In My Head

Pressure. There is so much pressure in my arms, my legs, my head. I want to cut my skin open and let it out. It would be such a relief...but I can’t do that. Why can’t I do that again? It would make me feel better. Nothing would make me feel better. Nothing. I wish there could be nothing; no pressure, no thoughts, no feelings.

All I feel is pain, pain that turns into pressure when I try to block it out. Why do I feel pain? What could possibly be causing this? I did everything I was supposed to. I let go of my anger, let go of my past, processed my trauma, and learned coping skills. What are my coping skills again? How do I deal with it when the pressure builds up in my chest, and I swear my heart is going to explode any minute?

Death. I keep coming back to that thought. But I know it isn’t mine. I don’t want to die. Why don’t I want to die? It would be so much easier than this. It would release the pressure… It would also take away the things that I love, that I worked so hard for. Is that why I didn’t do it last time? Or was I just scared? I feel scared now.

I was genuinely happy for a while. When I was fourteen I didn’t think that would ever be possible. That’s why I was going to drink that bottle of bleach. I stared at that open bottle, I stared and I stared, until the garage door started to open. And then I ran. Down the stairs, into my cave, tears streaming down my face. Why didn’t I do it back then? Then I wouldn’t know this pain. This pressure.

I promised myself I wouldn’t ever let this happen again. That I would end it before it got bad. So why can’t I just do it? A promise is a promise, and I keep my promises. I should just do it...no wait. I was happy, remember? Things can be good, things were good, and if I did this now I would lose all of that...I would hurt all of them.

I don’t know where these thoughts are coming from. This crushing weight. I married the love of my life, my soulmate, the best thing that ever happened to me. We bought a home and began filling it with animals, starting our own little family. I worked my way through school, ready to start my career, that reflects me so perfectly and so completely. What more could I want? Why is it that I fear losing all of this? And why is it that the solution I keep coming back to will most surely take it all away from me?

God if I could just cut into my arm, or my leg, it would help right? Why am I fighting this so hard? I am so tired of fighting. I just want a break for a little while...maybe a drink will distract me, calm me, release me. No. This isn’t who I am. Then who am I? This is all that there is in my head. Cut, drink, die.

I lay on this couch day and night, unable to manage even the simplest of tasks. Sometimes I don’t even eat. The best part of my day is when he comes home. He is sad though, and scared. He knows what I am thinking, and he doesn’t understand it either. How do I explain to him that these aren’t my thoughts? That this isn’t what I want? But is it? It gets hard to tell sometimes. I don’t know how to get back to who I was before.

He tells me that he is going to help me. That we are going to go to a doctor and a therapist. That I am going to get better. For just a moment, while he is holding me, I do feel better. The pressure lessens and I can focus for a moment, focus on this plan to get back to being me. But as soon as he releases me the pressure returns, and it is hard to remember the plan, or focus on doing it. All I can do is lie there and think: cut, drink, die.