Yesterday I wrote about the voices and the demons that I am forced to listen to each and every day. The screams and the whispers that take my deepest fears and make them living, breathing entities. I admitted I longed for the silence that others simply cannot appreciate.

Most of the voices in my mind constantly and consistently tell me what I am not; worthy, pretty, good, or even deserving. Most of the voices in my mind get so close to my nightmares that I can’t distinguish the reality from the whispers. The sounds, the voices, telling me to kill myself are as real to me as the sun is to you. It is there, hovering and always present. It doesn’t wait and it cannot be stopped with simple measures.

While most of the voices I have are insistent that my own death is the answer, the solution to the nightmares I never worked towards, there are also those who tell me it is time to run away. The promise lies not in the loss of those I love but finally in the loss of the disappointed voices. The promise that I will finally be able to silence the destruction because I have eliminated those that I am hurting.

And when you acknowledge somewhere in your mental illness journey that dying is not the answer than this becomes the solution you try and listen to.

I don’t know the moment I decided that suicide was not an answer for me. I have no idea why that isn’t a possibility anymore, although it is not altogether gone. I have tried to kill myself in the past and it is likely that I will do so again. But I can curl into myself, tight into a ball and wait for the need to pass; the need to die.

But that often leaves my voices to find other solutions. The thing about voices is they mimic reality, the egos and passions of people, and the conscience of a mind much different than yours. They are as alive as you are and can change and find ways to make you focus on them beyond all others. They can interrupt conversations, they can begin conversations, and they can disappear as fast as those who learn you hear the others. They mimic reality; a reality that is believable and as normal as any we know.

Because my voices are smart, once I stopped reacting (unconsciously) to the death threats all that was left was the need to flee. Please note that at no time in my journey has the idea of suicide been taken off the table; it is a very possible solution. The difference is I recognize that it isn’t the easiest solution. The easiest solution is simply walking away.

I have two children, a home, a mother, a father, a husband and the same responsibilities that most have. My children must be raised to survive in this world, they must continue to grow and be healthy, and they must be entertained. My mother and father need the constant reassurance that I am okay and they raised me in the correct way. Without that reassurance, when they have to deal with the full reality of this disease, life for me can get very difficult. I have a husband, who despite the problems in our marital bliss, needs things from the store. He needs to have reassurance, very similar to my parents, and he needs an outlet to find his footing.

I could go on for hours, but the truth is my responsibilities are just the same as most. But these voices, these voices believe that running away and leaving all those responsibilities is the best thing I can do for those I love.

My children live with a bipolar mother. Through no fault of their own they deal with a woman who is never steady and can be as frustrating as the day is long. They are required to deal with my moods, my headaches, and even my tears. And it is the voices who remind me of the unfairness of this. Should they be subject to a mental illness, or should they finally be freed into normalcy?

Should my parents have to deal with the disappointment of having a mentally ill child?And before you think that parents of the mentally ill are not disappointed, or that you would love your child no matter what, you must for one second realize words are much easier than the reality. No child is easy and those with mental illness are that much more.

I want to  feel that amazing need to ensure that those I love are taken care of, and then walk away. I want to be able to make sure my children have someone to pick them up or feed them; then I want to walk away. I want to find a way to make sure my husband has the money he needs and then I want to walk away. I dream of walking away; I work out the details with the aid of all those whispers.

I know where I would head towards. I know where I would end up. I know the toll it would take to never see my children again. I know in what currency I will pay to do what these voices insist is the right thing. I know the death I will take in order to believe that I gave the right world to those I love. And I know those voices will guide me the whole way.

I also know that the voices won’t be satisfied. I often wonder if the constant solitude of running away however, won’t give the voices a new target. And I wonder what that target will be and at what point in my life those voices will win over me. At what time will my children and husband be told that I am no longer fighting? At what point will my babies forgive me for doing what I believe is right? How long will it take for them to finally move on? And will they ever know that my belief that I could be there for them as a mother was a selfish dream, and this is me finally letting go.

I have it all mapped out. I know where I will go, how I will go, and what I will do to get where I need to be. The voices have made sure of that. Now I just have to line up the dominoes so they may all be pushed down.