To all of you…!!

To you who lives through the storms
To you who this world braves
To you who continues on
Through the crashing waves
To you who shows us
A path through life
To you who continues living
Through hell and strife

To you who helps others find
Their reason to live
By sharing your world and
Of your heart that you give.

For me.

I don’t want to write too much to have to password this, but, I guess will see.

I’m not really on here at the moment. I think of you all – you know who you are. I’m on instagram though in a different kinda way. For, I don’t really share my world there. I don’t write about my world. I don’t share the darkness. It feels wrong to share the darkness- not wrong just goes against my values of spreading love, light, and glitter. Of spreading sunshine and sparkles.

My teeth have been hurting. I’m not sure what to do about it. And finding it strange that they hurt, cuz shouldn’t they not hurt with what I’m taking? Evidently not.

The CMHT have assigned a care coordinator. I tried to ask her what her role was. I can’t say I fully understood. She seems to want to get to know me. I guess I thought that they’d do something to actually change it. But no. She seems sweet, though sweet isn’t the right word. Met her once. She asked me if I wanted to go outside. The answer was yes. I just couldn’t say yes. I hate having all the words in my head with no way to say them….. she asked if I’d write things for her. I told her that the psych had asked me to and I wrote loads and he hadn’t read any of it. She said she’s not him. Hmm.

She asked me where I see myself.

I don’t see myself anywhere. The only future I see is dead. And that’s not being morbid, or even having plans. I had a date in mind. Didn’t plan on living past my birthday. I’ve taken away the date. I don’t plan on doing anything specific to end my life. I just don’t see a life ahead of me. I can’t see a life. It doesn’t seem possible to imagine anything beyond here – other than death.

It’s not that I do or don’t want to die. That’s irrelevant. It’s that, it’s what will end up. I don’t know how come I’m still here. I don’t understand it.

I have goals. I have dreams. I have where I’d love to see myself. I can even paint some of that picture.

I’d love to be living in an apartment in my own in the countryside. I want to study – have studied. I want to know what I want sexually. Learn my own sexuality. Love my body. Have relationships. My own car. Maybe working (more than the 5.5 hours a week I am now). Have money. Travel. Educate.

I just don’t see any of it happening. I haven’t seen to my teeth cuz I’ll be dead. I’m not really working and need money. Probably could apply for PIP or something except that I can’t for I don’t have the ability to see to it, and I don’t need to cuz I’ll be dead.

I wonder if others know what living with suicidality is like. Living with the constant knowledge and awareness that you’re going to be dead. That death is inevitable. However much you don’t want to hurt others.

My friend M knows. I told her I wanted to come to Israel and asked her if she knew why. She did know why. To see my family. So that they can see me before I die.

It’s not that I don’t believe in hope.

I believe in hope.

My friend was living in a crazy situation, not giving details cuz this is public, that one day suddenly switched around. I’ve seen the possibility of change. Her life isn’t easy. Her life is a hell of a ride and she has to deal with all she lived with. But she’s happy. Happy doesn’t mean it’s not hard. So, I see that there’s the possibility for the impossible. I just don’t see life for myself. Even as I believe things can change. I don’t see life. Even as I don’t want to hurt others. I don’t see life. Even as I have so many goals and dreams. I don’t see a future. Even as I’m living today.

I’m tired. I’m so tired. Of not sleeping. Of caring. Of trying to stop what I’m doing. Of trying to get help. Of wanting death. Of living. I don’t even want death anymore. I mean, in some ways I do else I wouldn’t be doing what I am, but I also don’t need it in the way that I did.

Speaking is hard. Speaking is so hard. And I wonder if there’s a point to it. If there’s a point to letting someone else enter my world.

My afternoon boss (I’m doing 1 reading group for half an hour Monday to Thursday) asked me about next year. I told her if she has anything for the first half of the afternoon (at about 1.15 for an hour) she should let me know, but I’m not working full afternoon. And I wonder if I’ll even be here then. I never thought I’d be here today. Yet here I am. So maybe I’ll be here then. I can’t see so far ahead…. I can’t see beyond today.

And, I’ve written more than enough here.

It’s Pesach – passover soon. I actually care about Judaism a lot more. Because I’ve let go of the connection between my past, and today. There’s something so beautiful about instagram. About seeing people from all communities. About not defining yourself, or needing to…. that’s one thing the last few months have changed in my life. I don’t define myself by religion. Meaning, I’m jewish. Where I stand beyond that is irrelevant. I still hate so many words. Because I associate the words with the way I was raised. I abhor the culture I was raised in. Because when I said I grew up in a cult like culture, it was and is true. Yet. The culture I was raised in, and am surrounded by, actually contravenes my understanding of Judaism…. At the moment, I don’t care what I believe and I’m completely okay with that. I’ve accepted where I am. I wish I could live my beliefs which I can’t whilst I live at home. And. That’s one change in the past months.

In the past months I’ve also built more boundaries. Healthy boundaries. Learnt to say no. Found instagram (myramblingsthroughlife). Have tried and failed to get help or change things around. Have planned death, have planned life. Have been there for others. Have cut off from others.

I’ve learnt that the people I thought would be here for me won’t, aren’t, and don’t actually care.

I’ve recognised some of my patterns in relationships and the part I play in why they don’t stay.

There’s so much swirling around my head. I haven’t journalled in months except for once. I’ve written letters and given gifts. Writing is scary because it means I have to let go to an extent and I can’t let go…. My world is about holding on. Just holding on. Which is also why speaking is so hard. For I’d have to let go to be able to speak and I can’t let go for using everything to just hold on.

And, ramble over.