“It is not, after all, so easy to die.” –J. K. Rowling

That quote, from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, really connected with me.  (And yet was left out of movie….) It’s true, after all.  We are biologically designed to live.  We have survival instincts.  We are born fighting to live.

Of course, there is another side to that.  A side with which I am far too familiar.  Because somewhere along the way, I think that little part of me became damaged, and stopped working the way it is supposed to.  I’m supposed to want to live, to fight to live.  So why have I spent nearly ten years trying to die?

At the same time, though, despite my suicidal thoughts, intentions, and attempts, the survival mechanism hasn’t completely broken.  I’m still here.  Arguments could be made that it isn’t necessarily because of me.  Other people have saved my life.  But I’ve let them into my life, haven’t I?  I mean, if I really wanted to die, wouldn’t I have cut myself off from people?  Especially people who care about my life enough to actively stop me from killing myself?

I think the bottom line is that there is a part of me that, even at the darkest moments, did not want to give up.  According to science, an object in motion remains in motion unless something stops it, and something at rest remains at rest unless something sets it in motion.  I think life is like that too.  I’m alive, and it takes a great act to end life.  Life is precious, and life can end far too easily.  However, I don’t think I have what it takes to end my own, ever.

It is not, after all, so easy to die.

With all of that being said, I am not letting my guard down.  I know that the second I do, a thousand old doubts and worries will sneak back in.  I may be strong, but I am weak too.  I know from experience that it doesn’t take much from depression to find an opening and turn my life upside down.

I’m okay though.  I am okay.

I’ve been on vacation from work this week.  I’m completely broke, so I haven’t gone anywhere, but it’s been really great to have a whole week to myself.  It’s exactly what I needed. 

I’ve cleaned my apartment.  Really cleaned.  I organized both of my closets, went through all of my “junk” drawers and boxes, and actually put things where they belong instead of just getting them out of sight.  It’s incredible how happy it makes me to walk into a room and see it clean.  It gives me a very peaceful feeling.

Actually, that is how I feel about everything.  At peace. 

I’m hopeful and optimistic about the future, even though it is somewhat unknown.  I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life, but I know I’m finally on the right path.  School starts in a month, and I’m still going.  I haven’t talked myself out of it.  I haven’t freaked out yet.  I’m sure I will freak out.  I won’t be surprised if I have a panic attack before my first speech in Oral Communications (I have a HUGE fear of public speaking).  I’ll put things off too long and get overwhelmed.  But then I’ll pull an all-nighter and get everything done.  I could say that I’ll try to do better this time around, that I won’t wait until the last minute to write a paper or study for a test, but I’d be kidding myself.  That’s just how I work.  I do better under pressure.

Moreover, the bottom line is that I truly believe that I will be okay.

Last week, I decided that I was going to use this week to look for a new job.  I still can’t see myself actually quitting Jason’s deli (the reasons for that are complicated), but I figured I could get another job and just work one day a week until I felt more capable of taking such a big step. 

Now I’m not so sure. 

I’m bored at work.  I’ve been here over four years now.  Four years, two months, and eight days, to be exact.  At some point during that time, I realized I was fighting for something.  I wanted recognition.  And that recognition would come in two ways, both of which I needed.  I wanted a manager position, and I wanted the approval of one specific person.

I decided I didn’t need either of them anymore.  As it turns out, as soon as I stopped wanting them, I got them both.  In February, I was offered the manager position.  I turned it down, and I haven’t regretted that decision a single day since then.  Taking the job would have made me miserable, but having had it offered meant I could stop working towards it. 

As for the other thing, I thought I’d stopped wanting/needing it months ago.  I gave up on ever getting it, and decided it didn’t matter.  Then, it came.  It was half-assed and untrue, but despite myself, it still meant the world to me.

I don’t have anything to work towards at work anymore.  Maybe it’s because of that, but I finally stopped caring about work so much.  Everyone has told me for years that I need to care less, that it’s just a job.  Not caring does make it easier sometimes.  However, this week I realized that I can’t not care. 

I care.  It’s who I am.  I care about things and people too much.  I can’t help it.  I’m not sure I should help it.

So now, I’ve had a week off, and I think I can go back and maybe enjoy it again.  Because I didn’t realize until I had stopped, but I like liking my job.  I like caring.  I like giving too much.

I told this to a friend this week, and he pointed out something that had slipped my mind, a reason I’d had for needing to quit that surpasses everything else in importance.  I don’t know what to do about that yet, but I think I’m going to play things by ear and just see how it goes.  As with ALL of my old demons, I’m not letting my guard down. 

I’m being more careful than I’ve ever been.

I’m happy right now.  I’m doing better than I have in years.  Nevertheless, it isn’t lost on me that I’ve been happy before and that happiness can disappear abruptly and give way to the Dark and Twisty place in no time.  I know this.  I’m taking steps to avoid that from happening this time.

I have wonderful friends who are there for me whenever I need them.  I’m not alone, even when I feel like I am.  This may be my fight, but I don’t have to fight it alone.

And now, whatever happens, I will always be able to say that I was happy once.  Six months ago, I couldn’t say that.

I started taking 5-HTP last fall, after I had a panic attack at work one night and it started a downward spiral that scared me.  I don’t want to go to a psychiatrist or a therapist, and I don’t want to go back on any kind of psychotropic drugs for several different reasons, but this felt…safer.

I did well with taking it regularly for a couple of weeks, but then after a crazy weekend I kind of forgot all about it and never picked back up.  This week I started back.  Not because I need something to boost my mood right now, but because I figure it can’t hurt.  I’ve done research on it, and there don’t seem to be negative side effects.  Moreover, if it doesn’t work, I haven’t lost anything by trying it.  Plus, it’s supposed to help with appetite control and weight loss, as well as insomnia.  And insomnia is a real issue I have, especially since I’ve quit taking sleeping pills again.

I really want to get a tattoo.  I’ve been trying to decide what I want to get for years now.  I want it to be symbolic of my struggles, with a message of hope.  A reminder to myself not to give up.

I’ve spent years trying to figure out what just the right thing would be, and suddenly, a couple of nights ago, it hit me.  I know what I want.

I want the word “Live”.  Simple, yet so meaningful to me.  Because if there is anything I need a reminder of, it is to live. 

Now the only question is where to get it.  I want it somewhere I can see it (so not on my back), but I also want it somewhere easily concealed for the sake of future employment.

Also, I don’t have the money for a tattoo right now.

Still, just knowing what I’m going to get is nice.

Tl;dr version:

I’m alive and glad to be so. 

Vacation with nothing to do is nice.  Having a clean apartment is awesome. 

I’m giving work another chance. 

I’m trying 5-HTP again. 

I figured out what my tattoo will be when I get the money to get it.

I’m at peace with myself.