It's the quiet moments that you both hate and love the most. The times when everything around you falls silent. It's good in that everything else stops—the movement, the noise, the emotions of others, and your own. There is peace.
But then comes the pain, the sorrow, the sense of futility. When the chaos of others is absent, your own chaos bursts forward. It's a silent chaos, a turmoil within you, filled with guilt, remorse, inadequacy, lacklustre, and a loss of purpose.
It's times like these that thoughts come to you of fleeing, ending it. You've had these thoughts long enough to know what they look like. In some ways, you toy with them, dare them, lure them. You know what ideation is, you recognise it; you've been on the edge of it many times. You live with it every day.
You know all the antidotes, placebos or otherwise, to these moments. To think of others, of those you would hurt, to list out the reasons to stay, to live. Distraction, movement, or any of these things.
Talking to someone, putting it out into the universe. Seeking help.
These are the things they say to do.
You don’t.
You keep it to yourself, tell no one, and simply get on with it. You keep yourself busy, tell yourself it’ll pass, and it does, or you deflect it. You distract from it and throw yourself into things. Work, hobbies, conversation, communication and activities. If you can fill the void that comes with silence, you’ll keep it all at bay.
You've learnt to avoid damaging, destructive distractions, having done enough of that before. Although the insidious destructors boil along insipidly adding more.
You're OK. Or that's what you will say.
Even when someone asks you, "R U OK?" The second Thursday in September, is a high-probability day. Although a question, that should be used every day.
But for you to answer 'No' on any given day is a peril best kept at bay.
To answer in such a way would take your silent moments away.
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