I am not suicidal

Stressed? Yes. Anxious? Permanently. Planning my imminent end? I don’t think so.

I will acknowledge that the last 12 months have been hard going. I will concede that PND following the birth of number 2 segued neatly into a longer lasting slump after a series of crap and demoralising things happening, one after another.

I will even accept that, as a creature that has historically actively avoided change, the amount of changes we have been through are probably a bit much for my intransigent little self.

I am lonely. I do feel isolated. I am finding the whole new town/new friends dynamic tough, but if I don’t force myself to get out there it will never get better. I just hate feeling like the new girl all the time.

But suicidal? Again, I don’t think so.

So why then when I am standing at the station and the non stopping intercity through train passes through do I find myself edging back from the platform edge, in case the compulsion to jump (in fact it need only be a step) becomes too strong?

Why do I hug the walls on the underground platforms to avoid confronting the feeling that if I did do it then at least people would know. They would finally get how intense this feeling of loss and loneliness is, how low it brings me. But that would be stupid because then I’d be dead and I wouldn’t be here to appreciate that people were listening.

I used to look at people who attempted suicide as a cry for help and think time waster.

Drama queen.

Now I get it. They need you to understand how bad it is and they want someone to care enough to listen and save them.

I guess it’s time to start talking.

The thing is, I can’t help wondering how many of those that jumped didn’t plan it, didn’t mean to.