**TW: talk of suicide
I haven’t had much of an urge to post on my blog lately. I’ve been trying my best to keep up with other blogs, but mostly I just read, hit like and very rarely comment. Since my last post a few weeks ago, things have not improved at all. Some of what has happened, I’m actually quite ashamed to admit, but I’m trying my best to be honest as it feels like honesty is the only thing that is keeping me alive at the moment.
The last time I wrote, I was explaining how everything was quite awful and that I’d made a plan on how exactly I was going to die but I didn’t have a concrete date of when it would happen.
Well, things spiraled downwards quite quickly since that last post and when I woke up last Saturday, I told myself that this past Wednesday would be the day. Obviously, since I’m writing on here, it didn’t happen. I don’t quite know why it didn’t happen. It just didn’t. T says the part of me that wants to live just won this round.
The week before last Saturday was hard. I mean really hard. I tried to push everyone out of my life because I was feeling so bad about things. Somehow I had convinced myself that if I could just push the important people away from the epicentre of what was happening then it wouldn’t matter. And if I could make them leave, then I could do what I had to do. One of the people I tried really hard to push away was T. I prayed that he would leave me (a complete 180 from what usually happens) or get angry at me or just disappear. I told him so at my session, which is quite rare for me, because I’ve never wanted to hurt T before. He was upset. I knew it but I didn’t care at the time. It actually made me feel better about how I was feeling. ‘I don’t understand how me leaving, could make you feel better at all‘ was all he said and then the session was over. Then, between Wednesday and Friday, I sent him this message:
I don’t understand you most of the time. I don’t really know if I ever have. You are not what I know, not what I am used to. And honestly that confuses me. No, that’s not right, it absolutely terrifies me. There, in that room, where it’s just you and me, I often find that I am completely beside myself with fear. Part of me would rather just run away. It might not make sense but sometimes there is comfort in staying with what you know. At least then there are no surprises. I know you’ll disagree, and that’s okay too, but I just want you to know that I’m scared. Of getting hurt again. Of hurting others.
But that’s not all…
You’re a pretty smart guy, T, so I know that you know that things are not fine. I’m also pretty sure that you know that things have the potential to go very bad, very quickly. Well, a few weeks ago, I made a plan. I know how. I know where. I just don’t have a concrete when.
Part of this plan, which might not make sense to you, it to push you away. It just feels easier than having to confront how far we’ve fallen from the person we once were. Being around others feels like a not-so-welcome reminder of the fact that everything is far form okay. We don’t match up to the world around us. We’re not enough.
So if you go away then you won’t have to worry. You won’t be left feeling like you haven’t done enough for me. If you go away, then it won’t matter.
We went through the letter on Friday and let’s just say it didn’t do anything it intended to do. T told me that it is very hard to hear that it feels this way but he’s not going anywhere, no matter what. T apparently can be very stubborn and he adamantly refuses to go anywhere no matter how hard I try to push him away.
Then, the next day was Saturday. I woke up, had something to eat and then got into the shower. Sometimes, I like to write messages on the steamed up glass walls and then erase them and start again. It was there, in the shower of all places, that I decided I would go through with my plan. I told myself it would be on the upcoming Wednesday. I made a mental note of what I needed to pack, what time I needed to leave and what I was going to say. I drafted a text message to T that I would send Wednesday late morning telling him I wouldn’t be able to make it because I had somewhere else to be. I was going to tell my mother I would be later than usual, but I had no intention of ever coming home.
And then something strange happened. This sort of calm came over me and I felt calmer than I had in weeks because I knew it was going to be over soon and I wouldn’t have to be in this horrible place anymore.
