The sweet unrest of suicide blame (trigger warning is probably needed)

                                                                      The Harbinger

It's always interesting when people come to me for support. I know what it's like to hurt, so if I can help someone not hurt, I'll do whatever I can. Some say too much, to which I have to agree. I would pour myself dry for someone else without batting an eye. It's taken an abusive boyfriend and a pandemic to learn to not. At least, to give less when I feel depleted. To work on boundaries, and realize that I am only human, and learning to put myself back together again. I don't need to be available to everyone all the time. 

But people exploit that tender heart that lies just below the surface. 

I had a former acquaintance of long years past pop up on social media. Harmless enough, until it was nearly overwhelming. I say nearly because his situation, although not mine to tell, was a lot. Much more than I could or should handle. I tried to offer suggestions, but the deflection game was strong. I knew that the support I gave, at long distance, was good enough. Guarded and rightfully so, I decided to let him navigate the waters. I feared some ill placed attachment was forming on his end, and I let him know that I was unavailable for him; in that capacity.

Several weeks had passed, and nary a word was exchanged. I assumed that he had sought treatment that he obviously needed, but sure as shit, he popped back up. A few messages were exchanged, a brief catching up of sorts, but it seemed like all was well. He said he had been in treatment, and was okay. Good. Great. Everything was okay.

Until it wasn't.

I had tried to take a break from social media because it was necessary. I was creating boundaries because I was tired of the messages, and the draw to talk to everyone. After all, Covid has done a number on social interactions. But again, I can't be available to everyone at anytime. School had just started, I have been in a weird headspace, and I needed to just refocus on me. One particularly busy day at work, he reached out, and asked if we could chat. A simple "later, I'm at work" was all I could muster. I admittedly forgot about his message, but yet again, I do not owe my time to anyone. He reached out again just as I was wrapping up homework for the night. Sometime around midnight, a bomb is what he decided to drop. 

The told me he was going to commit suicide. Immediately, my mind went to work. "What's going on?" ... "what triggered this?"... "where are you?" all questions came flooding to my mind. Words scrawled out in a message, the answers came slowly. 

"I'm not going to tell you where I'm at." Okay. Fine. I had anticipated this answer. Not knowing where he is was going to be extremely difficult trying to connect him to the help he needed. 

Then came the admission of the trigger.

ME.

I was the trigger. Simply put, I didn't reciprocate a crush. He told me he liked me, and I shot him down. At this point I stopped responding. I knew this beast, and I knew it well. I knew the game and motives behind it whether or not they were intentional, I did not care. Mental illness, narcissism or manipulation, I was not going to be the savior. The only way that he would allow me to save him would be to reciprocate a falsehood. And what a position to put someone in. Manipulation dripping with venom is not attractive, and quite frankly, it was scary. I stopped responding. I closed out of the messages, and randomly a dear friend happened to reach out to me. He shouldered this emotional baggage with me for a while as I went through all these weird stages. Even now, just writing about it seems weird. Alien almost, but the anger that I feel is so, real. Yes, suicide sucks, and yes, we want people to reach out, but when the intention is pushed forward by manipulation and god knows what the fuck else, then a step back, in my opinion, needs to happen. That is exactly what I did. 

I left it for the night, and waited to see if he would reach out. He didn't. He didn't follow through with the threat, and he was still very much active on social media. I cut ties. Cut. Blocked. Boy, bye. 

I've had to take a reflective step back and reassess the closeness and relationships that my availability to others presents. Does a kind gesture, a reassuring word leave the perception that I want to fuck? Should it? No. fucking...NO. 

The sweet unrest of the blame leads to the 20/20 realization that I do indeed give too much to too many people. I shouldn't, and like the hand to a flame, the only one that gets burned is me. So this is my feeble attempt to brain dump, yet again. This time, a step back in some way, shape, or form will happen. What this is, I'm still not sure. 

                                                           presented with no comment.