I’ve had some difficult thoughts today. I had a vague feeling today that I should stop writing this blog, because I don’t think I present Judaism well. Not compared with sites like Aish.com or Chabad.org or even Hevria.com. I make it sound like it’s all sin and impossible rituals and guilt, when really it isn’t.
I hate myself and have thoughts of suicide. The main things stopping me are thinking of what it would do to my parents (I don’t think about my friends, which makes me feel guilty) and the fear of making a failed suicide attempt and ending up with terrible, permanent injuries. It did occur to me that it’s more or less exactly fifteen years since I nearly attempted suicide (it was in Michaelmas Term of 2003 at Oxford, so any time from October to early December, but I think more towards the start or middle than the end). I find it hard to think of tangible things that would be worse if I had killed myself then. I’ve done some extra mitzvot (commandments) in the meantime, but also some extra averot (transgressions), so I’m not sure how that balances out. I haven’t really done anything worthwhile with my life. Or is that just the depression talking? It’s hard to be sure.
The pharmacist had a big bag of clomipramine for me as some of the tablets have finally come in. With my parents away next week, I’m a bit scared to have them in the house with me feeling like this, but I don’t know what to do with them. There isn’t anyone I could give them to.
I’m fairly sure I’m not actively suicidal at the moment, but I do wish I had never been born and I would like to die (I guess that’s one ambition I’m sure to fulfil eventually). I can’t see things improving. Life is an endurance test for me; I can accept that HaShem (God) has His reasons for this, but I wish I had a clue of what they are, just to give me some chizuk (strength, inspiration).
My parents have been encouraging me to do teacher training again. It seems to have become an idée fixe for them, a panacea that will cure all my problems (Dad seems to think being a teacher will make it easier to get married, possibly because I might meet a single female Jewish frum (religious) teacher at a Jewish school, although I doubt I could talk to her much if I did). I can’t really blame them, as I have my own idées fixes. Getting married or getting a girlfriend was one for a long time and still is, to some extent. Getting an autism diagnosis has probably taken the first place now, although I don’t know what good it would do me. I thought of emailing Dr Tony Attwood, who wrote The Complete Guide to Asperger’s Syndrome to ask what he thinks I should do, but it seemed chutzpahdik (someone or something having chutzpah – is that accepted enough in English now to not need translation? Audacity is the nearest word). I would basically be asking for a free consultation (via email – he lives in Australia). In any case, the email address on his website probably goes to a secretary.
I’ve cooled off on the thought of buying guinea pigs. I guess what my Mum said about my not being able to look after them, or to look for jobs if I use my energy up looking after them, has worried me. Plus the thought of going into a pet shop and asking to hold the guinea pigs (as Dad said, to check I can do it) and of asking for help choosing a cage etc. has triggered my social anxiety to a great extent. I don’t know how much I want them any more. Maybe they were just another idée fixe.
I do feel lonely though. I nearly wrote “I want to get laid,” but that’s not exactly true (and vulgar). I do want physical affection and in-person support from someone who loves me. I guess long-distance support from my friends isn’t enough. My parents are sources of support and physical affection, but… I don’t know, it’s difficult with them sometimes, because of how they are and how I am and because of things in the past, but I can’t talk about that here, which is frustrating. I feel guilty because of this. If my parents aren’t good enough and my friends aren’t good enough, it could be that the problem is ME and I’m not good enough at accepting love. In which case getting married or having a girlfriend wouldn’t make any difference.
I feel that my role in life is to suffer and endure. At least, that’s what I’ve been doing more than anything else in my adult life.
I don’t want anyone to read this and worry about me. I think the chances of my hurting myself are slim. I’m pretty sure I would phone Samaritans if it got that bad, and I don’t think it will. I’m tired more than suicidal. I’ve just spent fifteen years or more struggling to survive, and I don’t know what else I can do.