Sunday, it was the same. The same thoughts and then the calm. Monday and Tuesday, I just sort of mentally checked out and was far away from everything. Wednesday morning I woke up and just couldn’t be bothered. Like, I was actually too tired to even put in the effort of killing myself. I dragged myself into therapy, sat on T’s couch and told him I wasn’t going to show up that day. He asked why and I told him because it just felt like I had somewhere else to be. He questioned me further, but I said nothing. He then told me I looked like my best friend had just died. He asked me if I was still taking my medication and I told him yes. He asked me how it made me feel–jittery and agitated and like I want to jump out of my skin, was my explanation. He suggested maybe I should get a referral to a psychiatrist because they have a better handle on things than a family doctor. I left the appointment without telling him I was planning on killing myself that day.
Thursday was a blur. I had an appointment with my GP. He asked me about the meds. I told him they made me jittery and agitated and like I want to jump out of my skin. I told him that the depression has gotten worse since I saw him last. ‘Worse is not good’ was his reply. He promptly doubled my dosage. Later that night I was just feeling awful and sent a text to T. ‘I’m with you,’ was his reply. It’s amazing how those 3 words can do so much.
Friday, I told myself that I would tell T about what I had planned on Wednesday. It was hard, but I did it. Not out loud, but I wrote it on paper while we were is session like I’ve done a million other times when my voice fails me. He told me he thought that’s what had happened. He didn’t panic, he didn’t get angry. He stayed calm and cool in typical T fashion. He asked me if we needed to call in extra help or whether or not I felt that him and I could handle it. He asked if he needed to worry more. I told him I would try to be as honest with him as possible. I asked him to stay close. He said he would and he asked me to stay close too. Then he told me that if I needed to talk or message him at any time, that he wanted me to please do that.
Then last night everything went to shit. On top of the way it’s been feeling, the medication increase is the absolute worst. The original jittery, agitated and wanting to jump out of my skin feelings have come back ten-fold. It was so bad that I wasn’t sure if I needed to go to the emergency department to get help which actually scared me because I avoid hospitals unless I’m basically bleeding to death. My mother was home but she was passed out drunk in her bed, so I was all alone trying not to completely melt down. I was certain I was in full-blown crazy mode. I felt like a caffeinated squirrel on a very bad acid trip whose head was about to pop off. My skin was crawling and I kept scratching myself. I felt all twitchy and had to keep covering my ears. I couldn’t even remember what I had thought about three seconds prior. I tried to write it out but I had to type the words over and over because my fingers couldn’t type fast enough and I couldn’t spell normally. It was awful and uncomfortable and I remember looking into the mirror, not recognizing my own reflection and wanting to crawl into a corner and scream. I eventually tried to go to sleep after rocking in the same spot for an hour, but whenever I closed my eyes all I could see was black. I never knew that it was possible to stare at the back of your eyeballs…but it’s actually a thing. My mind would not settle. I think I only slept about an hour and that hour was filled with crazy dreams of me being a small child left in the woods all alone to die.
I got up this morning, felt like I had partially died inside and noticed there was a text from T. I don’t really remember sending him a text but I guess I did sometime late last night. I was asking him if I could stop taking this medication. I wanted to stop taking it but was worried that I would feel worse. I apologized profusely and told him I was sorry for bothering him. This morning, seeing the text from him made me feel like a total idiot and I imagined this would be what drunk-texting feels like (something I have never experienced in my life) when you wake up in the morning not realizing you’ve made a total ass of yourself. T wasn’t angry, but I still feel awful about it. I haven’t yet responded and probably won’t. To top it off, I wasn’t paying attention, opened my Sunday flap on my pill case and took everything including the one that makes me feel like a caffeinated squirrel that needs to go to detox….ffs!!
I don’t know if I can quit this medication cold-turkey and my doctor is out of the office until Tuesday. I will try to hold on until Tuesday but I might just quit it. I would actually choose the crippling depression and never-ending suicidal thoughts over going through an episode like that again. I think it’s time to look at a different medication. As for this one….no thank you, next!
For now, I’m still here. I’m struggling, but I’m still here. Maybe that’s all we can ask for in the circumstances.