the cognitive dissonance of being suicidal

My mother and I are not close. I don’t remember a lot of things about her, but I can recall a lot of the things she claimed, including “Money is the root of all evil.”

This idiom, especially coming from her, always left me confused. I understand the meaning and can use it properly in a sentence, but because the phrase was spoken aloud by the one person who money controlled, it always felt like a lie.

The tree of life is much larger than we can all imagine, so it would be irrational and incorrect to assign the root of all evil to just money. For me, evil has shown its face in many different forms. not having enough money wasn’t hard to cope with, so one of the “roots of evil” isn’t even “money” for me. the things that were hard to cope with was how much it determines how people treat you. How your family treats you.

Growing up with a mother who was always thinking about money, who would do anything to get money, was very lonely. Seeing how much more money was worth than having a stable home to sleep in led to thoughts of self-worth. questioning my self-worth as a child was hard. not knowing if i meant something to my family was hard. Being alone in my own head, not knowing if people could even hear me was hard.

The root of my evil was self-doubt and now my tree is dying.

I refuse to continue to let this tree grow. I don’t take care of it. It’s ugly and stunted. I let the world continue onwards around it, while I stay behind to tend to something that doesn’t have the will to keep living. What am I even doing?

Who am I doing this for? If I uproot the tree and get rid of the self-doubt, the self-hatred, the self, will I be able to start over? I want to nurture a new one, give it sunshine and love and peace. I want it to grow and find the perfect patch of land to live under the glow of being properly looked after. I would feel more inclined to take of a tree that already has roots of self-love. That tree would be significantly easier to love.

My tree has stood meekly among the forest like a pretender. I can tell it doesn’t belong here, can you?

The balance between life and death must be maintained. If things didn’t die, then life would not be possible. By letting my tree go, I accept that fact and trust that a new tree will grow in its place, with or without me.

Besides, wasn’t my method of “tending” the reason for the tree’s ultimate demise? Or was there another reason? I can’t tell anymore. Can you?

Disclaimer: I am suicidal, but I am actively seeking help. Please do not be alarmed by the topic in this essay. This is expression, not action. I am okay.

P.S.

This is written to be confusing, to mirror my thoughts and how quickly they change. Sometimes, especially when I am anxious, it is hard to keep track of where I’m going with a point, and this writing is reflective of that. The art imitates the life.

zzcjg