One Step Forward…

by Noise Pollution

Two steps back.

Today, my counselor gave me the number for the suicide hotline to keep with me “just in case, if you’re in crisis and nobody is around.” Quite the hit to my “hey, my life sucks but I’m slowly improving” fantasy. (To be clear, I am not complaining about my counselor. There is nothing wrong with him.)

I don’t want to call that number. I don’t want to call that number for a variety of reasons, first and foremost being my aversion to talking on the phone in general. I hate it. I avoid phone conversations like the fucking plague, regardless of the topic. I don’t want to cold call someone just to talk about my “problems.”

The other reason I don’t want to call is because I’m not suicidal. At least, not yet. I just have some self-harming tendencies and occasionally kick around the idea of it in my head, but it’s never serious. The only times in my life I ever tried to take my own life were such half-assed attempts that no one ever even found out about it, because I woke up the next day and was capable of acting like it never happened. But I am absolutely not  suicidal. I am so fucking terrified of dying. Holy shit, the idea of death scares me so fucking bad that thinking about being dead has been a trigger for me to break down. I don’t want to die, I just don’t really care that much about living. Is that so bad?

I don’t know. He gave me the number so I’d have another option when I feel the urge to self-harm, but it’s still a weird blow to my pride. I don’t know why. I would never in a million years judge someone else for using a suicide hotline, so why do I feel so self-conscious about it?

This is a weird, super-personal thing to throw out there. I’m completely and totally uncomfortable posting it, which is the reason I am posting it. This discomfort is worth something. It’s some kind of proof that this is a subject that matters, I think.