I don’t remember the first time I thought about killing myself. It has to have been too long ago for my mind to recall, or it’s blocked from my conscious thought. I do remember the ups and downs of earlier life.
For the longest time I thought what I felt was just how everyone else felt. There wasn’t an even level of happiness, nowhere near. It was a constant wave of highs and lows that was impossible to predict. I was never truly happy, not for long, just surfing the ups and preparing for the downs.
I felt useless a lot of the time. Spending far too much time on my own and teaching myself about the world. I didn’t feel a purpose and never experienced a calling towards anything. Meaning that as I stumbled through my existence I questioned what it was all for. If I wasn’t happy, what was the point in being like this for decades more. The idea of fading away was certainly one I have entertained numerous times.
In this early life I was too scared to action anything. The imagined pain of actually committing anything was more than the pain I felt and so logically it didn’t make sense. In more recent years the notion of the pain I would leave behind for my family replaced that of physical pain, and far outweighed any opposing desires I had. There was never a point where the balance tipped over, and thus the idea always stayed an idea; but one that never went away fully.
Returning occasionally to remind me that I was somehow different from everyone else. That my existence was destined to be one of ups and downs, and that was just how my life was. It wasn’t until reading The Midnight Garden that I managed to put these thoughts into a coherent expression and feel able to express them.
To this day I don’t know if other people feel the same; because I’ve never spoken of it. I deal with it, and know that my logical brain will always come out on top. Safe in the knowledge that I am surrounded by Team Morris and some brilliant people and that’s my motivation in life.