thanks
@joeylittle your comments reminded me that the thought is likely connected to...
Afraid of living. Yes. It is the feeling of loneliness that gets me. Of having to do it all by myself. Heal myself, raise good kids, after moving to another state and starting life all over again. It's odd. I got the PTSD three years into an abusive relationship. I seriously considered death for the last couple of years due to being his hostage. I managed to wade through that darkness. I managed to leave with my kids, I stayed alive for them. When I got to a safe place my despair worsened exponentially, instead of feeling happy about escaping. I really wanted to die, partly beacause of fatigue. I moved from a quiet rural area to a loud urban sprawl, which overwhelmed me. Still does. Despair from displacement.
Stories regarding relief from despair:
In the spring of 2015 I slid into despair. It crept upon me, a growing hopelessness. Unlike other times, when a sucidal urge would vanish with a good self talking to, this feeling overcame me after growing for four months. I became scared by how the despair had consumed me. It was nothing I had experienced before. So, I prayed. I am not a relegious person but I do believe some kind of energy surrounds us, encompassing the universe. (May the force be with us ;-).) When I "pray", I usually focus on all the positive aspects of my life. During that time all I wanted was peace, to regain my joy of life, to stop drowning in the angry, sad nothing... One night, about a week before Easter, I went bed in my then normal state of angst. I settled myself. I asked for the horrible desire to leave me, for peace, for guidance. A sudden, wonderous sublime peace and joy filled my mind and body. This amazing feeling felt eternal. There are no adequate words to describe this awesome feeling. I felt protected. I felt safe. I felt loved, and understanding, and sympathy. I felt strong, too. The feeling lifted after what seemed a long while, yet some of it lingered. When I became aware of myself, I found that horrible despair no longer haunted me. I did not want to die. A week later, my abuser went to jail. Soon after, I was diagnosed with PTSD.
My second visit to the abyss of self harm occurred almost a year later. The abuser re-entered our lives as soon as the restraining orders ended. He was more violent. It took a couple months for me to decide that death was the only option. This feeling differed from the previous time. This was cold and calculating. I planned the way. I began to put my children's affairs in order. I sent our personal information to a couple family members. This took me a couple of months. During that time, my will to live returned. Death became option three instead of the plan.
