I wrote this passage in a deep, dark place. I post it now to remind myself how far I’ve come. I post it now to share what clinical depression sounds like fueled by alcohol and self-centeredness. I post it for that someone who might be in this deep, dark place. You are not alone. And you can come out of it.
I’m going to kill myself xmas day in Carmel. There is no other option. I will NEVER find happiness in this world. Everyone can survive and survive well without me. There is no point to my continuing living. I am unhappy no matter what happens. I see no point to my life. What I give to people is just passing. They get it from somewhere else, if they don’t get it from me. I am expendable, disposable and ultimately replaceable. That is the final word. Everyone is lying or they are stupid to say otherwise. I must devise a plan of how to kill myself. I will buy lots of liquor and sleeping pills. I hope that does it. I have to do it. I can’t go on any longer. It is pointless. I will tie up everything. I will give everyone their xmas presents and write letters. I will explain it all and they will all understand. I will make them understand how we feel. Why can no one understand, but us? We see the truth and want to die. Why can’t everyone see how painful it is for us to continue living. I’m so frustrated that I see it and no one else around me does. Only those who end up killing themselves see it as I do. I have to do it. I am one of them and only they understand me. I have been fooling myself to think I could really be a part of the living population. They don’t get me and I don’t get them.
So many things have changed since that horrible time in my life. Most importantly I got sober. I found people like me who did understand exactly how I felt. I learned to embrace the suicidal Dianne. I learned that when those thoughts and feelings come, it’s just a thought or feeling and not reality. I learned not to be ashamed of it. I learned to be kind to myself. I learned that I don’t have to overcome those thoughts and feelings. I don’t have to get rid of them. I notice them, I experience them, and then I let them go when they go. And I learned that they do go. When those feelings come, I say, “Oh there you are! I know you!” Finally, after many years I realized that the part of me that can feel suicidal is the passion inside of me. It is the same passion that drives me in my work and my art.
I don’t consider suicide anymore because I have a son. I would never do that to him. But I know that if those feelings do come, it’s okay.