I know this will be hard for a lot of people to read, so consider this a trigger warning that suicidal ideations and thoughts are to heavily follow this sentance.

I have been obsessing over this lump that I have on my neck.

I’m sure it’s probably just a cyst or something like that, but the imaging report has “…cyst?”, with a fucking question mark.

I’ll know more when I have my doctor appointment for a follow up with the ultrasound.

I can’t help but obsess because in a way I am hoping it is cancer.

Just to have a way out.

Just so I know my time is limited for real.

So I have the ultimate death plan.

And I don’t have enough money to get the biopsy that will probably be the next step, so it’ll just get bigger and I won’t know what’s really happening.

Maybe that’s for the better.

Part of me hopes it’s deadly and will continue to spread.

Part of me is scared.

Part of me is happy.

All of me is obsessed with it.

As I’m sure it’s nothing and death is not near like I’d hoped.

Because I’ve tried myself so many times, and it never works.

There’s always a plan with me.

I never go through with it – not like I used to and had failed so many times doing.

When I was using heavily, I’d just hope and hope that my heart would stop one night.

That one of these times my body would give out.

I tried and tried to over dose.

And I always woke up the next day, and would sigh.

Suicidal ideation isn’t something people talk about openly and I think that should change.

For me, it’s an everyday struggle.

I always think of ways out just to never try them.

Or when I do try it, it always fails to relieve me because it failed.

Ideations are the things that tell me to run my car off the road.

They tell me while driving if I just jerked the wheel hard enough, the car will roll and I won’t hurt anyone else as the car flails into the ditch.

That if I open up all the windows and my sunroof, and take off my seatbelt maybe I’ll get thrown out through the windshield or sunroof and everything will stop just like I want it to.

And I know that because of the title of this entry, not many people will even read this.

Because suicidal ideations aren’t happy.

It’s not fun and whimsical subject to most people.

It’s difficult to digest that I don’t care if I live or die.

I’m not afraid to die.

Not even a little bit.

I have a more “bring it on” mentality with it.

Because death is the ultimate relief for me.

The voices have gotten quieter, but my depression runs circles around me.

It’s slowly binding me into a shell of myself.

These types of thoughts usually send folks to the hospital.

But they sanction people down here and being hospitalized is not a choice when I cry out that I’m feeling suicidal.

They force you to be hospitalized if anything is said.

That’s normally something I keep for therapy or a meeting with my caseworker.

They understand the difference between ideation and action.

And if I don’t talk about it, people who have constant ideations like I do, won’t know that there’s others like them.

That no matter what good things happen in life, I’d be even more content if I just wasn’t anywhere anymore.

I don’t talk about it much because it is so fucking taboo still.

People don’t like to hear this shit.

It’s selfish, people say.

It’s the opposite of selfish.

I want to take my life because I don’t feel like continuing to be a burden to those I love.

I don’t want to sit here and help use up resources.

I don’t want to be anymore. 

And suicide is more about the ache that person feels.

When I hear of a friends or a friend of a friends suicide, I ache for them because I know how desperate and hopeless they must’ve felt.

I empathize with them, not call them selfish.

I understand where they’re coming from.

It’s hard not really caring if I live or die.

I tend to do more risky things, or at least, I did.

It’s not that I want to keep going, it’s more like I wonder what will happen next for me nowadays.

But if the escape hatch opened, I’d joyfully leap out.

– Keren