one month mark I think that I’ve been putting too much store in it.
I’m still sat here waiting for Wren to come back, to bring her calm and her- spark.
I’m still waiting to feel like me again.
I don’t want to face the possibility that I’m never going to be the same again, because I think that there will be times when I feel like me again. They’ll just be rarer than before.
People talk about being glad to be alive, glad that they didn’t kill themselves- after the first, maybe even the second attempt failed I was glad.
I’ve spent the last month wishing that I was dead, wishing that I’d been stronger and made sure I wouldn’t come back. The last month has been spent with me going over and over how much I want to die in my head. I don’t really know what to do.
I’m too tired to try and kill myself- I’m living in this odd stupor where I don’t really know what to do. I think I’m going to go and bake again. My mum’s been knocking at the door so she clearly wants me to come and do something where she can see me (and I can’t slink off to hurt myself again) so I’d better wrap this up.
I want to die… actually; it’s not that exactly, it’s more that I don’t want to live anymore. I’m sick of it. I want to show people how much I’m hurting, how terrifying it is. I want them to know what they’ve done.
Enough with the revenge fantasies- I don’t know when I’m going to feel like me again, I don’t know if I ever will, but at the moment I don’t want to think about that. I know that if I start to question how I’m feeling and think about how I used to be then it might give me the motivation to do myself in. At the minute I want to die desperately but I just don’t have the energy.
I am Wren, even if I don’t feel like her most of the time, I’m still her.
When I talk about not being Wren what I mean is that I feel sort of hollow, my sense of humour goes- I have a really prominent, dark sense of humour. As well as that I just don’t feel like me- they way I put it is that it’s like Wren has gone away for a bit. Leaving a shell behind.
I don’t like being a shell.
So it’s been a month since I tried to kill myself. I’ve gotten half way through editing my novel, started saving to buy a new drum, self harmed, acted a lot and fantasised about dying.
I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know who long I’m going to be tired for… it’s turning into a bit of a competition, which will burn out first? The suicidal feelings or the exhaustion?
It’s comforting to know that my life hangs by a bleeding thread.
Listening to: Malo by O. Children. I love this band- I found them by accident and have been listening to their songs on repeat for the last three of four days, they’re sort of full on post-punk crazy mad brilliant… anyway, enough of that.