I think the biggest problem about feeling suicidal is you live your life in thirds.
Part of you yearn to ask for help. You want to kick and scream and cry for help, thrashing about like an unruly child until the lifeguard finally notices that you’re drowning and pulls you out. You want your voice to be a siren wailing in the night until your throat is raw; every scar on your skin to be flashing red lights, brighter than your crimson insides as you shed blood and tears in your agony. HELP ME you scream because your head is filled to the brim with a crowd of reasons to go, but you don’t want to, you want so desperately for someone to see that you hurt because you need surgeons and scalpels to remove this tumorous self hatred; you know this cancer that rots your heart and head could never really be removed, but you NEED someone to help you subdue it.
Part of you is ashamed at ever telling anyone. What right have you to put that kind of pressure on anyone? You need help, but you’re terrified of being the one who emotionally manipulates others into sticking around, and you know it wouldn’t be what you mean, but how else can you describe “Don’t go, I need you, without you I would kill myself” ? So you keep quiet, because no one you love could stand that pressure, and you could never live with that guilt.
But I think the hardest part is that part of you, the part that really keeps you from telling people, is that even though you want the help, even though you need them to know, once they do it would be harder to accomplish the task. And you may need help, but you NEED that option more. Because honestly, the knowledge that if life ever gets too far for you to handle, you could end it, you could die, is the only security you’ve ever known.
You may be afraid to die, because it’s so permanent, it’s so unknown, and so many stories have told you, you’ll burn. It’s true, you may be afraid to die, but you’re afraid to live too. You live so many moments in fear and pain and anger; your lungs, you head, your heart, they fight you, and the world feels like it resents you, and the only safe haven you’ve ever really known is the safety behind that fact- the safety in knowing you have the option to end it.
You don’t want to die, and a third of your EVERYTHING is determined to get the help you need, but when another third needs the comfort of having the choice, and the last third refuses to give the discomfort of the knowledge that THAT is your security….
Let’s face it: You’re never going to tell.