Suicidal Idiation – What a pain in the ass thing to have right now.

Now, I’m in trouble. But I’m getting help. The months long battle of baseline depression had at first dipped then slid then plummeted me into my own grave which I’ve wanted to cover myself in this past week. Last night I politely nodded to myself while the rivers ran blood down my cheeks that I ought to check myself into a hospital, I was ready to kill myself. But all the methods seem so very painful for one’s last moments and hospitals are very expensive so instead I told my boss (who is like a friend as well) that I needed to get help and was wondering if I could get time off, just for a bit, to do so.

She, being one of my biggest supporters it turns out, arranged immediately to set a plan with me for the rest of the week off (this was my idea to go back to work Monday after speaking with my doctor tomorrow and hopefully getting pumped full of antidepressants and rainbows) and she’s even got my back if I need a bit more time than that to get adjusted and ‘get help’. I told a couple people what was going on, and even my folks, which was the hardest for me to do. Everyone has of course been supportive though for whatever reason I feared the opposite, and obviously I’m alive enough to spit out a few words while I’m coping with the ‘help/healing’ process. I spent my day being distracted by things I haven’t much joy in anymore, and sleeping (which was great until a split second after I woke up and I remembered reality was a thing). The screwy nap schedule has me awake right now, but I don’t work tomorrow and I’m so goddamn down that I don’t much care. I haven’t showered in days, I’ve been hiding in the same clothes, my best friend had no idea I was so sad and struggling to this point, and I’m glad I could keep the face up I suppose.
I was reminded very seriously of Robin Williams this evening during my 2 hour sob in bed and at my computer watching cute animal videos and counting my blessings. I found this little picture online that summed up when I first started to stumble how very much I felt exactly the same:
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I see in myself that goofy friend, colleague and family member putting others first and doing my best to be my best, but struggling so low that I just want to shed the emotional pain which has in fact turned into a very physical thing as well. Honestly it seems ridiculous to say, but there’s a comic that also has kept me from pulling that trigger (so to speak, no I do not own a firearm). Here it is:
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My heart is broken, I can’t pinpoint one or two or three reasons why, I can just assure you it’s broken and it’s hurting me very badly. I’m not looking for an outcry of support, though I know at least my long term readers and blog family will be there with something nice to say, I just feel it’s important to me to get it out on paper. Or, screen paper. Whatever you’d like to call it.
I’ll survive…I guess. But I don’t much feel like I want to. I need saving for once, instead of doing all the saving, which I’m really very good at.
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Day Hospital: Part 1

I finally got into Adult Day Hospital. It’s about 20 adults in the basement of a hospital doing 4 hours of different group therapies and one hour for lunch (unless you’re on half days – which happens when you’ve been there for a while.) The program is about 4 weeks give or take a week or two depending on what your insurance will pop for but if you really need to be there the staff will try to work with the insurance companies to keep you there. It’s my one week one day anniversary today and I’m feeling really positive. All the grieving over Chris I’ve done has NOT come to a halt or been in vein, but rather now I have a place to process my feelings and to help me mourn the loss. My case worker thinks it’s a good idea if I stay away from talking to him until he comes home in which case if I want to reconcile that sounds like an alright idea, but for now, keeping ‘clean’ of a toxic relationship is important. If it’s going to hurt me to talk to him then don’t talk to him.

It hurts, it really does, but it’s good to be in a supportive environment of people who may have different issues than you (some way worse). Brian, for instance, is an older gentleman probably my dads age (late 50’s) who just joined group last week. People trickle in and others trickle out. When they leave we have rock ceremonies for them. I’ll go through one the next time we get to one. Anyway, Brian.

He’s a dad of 1, step-dad of 1 (of whom he’s been in the kids life since he was 8 and he’s 23 now) and husband of (well, 1). He’s been an alcoholic 27 years, married 16, never tried to quit until now. He got thrown into the hospital when his wife wasn’t responding to his calls at work so he texted her pictures of him slitting his wrists in a drunken stooper. He’s never tried to quit alcohol before and now that he’s two and a half weeks sober, two weeks out of the hospital and into Day Hospital for depression, he’s doing really well. Unfortunately, his 23 year old stepson gave his mother an ultimatum that it was Brian coming home or the stepson moving out. Brian is currently living at a halfway house now while he works out his treatment and goes to AA meetings after Day Hospital. He’s starting to look at some of his anger right now in small group psychotherapy (He’s in my group), and today I had a gift for him.

Two years ago when I was there one of the alcoholics was giving up coins that he was going to give in an AA meeting which had a sailboat on one side and the words “We cannot control the wind but we can adjust our sails”. Just some crappy little brass or nickel coin, but a coin that was supposed to symbolize that you’re doing well, and remind yourself of what’s in your control. I took that coin out last night from my keepsake box and brought it this morning for Brian who fiddled with it in his fingers all day, twirling it and occasionally dropping it, you could hear him go “shit!” or “goddamnit!” He called me sweetheart and gave me a hug and kiss on the cheek though so overall I think it was a good investment giving it to him. I’m really sentimental and I lost my rock from my last rock ceremony there, so that was my replacement for it. However, I have a new rock coming up in a few weeks and I’ll just have to accept and mourn the loss of my rock, which is a common theme quite obviously here in my treatment.

Fangs, I mean, Daniel, has also got it worse off than me. I’m not 100% sure why he’s there other than “I’m really fucked up.” But the 37 year old with surgically implanted fangs, hot topic pants as well as black hoodies and tattoos of his bones over his skin (so it looks like the skin is inside out) always has a lot to say. His stories are all over the place. I don’t believe half of them unfortunately but even if they aren’t true, he’s got to have gone through some heavy shit to make him the way he is today even if it really was an abundance of alcohol or drugs. He’s claimed to have had three heart attacks, died twice on the operating table, had a girl die of heroin in his arms, been in jail 15 times, been shot, shot a gun, been in a gang, and move a guy who was dead of an OD out onto the patio from inside the kitchen because he thought he was just “really fucked up”.

Not everyone there was a user. There are NA and AA meetings for that. This is a swimming pool for the emotionally unfit. The people who tried committing suicide from clinical depression or had manic episodes for the first time in their lives at age 61, or whose anxiety is so bad they can’t work anymore and need help learning how to function again.

There’s plenty of stories left to tell, but for now you can chew on Brian and Daniel. I’m just happy that I was able to bring myself to blog again. It felt uncomfortable not having the concentration to be able to string words together for a week, but to be kind to myself, it was a really heavy week.

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