Finding what's left. in The Napkin.

In the past when I had suicidal ideation, it was at least confined to the privacy of my residence. It’s quite different to be in public and casually thinking about death. All the classics:

“I have nothing to live for. Sure, my cats, and the knowledge that my absence would hurt some few people. But, that’s a baseline. Something to live FOR.”

Shit like that.

Still categorically avoiding any thoughts or prethoughts of a how. Women attempt more suicides, but the “success” rate among males tends to be higher. If I attempt, it won’t be a cry for help. It will be an escape because help never came.

My spunk seems to be gone. Or just on vacation for the day. The zeal for live. The zaniness. I’ve always been capable of a dark sense of humor, but lately, gosh. I feel like such a downer that I don’t even want to be around myself sometimes.

So when I feel some sense of SOMETHING positive, like “Oh, I like how it feels to think about getting a tattoo”, well, that’s a good thing.

I’m trying to remember that this is probably part of the process. Brain chemistry returning to normal, or whatever the new normal is, takes a long time. Monotony is a double-edged sword. I definitely need this calm to build up my stress buffer. Definitely can feel it easier to deal with stress now. But in monotony is a lack of stimulus. One can only stimulate themselves so much.

Cue wanking joke.

Well, at least that side of me is still there, despite my libido being nonexistent. I’d rather do a chick’s dishes than have sex right now. Oh, everything still works. Attraction, arousal - I’m fully functional.

I know I shoot my mouth off at times. (Or do I? I don’t know anymore.) It’s part of why I’m rather tight-lipped. “Be yourself” is absolutely horrible advice. If I were to write a character that was completely my unfiltered thoughts, he’d be…

Oh man.

I will say that I’m the type of person that will pause when someone asks how I am. I ponder out loud, then answer honestly. The pause, in part, to prevent saying “Oh, felt like killing myself two minutes ago but that passed.” Come to think of it, last few times I’ve been asked, I’ve been able to say I’m fantastic.

Go figure. Glad I verbalized that out loud, otherwise it would be more difficult to remember.

Anyway, makes me wonder just how many people are silently suffering, just like me. Going about their day, with those erratic thoughts stirring, but never oozing to the surface.

In other words, it’s part of why I hesitate and don’t always speak my mind. Never know when one small phrase will effect someone.

As an aside, trigger warnings are so fucking stupid. Whenever I see that infantile “TW!!”, that’s my cue to click. Because everybody has different triggers. Five bucks says nobody will censor “WELL, CUT OFF MY KID’S DICK TODAY BECAUSE I’M A HORRIBLE PARENT”. And I’m so post-rage that I just stay silent unless they’re an actual friend.

I do get it - some triggers are obvious. Others, not as much.

It’s the problem of piles.

PHILOSOPHY 101 TIME.

Seriously. If you haven’t heard this, it really pumps my brain cells. It has to do with discrete and continuous countability. No wait, that might be something else.

Okay. One grain of sand. That’s not a pile.

Take a handful of sand and put it on a surface. You now how a pile of sand.

Okay. One grain of sand. And one. Is it a pile? No. Add another. Is it a pile? No.

Go in reverse. From the pile, remove one grain of sand. Has it become not a pile? It’s still a pile.

So on and so forth.

There is no definitive number of sand for which adding one grain of sand will make it a pile and removing it will cause it to not be a pile.

So, offensiveness and triggers are all shades of grey.

I’ve said many times I’d like to be an olde Timmye who collects degrees in olde age. …But I’m not quite there yet. Who knows. I could yet be the oldest “new” professor. Imagine how many shits I’d have left to give if I ever became confident at public speaking.