It really happened.
That overdose of mine.
As the anxiety softens,
I can once again connect to the pain,
The inability to quite connect.
The fact that really was me
That bought the pills,
That bought the food for my last meal,
That sat there in the californian sunshine,
Knowing it would be my last.
It just baffles me,
It still does.
And yet it’s been almost 5 months,
But then I see that is early days.
This life changing event;
Takes time to heal.
It leaves a wound that leaves me open
But confused and vulnerable and broken.
In need of nurture, of talking, of calm,
But also avoidance and distraction –
Right now the wound is often too deep,
It triggers, it sweeps,
It knocks me sideways when I speak.
As time gently works its wonder,
This element will fall away
And it can be spoken of on any day.
And that I long for –
That ability to share,
To hold a moment with what happened.
But I still feel my feet are running,
Catching up and tripping,
But we will get there one day,
And in my heart it’s not so far away.
And from here we will talk, we will share, we will heal.
But first let the hauntedness heal, and all will follow.
Survivors out there,
We need to share –
We need to know we’re not alone.
And in doing that, I want to throw you a stone,
Of hope, of joy, of understanding, of compassion, of forgiveness, of healing, to whatever wound caused you to take your feet there.
Freud said of suicide,
It is when someone is so angry they could kill someone (a specific person in your life), but they can’t so they (attempt to) kill themselves.
I remember my therapist telling me this that the Friday morning of my attempt,
It feels clear as day.