There comes a stage – I’m there now – when you have to accept that this is the way it is now. You have to find a way to make it work or quit trying. Well, I tried to quit trying. I tried to quit several times, some genuine and full of disappointment when they failed, and some tests and trials and attempts to do something. And I plan to quit on a constant, obsessive basis. It’s planned to perfection and is neat, easy and painless (physically anyway). It is sudden and accidental and sweet. It is full of goodbyes and thank yous. It is notes left behind and it is emptiness. When I get on a plane, I wonder if fates will help me and it’ll crash; when I cross the road I think about getaway cars screaming round corners and throwing me unconscious to the tarmac. And in the middle of yet another panic attack when I can’t breathe, when everything is tight and heavy and stone, I think of heart attacks and strokes and aneurisms. I hope for them.
But I am still here. Through luck or incompetence or something else, quitting seems to have been ruled out. So I have to find a way. Therapy is pointless. I know it works for a lot of people but it doesn’t work for me. I can’t get pills and previous experiences with them haven’t been positive either. So maybe it’s time for a complete change. Sink or swim. Kill or cure. Quitting in a different way – not quitting life altogether, just quitting my life and changing it.
But that’s scary. And I’m mental. So how do I know I’m making the right decision?
Is it a good idea for a mental case to make their own decisions?