It's not about me.
Mar. 6th, 2003 09:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflyNote: I'm not depressed at the moment. Nevertheless, I felt like talking about how it feels.
I remember when I told my cousin Alex about my cutting. We were in New York. At a restaurant in Grand Central Station.
He was... horrified that I'd felt badly enough to do that. Worse when I'd said that I felt like killing myself sometimes.
And he told me that my mom would be destroyed if I ever did kill myself.
I didn't believe that. I still don't, even out of my depression. I honestly cannot imagine anyone caring for me so much that they would destroyed by my absence.
When my Aunt died, it was horrible for a long time. Then, over time, people recovered. They began to move on.
People always move on.
Which was both the reason that I thought that I could just die and the reason that I never wanted to. Because people would forget me and move on. As long as I'm here, then I'm remembered. It's a selfish reason to live. Not noble by any means. It's probably my strongest will to live. Everything else pales before the thought that if I don't leave something lasting, something amazing, then I'll be forgotten when I go.
Which is probably part of why I liked the book Remember Me so much. Even when I was young, I could understand her desire. Remember me.
It's always about me. Even when it isn't.
I remember when I told my cousin Alex about my cutting. We were in New York. At a restaurant in Grand Central Station.
He was... horrified that I'd felt badly enough to do that. Worse when I'd said that I felt like killing myself sometimes.
And he told me that my mom would be destroyed if I ever did kill myself.
I didn't believe that. I still don't, even out of my depression. I honestly cannot imagine anyone caring for me so much that they would destroyed by my absence.
When my Aunt died, it was horrible for a long time. Then, over time, people recovered. They began to move on.
People always move on.
Which was both the reason that I thought that I could just die and the reason that I never wanted to. Because people would forget me and move on. As long as I'm here, then I'm remembered. It's a selfish reason to live. Not noble by any means. It's probably my strongest will to live. Everything else pales before the thought that if I don't leave something lasting, something amazing, then I'll be forgotten when I go.
Which is probably part of why I liked the book Remember Me so much. Even when I was young, I could understand her desire. Remember me.
It's always about me. Even when it isn't.
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(no subject)
Date: 2003-03-06 10:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-03-06 10:22 pm (UTC)And it's always... comforting when people understand. It's not so much that misery loves company as it is that it hates to be alone.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-03-07 09:20 pm (UTC)*hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-03-07 09:33 pm (UTC)Like I said, I don't really feel this way at the moment. There's echoes... disbelief over some things, but it's not anything like it used to be.