*TRIGGER WARNING* *SUICIDE*
It’s been a while. I seem to take a break from here when I’m doing well and come back when I’m doing either fair to middling or poorly. Today I’m not doing well at all. I did it again; I went off my meds. I was toying with the dosages; I was doing well with taking them every other day and then it spiraled into ever few days. I went on vacation to Las Vegas with the husband – our first vacation alone – and with all the sightseeing for the 2 weeks we were there, I think I took my daytime dose maybe 3 times. By the time I got home I was slowly slipping into a manic phase.
I was unstoppably horny. I was eating candy like none other. I was restless and couldn’t just sit still. I was loud and mean. I said some of the most cutting things – just no inner monologue. I couldn’t take it anymore. On Friday night I started taking my meds again.
Saturday afternoon I woke up groggy as hell. My nighttime meds have a way of knocking me out cold. I woke up and I was not just feeling lethargic but utterly drained, as though the floor had sucked out my energy, had swallowed my soul. My affect was blunted – I lost all emotion in my voice and face except pain and I could hear it and feel it. It hurt to try and smile. I knew I’d plummeted into my deep hole of depression.
I was crawling around in the dark, trying to find a ladder but it wasn’t there. My husband noticed immediately and threw me a rope to climb out, but the only thing I could think to do was end the pain with it. I was tired of climbing. I am tired of climbing. I’m tired of the calloused palms, I’m tired of the burning hands, I’m tired of the fiberglass feeling you get in your fingers after you’re done swinging on the rope, I’m tired of looking up and seeing how much farther I have to go.
I’m. Just. Plain. Tired.
I’m tired of begging for the rope. I’m sick of needing one at all. I’m afraid for my daughters – that one day they, too, will need one because of me. This pain is fucking real and I’m tired of swinging. I want it to stop.
What do you do when you want to use the only escape route you have to end it all? Knowing you don’t really want it, but you feel painted into a sick and twisted corner? Like you’ve no options left?
I’ve stopped seeking the forest for the trees. There is no big picture for me anymore. I’m hanging on by a spider’s thread. I keep seeing my husband remarried with children of his own – a chance to start a new, normal life with someone who doesn’t have all these complications. Someone who will treat him the way he’s always deserved to be treated. I see him finally making strides to be the best in his field – something I hindered these past 10 years because of my anxiety and insecurities. With me out of the way, there is no telling how far he could go.
My father and siblings wouldn’t ever notice I was gone – they don’t give a shit that I’m here. My mother’s early-onset dementia is progressing slowly; she’ll forget it all over time. This hellish creature inside me would finally be put to rest and I could be free. They could all be free from my ups, downs and all arounds.
I am not doing any good here. Needless carbon dioxide. Usurper of oxygen. Waste of space. Full seat on the train. My mother and husband keep saying I can’t leave my husband here but I can’t hear them. I don’t hear them. All I can hear is the depression telling me I’m not fit to be here and all I can see is this interminable fog.
I came to work last night and this morning – both jobs. I’m trying to stay out of the hospital. I’m taking my meds again as directed and I’m trying to stay supervised. I don’t want to be here anymore but I’m trying not to go back to the funny farm either. It’s either stay at home with all my artillery or keep my mind busy while I wait for the meds to work. Staying in the hospital while they treat me like I’m sub-human away from my family while my psychiatrist is on vacation isn’t going to help me. I need my bed, my dog, my phone and my family. I’m trying my damnedest at home not to act on my thoughts and I’m being watched like a hawk. The minute I’m not safe I know they’ll throw me in my car and drive me to the ER without my consent; they’ve done it before.
I’ll be OK; one way or another I guess.