I Haven’t Killed Myself In 14,600 Days
By Anonymous
In a little over a month, I’ll be 40 years old. There are some people who think that is a reason to celebrate. For some people it is: it can be happy day I suppose. For me, it just means that I haven’t killed myself in 14,600 days. (Yes, I used a calculator). I have a nice life. I graduated from college, albeit the 20-year plan. I have a husband and two objectively beautiful children. Subjectively more so. My husband is handsome, smart, funny, kind and caring. He just doesn’t know how to help me.
My children are also wonderful. My daughter is incredibly smart. At almost 4 she is smarter than I. To be honest, she passed me when she was 2. She is empathetic and kind and silly and a huge pain in the ass. How do I parent a child that is already smarter than me? I don’t know. My son is 9.5 months old. He is sweet and easy going, quick to smile and laugh, and he gives me lots of slobbery kisses. My children’s worst qualities are that they want to spend all of their time with me. Except when my husband is home. Then they want him first but will settle for me.
I have fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, at last check two disc bulges in my back, thyroid problems, IBS, anxiety, and depression. Oh, and I am overweight. It’s the chicken/egg thing. I am in constant pain, physical and emotional.
I also spend a lot of time thinking about suicide. Passively. Not as in I am going to kill myself. More like, if something happened I wouldn’t fight it. (Yes, I am medicated and my psychiatrist knows about it.) He also knows why I won’t kill myself. I won’t do that to my kids. Not because I am narcissistic and think I am the only one who is good enough for them. Quite the contrary really. My husband and children are gorgeous and could easily find someone better. However, all of the people I know who have lost a parent at a young age (with a few exceptions) have emotionally stunted growth and I don’t want to do that to them. If I was going to do it, I should have done it when my daughter was too young to remember. Now I’d have to wait until they are old enough to forget.
I hate myself for the way I am with them. I don’t do enough at home. I am a SAHM but my husband does the cleaning, laundry, and cooking. because I can’t. I am worthless. My patience is too thin with my daughter who just wants to learn. My son just wants to be held. My husband wants help with anything, and for me to lose weight and to have sex more often.
They deserve all of those things but I can’t give any of that to them.
My husband says he loves me and I believe him. I also know that he will get tired of it all one day and leave. He tried before but I stopped him. Things were better for a while. Next time I won’t stop him because he was right. I don’t know how to change any of it. It’s a cycle and I don’t know how to break it.
I don’t think I want to die though as much as I don’t want to live. I don’t want to continue like this. Watching my life as it all slowly falls apart. Hurting so much, constantly.I thought that writing this would make me feel better. It doesn’t. I just feel numb. And sorry. So sorry for involving him and two innocent children in my mess.
Happy early birthday to me.
If you or someone you know needs help, visit the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline or contact Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741.
To the writer of this piece: I hear you. I feel your pain as I cope with my disability. I am currently a SAHM because of my disability and almost every day sucks. My children did not sign up for this or my husband. No one signs up for the challenges of life, we all cope one day or one hour or one minute at a time. I hear you and you are not alone. Your kids are learning to be amazing people one minute at a time. Your husband has the opportunity to practice compassion and management skills. You make this possible, 99% of success is showing up!