With every day that’s passed over the last several months my yearning to kill myself has gotten stronger and stronger.
It has reached the point that I can no longer go through an hour without wanting to end my life.
The pain and loneliness has become so intense that nothing excites me anymore. Occasionally I will laugh or raise a smile at something I read online or witness in the street – but these occasions have become few and far between. They more often remind me of everything I was too useless to be able to obtain for myself.
It’s not as if I’m not trying to change things or that I want to be miserable the whole time…but what can I do?
People seem to think that homelessness is a mythical nirvana of wonderous excitement and unending joy. That the homeless spend their days skipping through the park after conning the general public out of all their loose change.
I can’t beg anymore.
I can’t go to NGOs anymore.
I can’t ask for help from anyone anymore.
Homelessness for me isn’t Glee inspired dance routines in the park; it is never-ending physical and emotional pain.
I spend my days trying to find work, helping people online, trying to find somewhere to live, helping people in the street, trying to make friends and communicate with the world I love so much.
How does someone with no address find somewhere to work? What self-respecting landlord is going to give a homeless person a home? Who in their right mind would want to be friends with a homeless person?
Let along a homeless person with a serious mental health problem.
I’m not Matthew Newton.
Or Ben Cousins.
I’m not a celebrity that everyone looks up to and justifies all they do as being ‘strong’ and ‘brave’ and ‘courageous’.
I am “weak” for suffering from a mental illness.
I am “sub-human” for being homeless.
I am “useless” because I was never able to get a signed piece of paper.
Every night I sit in my park wishing a tree would fall over and crush me. Or a possum would leap onto my face and nibble me to death. Or a car would scream through and run me over.
Every night I sit in my park wondering what I could use to hang myself. Or trying to work out if the knife I have would be sharp enough to sever my wrists. Or if the jump-barriers are up on the West Gate bridge yet?
Anything that will end this pain.
Isn’t three and a half years of continual punishment enough for not cheering someone up? Isn’t the loss of everything I’ve ever had/will have enough for not working hard enough whilst suffering from glandular fever?
If not, what is enough?
My desires were never complicated.
I dreamed of friends, of a relationship, of a family. I dreamed of doing something I loved, something I felt passionate about. I dreamed of sitting in a coffee shop sipping on a hot chocolate as I nattered with friends. I dreamed of being a dad…I would have been brilliant at that :)
Yet this is what I get.
Endlessly being punished for not cheering someone up, for not working hard enough whilst suffering from glandular fever, for not being able to overcome my mental illness without support. For not being there for everyone when they needed me, for having trouble talking to people, for making the odd poor decision.
Endlessly trying to rebuild my life from nothing. For what?
I know I made mistakes, plenty of them. And I know many people out there will be happy at what’s become of me. That I deserve all that’s happened to me (and more).
Even I believe that now.
Whilst Australia focuses its collective attention on who will form a new government. Whilst society continues to condemn the homeless for choosing the life they “live”. Whilst Australia fascinates over a celebrity on suicide watch…
…how many people realise just how many suicidal homeless people there are out there?
At the end of their rope.
How can they afford to phone Lifeline? Who can they turn to for support?
Does anyone even care about them? They used to be like you, once upon a time.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this. There’s only a finite amount a human being can take and I’ve taken as much as I can over the last three and a half years.
As always I’ll do what I can, but when you are in this much pain for so long, what can you do?
I love this world so very much – and there’s so much I want to do – but what are you supposed to do when you just can’t take the pain anymore?
Trust me, if you feel like this; call a help line, call a friend, call someone! You do not want to be going through this by yourself; no-one should have to do that.
So, if you have income (and in Australia) you can call Lifeline on 13 11 14 – if you don’t, guess you’ll just have to lump it like me as society doesn’t care about you.
Note: Yes, I’m in a shitty mood. No apologies. You try being mentally ill, homeless, receive no human contact and be alone for over a year – then tell me how easy it is to be perky 100% of the fracking time!