I can't even remember what January felt like

I wrote this in my journal at the start of the year. When the turn of the decade signalled hope, change, and a future. To me, it also symbolised survival.

I have been suicidal many times in the last decade. Entering the 2020s just never seemed like something I would achieve. Even when I wasn't suicidal, the thought of being alive for so long was daunting. Even now, the thought of still being alive in 2030 is unfathomable.

In the last few years, things started to change. Maybe I still had thoughts of suicide every now and then, but in 2019 I really was starting to feel like depression and suicidality were behind me. 2020 wasn't just the start of a new decade, it was the start of a new era in my life, where depression wouldn't be the focal point.

Of course, all that has changed now.

COVID-19 is doing everything in its power to destroy what I have worked so hard for.

I look back on this page in my journal and I know I wrote it, I know it is my writing, and I know it is in my journal. But it seems so alien to me. I don't even remember writing it. It's dated the 5th of January, and I can't even remember what January felt like.

How I feel now is the complete opposite to what those words say. I feel like a darkness is closing in on me and it is getting harder and harder to see the light. I have to constantly fight thoughts of suicide, I have to try so hard to act like normal or to act like I even want to be alive during video calls, I have to keep doing my work in an effort to tell myself that there is a future and that I have to still do work in case I am still alive in that future, I have to go to bed anticipating the dread of waking up in the morning.

I know that this is temporary but it is feeling like an eternity. Even without a pandemic, when you have thoughts of suicide, one day can seem like a year.

The uncertainty of when this will all end is, of course, something that everyone is concerned with. The lack of control, and the fear associated with that, is not doing anyone any favours. Of course, having a background of being suicidal makes one think that this is the only way to regain control. I know, logically, that it is not. But I can't help my feelings.

For anyone wondering, I am fine. I have no current plans in place and I'm doing my best to continue on as normal. I'm seeing my psychologist, and I'm taking care of myself. But as you can tell by the time of this post, the nights are the hardest. It is at this time of day when you have no more distractions to drown out the cries of your own heart, when the silence makes you feel ever so lonely, and when you think about having to start all over again tomorrow morning. Getting out of bed is the hardest, but I plan to do so.