Disclosure…. I struggle with suicidal thoughts as part of my healing from a very chaotic, painful and abusive past. I fully intend to push through and heal. I am not going to end my life. This poem just expresses how my faith in believing I can heal is so fragile sometimes. If you struggle with similar thoughts, please reach out for help from a friend, loved one, or from a helpline or crisis. 988 is a number available to those in the United States which will connect you with a trained professional who can talk with you through these difficult emotions.
Enigma
“You are an enigma”, she told me while sitting on the floor.
Puzzled, I didn’t fully understand the meanings her words bore.
Inscrutably and mysteriously, against all odds, she saw my life as a success.
Most people with my past fail to thrive and have many vices no less.
She spoke of my accomplishments as miracles that I’d painstakingly achieved.
“You’re a wonderful mother, have a successfully job, and hold two degrees!”
“You’re not an addict, not dead, not homeless on the streets.”
“People experiencing your pain, simply don’t just succeed.”
I’ve heard these words before, but they confuse me because I’m no success.
I struggle with my thoughts and emotions. My head is a mess.
When facing painful memories my brain lies to me.
It tells me death is easier, from pain I should flee.
My anxiety makes my life hard and causes problems I shirk.
I always feel failure is around every corner, continually it lurks.
The near constant emotional distress I seldom can shake.
I’m not sure how much more of this whirlwind I can take.
I don’t feel successful. I feel ill at ease, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
One step in front of the other. I just don’t know how to stop.
I push on and persevere through my anxiety against all common sense.
Sometimes I give up, but I get back up again. I just can’t relent.
The truth is I don’t get up again because I’m strong or I’m brave.
My life revolves around my children, for them all trials I’ll stave.
The truth is I don’t know that I can continue forever pushing onward each day.
It’s so hard to fight the thoughts to end my life. I don’t want to stay.
Life is hard and I don’t feel up to the task.
But as a mysterious enigma, I wear a resolute mask.
Step by step I keep going hoping to heal and to thrive.
But belief is spread thin. Faith is shallow and dry.
I think she sees things in me that just don’t exist.
All I know is that my troubles and trials persist.
Today, I want it all to end and my heart feels heavy still.
But tomorrow is a new day, with distractions to fill.
Denial helps me cope as I ignore the past.
But the pain peeks out bit by bit, continually cast.
Step by step I keep going, unsure why I go on.
An enigma? Maybe. Today I am here… But someday…
Someday I’ll be gone.
(c) Stephanie Blomquist 2026
