Anyway, back to passive suicidal ideations. The spicy stuff I know you’re dying to hear about.

I don’t know why I’m like this, or when it started. I don’t recall a specific day where I woke up and passively just thought, You know what? If I hadn’t woken up today, it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world. I guess at some point, that became such a daily norm, a ritual of sorts, that its origin story just sort of disappeared with time. 

I don’t remember ever feeling that way before middle school, I can pretty confidently say that. I think before middle school there’s not much that can happen to you where you feel like your passive death would be an improvement. Maybe that’s just me, though. I feel like Mrs. Blevins, my sociology teacher, would probably say something like “That comment comes from a place of privilege, because there are likely many elementary-aged children who live in very poor circumstances and have passive suicidal ideations.”

Mrs. Blevins is always saying stuff like that, but I’m not knocking her. She’s a very thoughtful lady, and her class has been one of the few places where I’ve learned some things about myself. Stuff I don’t even talk about with my therapist. His name is Rex, by the way. It’s such, like, a Rottweiler name, isn’t it?

Ugh, sorry I’m so unfocused. This is exactly the trouble I have with Rex. I can’t stay on topic for shit. Whether I’m talking about stuff out loud or writing it down, it all just comes bubbling up to the surface of my brain and I just have to let it loose when it gets there. Somehow we kicked this whole thing off talking about passive suicidal ideations, and now you know my sociology teacher’s name and my therapist’s name, and I’ve hardly even talked about the fact that today, I woke up and not only thought it wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t woken up, but for the first time ever, I also specifically envisioned myself staying asleep. Not breathing.

It was like I was hovering over the scene, watching myself be…well, dead. And then time sped up and I watched as I just kept lying there in my bed, my body withering, decaying, being covered in flies and maggots, and decomposing.

And no one came.

I know that’s fucked up, even to me. Like, who thinks about shit like this? Who lets this shit just sit and spin around in their brains? I don’t actively want to die, I don’t think. But I’ve definitely crossed some threshold between passive ideations and…whatever the fuck that vision was this morning. 

I should probably talk to Rex about it, but I just don’t know if I’m ready to feel like my therapy sessions are taking a step backwards. He’s the one who gave me this notebook to write in, and I’m giving that a shot here. But if I’m being honest, this probably won’t last beyond an entry or two, because, as you can see, I’m just not focused enough to keep this up. But Rex says he can tell there are things I’m just not comfortable with or willing to talk about with him yet, and that writing them down might be a good first step to bringing them out into the open.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe writing about how I fantasized about my own dead body decaying while no one came to check on me really is a pathway to getting better. But I don’t feel sick, not in my everyday life. It’s just in the quiet moments, when school’s over, when my homework’s done, when friends aren’t texting me, when Mom’s working her night job, when my sister is making out with her boyfriend in her locked bedroom—it’s in those moments that this shit creeps up on me.

It’s creeping up on me right now. Writing about this, putting these words on paper, it’s just conjuring up those images again, and I can’t get them out of my head. I know this is supposed to help, to put words on paper, but I think these  passive ideations, or whatever, are just rooted so deep that I need something else.

I need someone to tell me they know what this is like. I need someone to say, “This happens to me, too, and I’m making it just fine.”

I dunno. This feels stupid now that I’ve sat here a few minutes chewing on the lid of this damn pen. I think I’ve had my fill for today.

I think I’ve had my fill for…forever, maybe.

Let’s leave it there.

—J