Today is the day

Today was the day I planned my death.

I woke up foggy, my eyes puffy from the tears of the night before. Crying myself to sleep quietly while my partner of 4 years snores softly has become a common feature of my night-time routine.

I had to get my son organised for childcare, the never ending planning and prepping in my obsessive compulsive mind meant his bags were packed, bottle for nap time prepared and his clothes laid out on his dresser. I could drop him off quickly this morning and continue with my plans for the day.

Why would I want to end my life? Perhaps it was never meant that I live a full life, perhaps it was years and years of depression, anxiety and OCD. Suffering since a young child does take a toll. I feel old, frail and simply exhausted. No sleep ever refreshes, no coffee can give me enough buzz.

My body is tired. My mind torn apart. How long can you live in such a tormented way?

I am unsure how to describe the creeping and slowly building feeling depression and anxiety form around your everyday life.

Some days are great, don’t get me wrong. I have those moments throughout most days when gazing at my son’s little soft face and hands or watching him giggle and play with his father. I can catch a ray of light streaming through the Venetian blinds or even hear a song that just makes me feel like bursting with joy.

Like little lightning strikes in my brain which try and alert me to the moment happening around me. Almost desperately crying out, please see this! Do not miss it! You’ll want to live in these moments forever!

But it never lasts. It’s always moments or little blips in my mind.

Then comes the gloom and heavy-hearted storm. It washes over me and consumes my soul. It feels suffocating. I cannot see. Where are the streams of light through my blinds and the images of my son’s soft hands swimming around in my mind? I can’t hear the music or the voices of the ones I love. It’s like static, white noise. Confusing me and making things seem surreal. Did my partner say something? Did he ask me a question? What does my son want? I can’t understand or focus through the noise in my mind.

Racing thoughts, paranoid delusions of how everything is wrong, terrible images of abused women and children, people hurt alone somewhere, animals being tortured, war, a birds nest falling from the tree, corrupt politicians and a broken mental health system.

Why does my mind make me suffer so much pain? Where do these images and thoughts come from?

I’m a terrible mother, a cold partner, useless career and no hopes or dreams.

Am I a narcissist? Why do I think of myself so often? Is this how I got to the place I am right now? Full of despair and terrified of what the future holds?

Surely thinking of one’s self so often creates an unhappiness so deep it’s like a pit that can never be filled. Obsessive thoughts about everything that is wrong, my nose is crooked, my chin too round, my stomach is a blob of post baby fat. My bottom teeth are fucked, my breasts are lumps and that’s only the beginning. Hours and hours are spent on this train of thought. I can’t break it or stop.

And that’s just the physical flaws.

Every time I open my mouth, every time I speak, I critique and criticize every single thing I said. As I write this, each word I type I think don’t be a wanker, are you trying to sound poetic? You are such a try hard piece of shit.

I look at other mothers who seem so relaxed and are just enjoying their child. Why do they look so easy and carefree? I feel like I am a screaming, angry maniac who is destroying my child’s future being. I don’t do the motherly things I should. I try filling in the books and making picture albums but it’s all half assed and shitty. I don’t take my son to swimming like everyone else does, he only has two pairs of good shoes, his socks are too small and still has milk bottles at night. Am I failing him? Will he be a happy young man? Should I do more? What should I do more? I have no control over anything. Constant cleaning and packing up. I can’t relax and just ‘be’. Mess, dirty, mess, dirty. The house is a bomb site and all I can see is filth.

Everything I did in the past haunts me. The depressed mind lives in the past. It’s like food for depression. It feeds it and builds the void between living in the moment and dwelling on the things you did, the awful things that happened to you and every ill word you spoke.

Financial ruin. This is a big element of my personal depression. I will always remember my ex saying, there is nothing more crippling than debt. And these words were never truer than when my uncle ended his life two years ago.

I cannot fathom why it has always been so hard for me to grasp the financial concepts many people just have. I’m so envious of those without debt or very little who can buy all the nice things and still have savings. People with career aspirations and solid jobs which they love. Rich housewife types that want for nothing but have everything. I know it’s unhealthy but it just adds to my unhealthily poisoned mind.

It’s truly is the most exhausting lifestyle if you could even call it that.

So, this is the day to end my life. It’s not killing physical me; it’s silencing the depression. Putting an end to it’s nasty, evil hold over me. It isn’t just some non-existent thing, just a word. It’s very real. Like a person inside my head, living breathing and sucking the life from me. I imagine he’s like a demon, enjoys the torment and suffering he puts me through every second of the day. Clouding my thoughts, making me hurt and do destructive things.

Maybe if I’m lucky I can be reborn, get a second chance to live again. I would do so much more, see so much more. And would remember to breathe and just take it in. Drink in the world around me instead of shutting it all out.

I decided to do some things I really enjoy and get myself organised.

I gave my son lots of kisses and cuddles while getting him ready and out the door. He giggled, smiled and sighed my name “mummy” when I tickled him.

When I got home, I made a large espresso with coconut oil and put some music on. I went from room to room cleaning out and organizing each draw. Junk, lovely cards, receipts, jewelry from my grandma.

I made a box of my sons’ things, to keep everything in a special place. I included things like antibiotic prescriptions because of my inability to detach from inanimate objects.

My crazy mind is hungry so I decided to go to my favorite cafe. I drove through the country towns to where my mother grew up. I’ve always felt drawn here and I know part of her soul is embedded into the earth. I ordered my favorite dish, pickled Beetroot, bacon, smashed avocado with Danish feta on sour dough with pepitas.

I enjoyed the two lattes and sitting in the corner writing everything you have read so far in my phone. Typing away furiously with conviction and honesty.

So this brings me to now. Right now, in this moment. It’s funny to think that no one knows what I am writing or planning. They really have no idea. Absorbed in their gossip and bitching of others they fail to see a person sitting here, planning to end it all.

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