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The day has come where I have died (only to find I've come alive)

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herba

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I lived through yesterday: by the skin of my teeth; but I did. 

I predicted I wasn't going to have a good day as soon as I opened my eyes, but the universe decided to really pile it on and break me down by throwing some pretty s***ty circumstances and happenings across my path.

Mum and I had planned a day out after popping by the Building Authority to ensure that permits related to my flat are all in order. On my way there I broke down three times; since I don't drive and was on a bus, that was quite embarrassing. It wasn't full on wailing and waterworks of course, but there were some quiet tears and nose-blowing. I used to be so much better at holding it together. Drinking used to help a lot (weirdly enough). So did my former image: immaculate hair, flawless make-up and high heels. Now I just don't have it in me to pretend anymore. It's just me with my bare face (six days out of seven I don't even bother cleansing, toning and moisturising), my slightly greying hair (tied back into a messy bun) and my trainers (because years of towering shoes have given me really bad bunions). I used to be so beautiful but just as equally miserable. I was just better at faking my way through life back then.

News from the Building Authority was grim: when I originally bought my place the appointed architect didn't do his job properly which to cut a long story short means my apartment has illegalities in its structure; illegalities which date back to way before I bought my place (think 1995; at that time I was ten going on to eleven). I'm in the process of tracking down the mother****er. I don't expect to be compensated (I literally parted with a grand for this guy's services) but I will cause a bit of racket in his office. 

That event by itself was enough to make a bad day look even worse but I persevered through it with gritted teeth; I wanted mum to have a good day despite everything. We walked around the capital for a bit, then headed to the old capital and had some lunch. In the middle of our ravioli meal it somehow crossed her mind to bring up my father on his deathbed. I don't mind talking about it so much, but the timing felt way off. It obviously ended up descending into my mother telling me how I was 'scarred for life' by my dad's passing (which occurred while I was still in playschool) and how this is the reason I'm so depressed. It is one of the reasons she knows about; like she knows about my (now under control) OCD. If she knew we could add multiple sexual assaults, alcoholism and other addiction issues as well as her own physical and unintended psychological abuse inflicted upon me to the list, maybe she'd stop harping on about it so much. The mood got a bit lighter when we popped into the local cemetery (because the universe decided it was also going to be a '**** logic' day). So many tombstones; mostly of old people. Too many of younger ones. Graveyards have been a comforting place for me ever since I can remember visiting my first one somewhere between the ages of five and seven. They're mostly quiet. You can hear the tree leaves rustle and the birds chirp and sing. Every step reveals a blooming flower or the flicker of a candle. And best of all everyone around you is dead and dead people can't hurt you. It freaks me out that even my child self had these kinds of thoughts, but let's face it: my childhood wasn't exactly run of the mill.

After our trip to the cemetery my mum invited herself over for tea and pastries. Under usual circumstances I wouldn't have minded so much, but at that point all I really wanted to do was get the **** home and get as stoned and as drunk as physically possible. I hate having to resort to alcohol but in circumstances like yesterday's it's either that or self-injury and I'm trying to stay away from that because I've been doing very, very well in that regard. All this said and done I granted my mum's wish; like I said I wanted her to have a memorable birthday (after all this could be her last). I hugged her tight before she left. I wasn't sure if I'd even see her again: my suicidal ideation had gotten a bit out of control by that point. I spent the next two hours drinking, smoking and curling up on the sofa lest I see a knife or some pills and act on my crazy ass ideas. My mum calling repeatedly about the architect and other $h1t I really didn't want to hear about ironically got me through a part of those two hours; the cat helped with the rest. By the time my partner arrived home from work I was feeling slightly less suicidal. That's always a good thing. 

I fell asleep early; the day really wore me out.

And today I'm feeling better. Not just less suicidal, but actually less depressed than I was yesterday (or the days leading up to it). There's a lightness in my chest. My eyes don't feel heavy. Something as simple as breathing doesn't feel like a chore. 

I lived through yesterday: by the skin of my teeth; but I did. 

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Congratulations for making it through a difficult day...and I mean that sincerely. As someone who has struggled with suicidal ideations for a good part of my life, I know how a bad day can kick up those urges. It sounds like you were incredibly strong battling back both those thoughts as well as the self harm thoughts. Your words about your appearance actually were reassuring for me. Before my breakdown I was Miss Perfection ~ coordinating eye shadow, shoes, suit, purse, nail polish. Beautiful, long acrylic fingernails. Not even one split end. After my breakdown I lived in a pair of sweat pants and one of my daughter's old basketball t-shirts. The nails were pulled off. No make up. No contact lenses. I was such a frumpy mess! That was awhile ago and I'm slowly getting better at  pulling myself together, but I will never be the put-together woman I once was.

A friend and I used to take long walks through the cemetery. It was interesting to read the old tombstones and it was strangely peaceful.

Keep taking one day at time. You'll make it!

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18 minutes ago, rainingviolets said:

Congratulations for making it through a difficult day...and I mean that sincerely. As someone who has struggled with suicidal ideations for a good part of my life, I know how a bad day can kick up those urges. It sounds like you were incredibly strong battling back both those thoughts as well as the self harm thoughts. Your words about your appearance actually were reassuring for me. Before my breakdown I was Miss Perfection ~ coordinating eye shadow, shoes, suit, purse, nail polish. Beautiful, long acrylic fingernails. Not even one split end. After my breakdown I lived in a pair of sweat pants and one of my daughter's old basketball t-shirts. The nails were pulled off. No make up. No contact lenses. I was such a frumpy mess! That was awhile ago and I'm slowly getting better at  pulling myself together, but I will never be the put-together woman I once was.

A friend and I used to take long walks through the cemetery. It was interesting to read the old tombstones and it was strangely peaceful.

Keep taking one day at time. You'll make it!

Thank you for your kind comments. It feels so much less overwhelming to know you are not alone. :)

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