Silent No More

Maybe dying wouldn’t be so bad. 

I had a list of regrets a mile long. Surely with death that list would be meaningless. First regret: not eating more chocolate. Second regret: cheating on my third grade math test. Third regret: being a huge burden to my family. And the list goes on and on. See? After death, it wouldn’t matter anymore. 

I folded my arms and laid back on the blanket. The sun dappled through the trees. The limbs swayed with the wind. Maybe I shouldn’t let intrusive thoughts run my life, like my therapist said. But when I wasn’t daydreaming about ending my life, I was daydreaming about running from everything and hiding in a hole in the ground somewhere far away. Like Bilbo Baggins, except without the hairy feet and Sauron trying to spill my guts. 

With a sigh, I closed my eyes and imagined all my worries as a shape. It was like a thorny ball sitting in my stomach. Then, I imagined a beam of light, splitting the ball apart. The pieces blew away with the wind. My therapist taught me that trick. Except this time the pieces didn’t blow completely away, and…

Maybe I could go on a seafaring adventure on a ship. I would go to faraway places, leaving the real world behind. Well, except that I was afraid of water. And sharks. Ugh. 

I swatted a fly away from my face. Clouds obscured the sun so I opened my eyes. A family was walking their dog in the park, happy as could be. Two children ran amuck while the parents held hands, the man holding the leash and paying no attention to the poor Yorkie who was trying to sniff everything on the path. What must a dog’s life be like? What if I had been born a dog instead of a human? Actually, I’d rather be a cat. Dogs were too eternally optimistic. At least cats could be eternally annoyed. But wait, cats had nine lives. Never mind. Being an animal would suck. 

A raindrop splattered on my nose. I love rainstorms. They match my mood. As if on cue, the heavens opened and I was soon soaked. I didn’t move, just let the water pound my face. 

Deep breaths. Feel the rain. Feel the wet blanket beneath me. Smell the grass. See the running family racing for home. There is life all around. The world moves in a steady rhythm. Grounding, my therapist called it. Being present in the moment. 

People just don’t understand. Intrusive thoughts aren’t grounded in reality, of course, but in the moment it sure feels like reality. Daydreaming about death isn’t coming up with a plan for death. Those two things are very different. 

I heave myself to my feet and walk toward my car. I count my steps. Then, I reach into my pocket and grip my phone. Then I speed dial my therapist. 

***

In some studies, at least 94% of people experience intrusive thoughts once every three months. Here is a list of 5 things you can do based on CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) to combat them.