Sometimes...

Sometimes I wish I was back at the bottom of the Pit. The very bottom where I cannot be bothered even to take my own life. Even as I write that most of me is screaming on the inside 'How can you think that?! Have you forgotten what it felt like? The Hopelessness, the Darkness, the Emptiness? The Despair, and the Helplessness?'. The answer is that, no, I have not forgotten what it was like. There is a considerable amount of fear attached to those memories, to the thought of 'going back'. I have said several times before that not only am I not confident that if (when?) I find myself in another sever major depressive episode I will be able to pull myself out of it but that I believe, with almost 100% certainty (statistically speaking there is no 100% ;) ), I will not make it out, that I will kill myself. But... if I could just go straight to the bottom of the Pit... straight there and, maybe, straight back out to the top again...

I don't know. I cannot remember that time clearly enough... I cannot remember my thoughts well enough. I don't know if I was just incapable of actually committing the act of suicide or if my brain was so thick that even the suicidal ideation couldn't penetrate. I suppose, when I wish sometimes to be at the bottom that I am hoping it is the latter; that it wasn't just that I couldn't be bothered to kill myself but that I was so out of it, that my brain was so muddled that the thoughts couldn't even get through. But even as I write this I am almost sure that the only thing that kept me from killing myself was that I could not even be bothered, that it was too much effort, that the thoughts were still there but I was so out of it I couldn't do anything about it.

But if it was that way, if it wasn't lack of suicidal ideation that kept me from killing myself but the simple fact that I could not even be bothered to do that... if the thoughts were still there... I remember my brain being very sluggish. I wonder if that would be preferable to what I am experiencing now. Because I have the feeling that those thoughts did not 'sting' as badly as they do otherwise, possibly because my brain was so sluggish, so thick. Because they're bothering me more as of late. I'm so tired of it. I don't want to see it in my head anymore(because that is what the 'thoughts' are like really, pictures... distorted, somewhat abstract maybe, but pictures none the less). I'm so tired of it. I'm so tired of telling myself that I will not do it, especially when the only reason I can come up with half the time is 'I won't do it, I have no reason to, after all.'. That's not a good reason. And most of the time I have one or two other reasons, family, friends, my pets (the pets most often, lol)... But I think I might be a little worried. Because I am feeling like I could act impulsively on it. And while I suppose the worry is good because it could mean that I don't want to die... the truth of the matter is that, for the most part, most of the time... I don't care.