Bunni'sLullaby
iterum occurremus ultra saturni circulis
- Dec 3, 2023
- 33
I feel like everyone avoids me, what's happened, or both. No one asks me how I really am. No one talks about you, asks about what happened for one reason or another. I feel like an alien. I feel like I'm a burden to be around. I couldn't help you, so what use am I?
[x] told me a few weeks ago that I was stronger than you were. I didn't know how to take it, especially considering I called them late at night practically in tears, begging for them to let me come over. That day, I was alone at my parents for Thanksgiving. I had the compulsion, like with the clothes and hat you had on, to know. To know where it was. The. blood. The way you smelt. The way you sounded. The way you felt. The brain matter. I found the box the gun was in, that I asked my dad to hold onto because I couldn't have it in the house but couldn't get rid of it either. I shut the door and cried, cried, cried. I had the thought of how I could just do it, now. With not your gun, dad's. How it would just be over, no more of this. How am I stronger, purely because I've lasted slightly longer than you have?
I am still terrified of guns. Hate them. Especially after this. But, this shit is hard. Beyond words. I feel nothing but anger, guilt, shame, regret, abandonment, grief, anxiety, fear, depression, dissociation, rejection, and everything in between. It's so overwhelming. So overbearing. Too much most times, the times my brain doesn't practically shut off. The only two things that has kept me from going beyond planning is knowing the pain suicide causes (aka this family couldn't survive another) and survival instinct. I've gotten better with self-blame, but it's still there. Just like how I'll never forget about the day I found you. What if you did this, and just laid there? Regretted it? You shot above both ears; but with the federal round that only I knew you kept first in the gun--you told me for "protection." I was so stupid. II feels I deserve the same. They say, never shoot under the chin and it's best to shoot through the ear or mouth. If not, you better place it right above/behind the ear to hit the brainstem. What if you didn't? What if you just laid there, alone? Scared? Why shouldn't I deserve the same? What if I am to blame? No reason seems enough.
I wish for the sake of the family that I could gain an easier method for CTB, at least to spare them from finding a violent and gruesome scene, as I did. I'm trying everything you're supposed to do. Therapy. EMDR. Dual-treatment. Medication. Crisis lines. Being honest. But, it does nothing. At times, I find myself asking the point. I've lost all purpose; the only thing that gave me a reason to not do anything; I am a widow now, there is no reason as there once was. I was clean for so long, from self-harm, after struggling for years. I've done worse in the last few months than I have in a long time; I suppose it's another secret between you and I. I don't even recognize myself in the mirror anymore; I don't remember the last time I did. She is a stranger--a brain in someone else's body.
I wish you would just come home. I don't remember what human touch feels like anymore, but I remember the way you could make me melt and bend in your fingertips.
[x] told me a few weeks ago that I was stronger than you were. I didn't know how to take it, especially considering I called them late at night practically in tears, begging for them to let me come over. That day, I was alone at my parents for Thanksgiving. I had the compulsion, like with the clothes and hat you had on, to know. To know where it was. The. blood. The way you smelt. The way you sounded. The way you felt. The brain matter. I found the box the gun was in, that I asked my dad to hold onto because I couldn't have it in the house but couldn't get rid of it either. I shut the door and cried, cried, cried. I had the thought of how I could just do it, now. With not your gun, dad's. How it would just be over, no more of this. How am I stronger, purely because I've lasted slightly longer than you have?
I am still terrified of guns. Hate them. Especially after this. But, this shit is hard. Beyond words. I feel nothing but anger, guilt, shame, regret, abandonment, grief, anxiety, fear, depression, dissociation, rejection, and everything in between. It's so overwhelming. So overbearing. Too much most times, the times my brain doesn't practically shut off. The only two things that has kept me from going beyond planning is knowing the pain suicide causes (aka this family couldn't survive another) and survival instinct. I've gotten better with self-blame, but it's still there. Just like how I'll never forget about the day I found you. What if you did this, and just laid there? Regretted it? You shot above both ears; but with the federal round that only I knew you kept first in the gun--you told me for "protection." I was so stupid. II feels I deserve the same. They say, never shoot under the chin and it's best to shoot through the ear or mouth. If not, you better place it right above/behind the ear to hit the brainstem. What if you didn't? What if you just laid there, alone? Scared? Why shouldn't I deserve the same? What if I am to blame? No reason seems enough.
I wish for the sake of the family that I could gain an easier method for CTB, at least to spare them from finding a violent and gruesome scene, as I did. I'm trying everything you're supposed to do. Therapy. EMDR. Dual-treatment. Medication. Crisis lines. Being honest. But, it does nothing. At times, I find myself asking the point. I've lost all purpose; the only thing that gave me a reason to not do anything; I am a widow now, there is no reason as there once was. I was clean for so long, from self-harm, after struggling for years. I've done worse in the last few months than I have in a long time; I suppose it's another secret between you and I. I don't even recognize myself in the mirror anymore; I don't remember the last time I did. She is a stranger--a brain in someone else's body.
I wish you would just come home. I don't remember what human touch feels like anymore, but I remember the way you could make me melt and bend in your fingertips.
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