::i dont think i could ever kill myself

i dont think i could ever kill myself.

from a young age i've had a poor relationship with my mental health. my late mother had a lot of mental health issues in her early years that manifested in spades as she came into the role of a parent. as i grew, the lack of safe ground and constant belidgerent fighting deformed my ideas of healthy communication and relationships.

after highschool, a drawn-out abusive relationship, mismanaged feelings from inexperienced barely-adults, being raped and or assulted a handful of times, and coming to terms with everything about me, i reached a pretty well defined tipping point.

self harm wasn't something particularly new to me. when i was still in primary school i remember trying and failing to hurt myself with one of our kitchen knives. i saw it in movies and shows, and knew it was a bad thing but the characters i saw doing it were dealing with things like i was, so i felt i was meant to. years later i had done small, insignificant things to myself sparsely, when things were too much and i needed to focus on one small hurt rather than whatever was on my mind at the time.

it got a lot worse; i started doing very visible and permanent damage to myself. i could see the hurt on the faces of the people i loved.

i still think about those people in those shows, and a naieve flora sitting there not sure what to do with herself.

after a few months of this i turned to what i assumed was natural escalation. when i was younger i used to think a lot about what would happen to me in the end. its cliche almost, but the idea of not planning ahead becauase i thought i'd grow enough of a spine to end it before i got old enough to have to worry about my future.

i took a handful of nondescript pain medication and went to sleep, knowing full well nothing would happen, but pushing things -- i guess. a few months further i was in the corner of my apartment terrified, not knowing where i was and desperately trying to remember whatever i could to relay to the nurse on the phone. i stayed in a slightly different -- more urgent -- place in the er that night.

it felt good to be seen, and in part it fed into the compex id built up.

i went on to research and buy plants, component chemicals to really commit to things, but i would always tell someone just enough for them to come in and save me, or try and inevitably succeed at talking me out of it.

its been a long while now. i've been through a lot of therapy, and i did actually manage to tackle some of the things i think all of that stemmed from. but i still keep enough sedatives in my cupboard to comfortable actually kill myself if i needed to, and i don't really know why.

i still feel like i need an out,

i still make plans to end things,

i still half-ass them, unsure, or maybe uncaring whether it happens.

i want to be seen, i want to be helped, and i want that to happen without reliving begging for it only to be turned away. i dont really want to die, but i know that trying -- as painfully ineptly as i have -- to get there makes me feel important, and forces other people to care about me.

im not sure what i want. i want security i think, to be rid of this awful cycle i've put myself in, one way or another. i do have hope -- i want to grow old with the people i love -- but i struggle with acting on things that matter, as i think is pretty evident.

i think ami hates me for what i put her through. if nothing else i want to be better for her.