A Social Workers Plea

There are times when I feel sad, alone, lost, confused, or nostalgic. Lately, I’ve been feeling all of those. I’m like an emotional roller coaster, holding on to the rails of life with all of my might. I flinch at the upward motion, my face scrunches up as I plummet towards the earth faster than gravity would pull me down. As I take a nose dive, as soon as I’m going to hit bottom, I’m lifted to the highest point hoping not to plunge forward again. I have to remind myself to breathe, and the longer the ride goes on, the easier it is to forget.
There are too many things going on at once. My life makes too many sharp turns simultaneously. One minute I’m moving forward, the next I’m hanging upside down, blinded by the steps in motion. I feel as if I’m dodging bullets or running a marathon. Lord knows, I don’t run.

I need to steady my pace. I have to remember that my life is what is most important at this point. If I can’t make decisions for myself, how in the world can I help anyone else? The next time someone tells me they want to die because of me, I will tell myself that it is not my fault if they do. That they were broken to begin with.

Death is a concept I’m not comfortable with. It’s scary and intimidating to me. It’s something I long not to experience. It’s something I fear. Granted, death is inevitable. Death is not something that I would impose on anyone, nor is it something I would ever impose on myself. Death is permanent. Sometimes I wish I understood the sentiment of suicide, so I could help people more effectively. It’s something I’ve never truly considered.

Depression is not something I’m forced to deal with. I’m happy for that. I’ve experienced my share of problems though. OCD runs through my veins as thick as blood does. PTSD is something I’ve lived with for 16 years. I get these things. I can handle them. I can help people who have been traumatized. I can help people who have suffered from near death experiences and have dealt with tragedy or violence. But, death as a whole is not my forte. I’m strong. I’ve learned to be strong. This is because I value life and want to live. My PTSD is the opposite of suicide ideation. People who’ve experienced trauma are learned fighters. We don’t give up and we are a force to be reckoned with. This is me.

I think it’s selfish to say to someone, “You’re not my worker anymore, I might go kill myself.” That’s not fair to people like me. When you like someone and was happy working with them, please say, “I wish you the best in your endeavors, I will miss working with you.” Threatening death is not cute. It affects everyone around, especially people like me. The next person to threaten suicide on me is going in the hospital. I’m tired of coming home with a stiff neck, feeling like I’ve jumped off the scariest ride of my life. Looking at my husband with my dampened, green eyes, begging for a massage due to the heightened Cortisol in my body. I’m stepping off this roller coaster and I refuse to play the death card.

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