Sometimes People Write 2 the 1's They Love
Compulsion (noun): a strong, usually irresistible impulse to perform an act, especially one that is irrational or contrary to one's will.
Have you ever felt compelled to do something? Repeatedly compelled? Sometimes I get into these phases where I have to eat or drink the same thing for a certain period of time. One of my compulsions is Drinking Peach Snapples. & Yes, they have to be Peach. I don't know what it is, but it becomes apart of my daily routine. Sometimes I can drink 2-3 in a day. Some would say it isn't too bad but, it's the addictive nature that is most dangerous.
This is just one of my many (behavioral) compulsions. Another one, which for me - is more of a mental compulsion, is my reoccurring passive suicidal thoughts. For a while I would not drive, anywhere, because I was always
afraid of "losing the road". I would blackout and forget that I was driving. I would compulsively think of all of the 'tragic accidents' that could end it all. Beyond that though, I would secretly hope for these things to come to fruition. Hoping that something 'out of my control' could do what I was too afraid to do.
Back in June, I published a blog. I shared it with very, very few. Mostly because it was written from a place of reflection, not a place of action. I wrote about my place of distress. I wrote about my place of revelation. I wrote to release my angst. I wrote to breathe in, a better understanding of myself. I published it, because I want my journey to be authentically vulnerable. During Suicide Prevention Week '21, I wanted to share this year's Low. I want to share it because often times we forget how much we actually grow through.
Have you watched the Netflix special entitled, "Inside" from Bo Burnham? I personally thought it was genius. It expressed such a parallel sentiment and it's release date was right on time. I found myself watching it every other night. I could not wait for the songs to hit iTunes so they could be apart of my daily Playlist Routines. There was something about the satire of it all that felt so familiar. They were his words but they felt more and more like mine. I wanted everyone to watch it because I wanted to see if they would understand too. I wanted to know if I was alone in my enjoyment... more specifically, was I alone in my pain?
I tried to understand how I could be feeling so low when I have a child and a husband who love and count on me. I wanted to believe that the mere thought of these two would bring me peace. Some days it did. But as I experienced another gut-wrenching loss, it was hard for anything to bring me peace. I looked around me and there were tiny little fires. Everywhere. I felt so low. I isolated myself and shared nothing. Not because I had no one to share it with but because I was in a new space. A space of sudden clarity. I made peace with a lack of control. I made peace with the fact that no matter what was going on around me, I choose how to show up in my life.
With this clarity, came a realization of how I would like to live my life, more significantly though, how I wanted to leave it. I would like to live my life to the fullest and push myself to and beyond greatness everyday. I want to leave a legacy of authenticity sprinkled with magic and serenity. I want to leave systems for wellness and development. Systems that see you before you need them. Systems that keep me going on my worst day and excite me on my best.
This clarity in retrospect was frightening. I was ready to leave it all. Timing my life, making sure my stage right exit was perfectly simple and pleasant. Thinking back, the scariest part was the idea of writing letters to the one’s I love, Just In Case. I wrote to my daughter and to my husband. I wanted them to know what my intentions were. I wanted them to know that there was nothing they could have said or done, to make anything different.
I have a notebook. A notebookbook of started letters, one for each person I hold dear. Letters that I have not finished. I’m honestly not sure how I would/will feel if/when they are done. Will it be a sense of completion? Will that lead to a new mission? Will it never be finished for the fear of what happens next? Hmm… thoughts to ponder.
I don’t think I’m very good at writing. I'm always so unsure about punctuation and flow. Most often, so much so, that I end up not publishing what I have written. I hope that despite the errors and possible confusion, if you made it this far, you received something. I hope I struggled to write this because someone needed it.
My final takeaway would be this, “Although I have compulsively passive thoughts, that sometimes lead to peculiar action, I am still here.”
If you or someone you know is in danger, please seek help. It is always better to end up not needing help, than to wish you had gotten it.