I can’t believe I’m writing this, but part of me misses being suicidal. An abysmal declaration, if ever there was one… I know. Still, it’s a true statement and, if you have a moment, I’ll explain myself here.
Emergency exits make us feel a little safer, don’t they? It’s nice to know, that if the proverbial shit hits the fan, you have a way out. My point is, I’ve lost the emergency exit I’ve been carrying around for the last twenty years. There was a sick sense of comfort telling myself…
“If one more thing goes wrong, I’m just going to end it all!”
No more. Now, when life gets ugly (it’s pretty fucking ugly right now) I know I have to endure and find a way through it. Welcome to the real world, right?
Suicide was an extremely attractive possibility during those tumultuous years when I felt, both, undeserving and doubtful of the love I have in my life. After a gruelling year of intense self-discovery and the writing of my life story, I know in the core of my being that I deserve to be loved… and I am. I have pure, unconditional, beautiful, powerful love in my life. In that regard, I’m a very lucky man.
I owe my family my life, and my strongest effort to be the best man I can be for them. With that being said, unfortunately, I will be starting my new year with my remaining issues blossoming to extreme proportions.
Due to financial duress, my family and I have lost our home to foreclosure. The unemployment benefits I have been collecting are exhausted, and for the first time in my life, I have zero income to offer the people who depend on me. My girlfriend, Hailey, works as much as she can and does well for the hours she works, but it’s just not enough and we’re struggling harder than ever. Christmas was a stressful time, to say the least and, of course, I feel like less of a man.
Going back to work is an impossibility right now, and my only option appears to be applying for long-term disability insurance. This will be a long drawn-out process, with no guarantee I’ll even be approved. Plus, because I have a mental illness as opposed to a physical one, I will be in for one hell of a fight and, most likely, a series of appeals. I am dreading the road ahead.
Perhaps you’re scratching your head, saying…
“You’re a published author… doesn’t that pay well?”
The hard truth is, no. For the past several months, I’ve worked 60-70 hours a week trying to increase my visibility and credibility, in an effort to promote my book and share my story. I had no idea what to expect, but now that some of the smoke has cleared, reality is hitting me like a ton of bricks.
I gave copies of Surviving the Fourth Cycle to a handful of people I’m close to, for review, and those who have read it seem to genuinely like it. There are also sample chapters available to read on more websites than I can keep track of and, these too, receive high praise. This makes me feel good, of course, and I know I’m doing something worthwhile. The truth, however, is only a few dozen people have actually purchased it. I get a small percentage of sales and, after doing the math, it pains me to say that I make a fraction of a penny an hour as a writer. It would be impossible for me to express how discouraging this is, but I just can’t give up my dream.
On top of all this, I’m in serious need of dental work. I have several cavities and a back tooth that broke in half and fell out of my mouth. I need medical attention too. I have a vascular anomaly in my right leg. I had surgery on it a few years ago, but now my leg keeps going numb again, and I’m afraid of what that might mean. I’m also still week, and recovering from the damage I did during the fourth cycle. I need so much attention, mentally and physically, that it’s overwhelming and I don’t even know where to begin. This brings me to my biggest obstacle of all…
My Agoraphobia is worse than it’s ever been in my life. I’m uncomfortable in my new residence and have become homebound… room bound is more accurate. My irrational (but very real) terror makes leaving my bedroom and descending the flight of stairs into the main house almost impossible. Sometimes, I just kind of hover at the top of the stairs for a while, trying to take that first step down, only to rush back into my room for a good cry.
I can do it sometimes, but not without my heart rate doubling and my anxiety level skyrocketing through the roof. It requires preparation. Marijuana helps (when I do see a new doctor, soon, I’ll be exploring prescription meds… again), but money is beyond tight, so this option isn’t as available anymore. The only other tool that helps me right now is self-harming, and I’m sorry to say that I have a need to employ this crutch on a daily basis again.
I’m hiding from the world in this house. In this room. Sometimes under the blankets in my bed like a scared child and sometimes, still, in the bowels of my own mind. My layers of shelter are piling up, and my soul feels like the last tiny figure in a set of Russian Nesting Dolls.
Don’t worry, now… you know I’m a survivor.
I didn’t write this so people would feel bad for me. That would be ludicrous, in my mind. There are children on this planet, infested with parasites, who have to drink muddy water to quench their thirst. There are endless people who have survived far more heinous acts than I’ve ever had to endure —the poor parents in Connecticut (US), who I shed tears for last month, after some sick fucking bastard with a gun woke up and decided to drive to a school and murder 20 of their innocent little children right before Christmas!
Yes… there are people in this world to feel bad for, but I am not on that list.
I have a boatload of problems to deal with, but my family is warm, safe, and with me. We have a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs. We have each other, love, and hope. I realize all this… and in my heart, I am genuinely happy.
I wrote this to share with you, because it helps me and I need all the help I can get right now. Every time I write on this website, the kindness and support I receive lifts my spirit, warms my heart, and eases my mind. Perhaps it’s because I lost my own mother, and this is a blog visited by some of the most caring, understanding, honest, and non-judgmental moms (mums) there are. I think I need you… so thank you for letting me vent here.
Hailey and I are working on a plan to improve our circumstances (including my intensified Agoraphobia and health concerns) and adapt to our new situation. I promise to keep you all posted and, more importantly, I promise I’ll be okay
You can read more about Nathan at his blog Surviving The Fourth Cycle
