As I lay on the sofa, consumed with despair at my ineptitude at dealing with the mental and emotional pain that is all that I am, I slip into depersonalisation. The ghost of the body and whatever it is that is my consciousness split even farther apart than usual: my lips tingle, I realise I can’t feel my phone gripped in my hand, my eyes unfocus, the world is something distant and strange – the automaton is in action, ‘Molly’ isn’t a physical being any more. I’m told that this is a defensive measure that my brain started using at a young age when I couldn’t deal with what was going on around me. It’s left me, outwardly, with some funny quirks (rocking in a prounounced and amusing ‘bear in a cage’ style, ringing hands, rubbing blisters into my skin) developed unconsciously to try to ‘ground’ me to my body and, inwardly, with increasing despair and loss of self. It’s something that I grapple with daily (almost constantly to one degree or another, for the past decade or so), it’s distressing and it’s hard to battle – especially when the alternative (if I do manage to fight it off) is an even more overwhelming bombardment with the feelings involved in my mental illness/es.
But as the ghost of my body lays there, as I float above it and see the tears slide down the cheeks of the automaton, I see once again that ‘Molly’ doesn’t really exist. This thing, this person, that everyone else sees, isn’t ‘Molly’ and hasn’t been for a long time. ‘Molly’ is gone. All that is left is this puddle of despair surrounding a mostly non-functioning body. And I wonder why I continue, what would be different if this ghostly automaton and floating, despairing, pain-ridden consciousness that is all that’s left of ‘Molly’ was no longer alive? There is nothing positive and so much negative that comes from this, that comes from me, or whatever is left of me. Would everyone not be better off if there just was no ‘Molly’ any more? My new psychologist and so many of the mental health professionals looking after me have discussed this very topic with me and insist that the effects of suicide are worse and more far-reaching than this. I don’t want to hurt people, I just don’t want to be in this pain any more. I want to keep trying but I’m so scared that I’ll run out of the energy and strength. I don’t want to let everyone down but I don’t believe I have it in me not to do so.
Bucketloads of guilt from all sides. Each option with its own pain and ripples of destruction.
There’s so much that I want to see and do, but what if this is all there is for ‘Molly’? Can I put up with this forever?
I don’t know what to do.