Confession

Before I share any of this with you, I ask a favor. Please leave all your judgments at the door. Whatever you think you know, you probably don't.

Last night I fell apart at the seams. Crumbled, crushed, hung out to dry, wrung out... whatever euphemism you want to apply to me you can enter it here ________. My demons won and it was a scary feeling. My life hasn't been the same for a long time and the peaks and valleys are growing further and further apart. I feel like I'm sliding backwards down a mountain and I've lost almost all of my fingernails trying desperately to cling on. The ropes tossed down are just far enough out of reach to make any difference.

Yesterday was tough, but my entire week has been tough. My entire month has been tough, the weeks leading up to October have been tough. I work reasonable hours with high amounts of emotional stress in a sometimes unforgiving environment. You might think you understand, and I know you have your own stressful life and yada yada yada so if you have even begun to make assumptions or thinking anything along the lines of "it gets better, it can't be that bad" please stop reading.

I can handle a lot, i handle a lot on a daily basis but I gave up yesterday. I lost absolutely all hope. The tears flowed freely and my chest heaved with sobs. My mind wanders to some frightening places. Despite the pain of losing my friend, watching others go through the pain of losing someone they love and cherished... It's hard to say it to the world.

Yesterday I considered suicide. I considered very very very consciously the idea of ending it all. Not that I don't know that the sun will rise again, that the clouds will lift from my eyes, that this that or the other will get better, that the pile of bullshit blocking my view of better days will one day dissipate. I know all that but I was tired of waiting. Waiting for the next mess, waiting for the next diagnoses, waiting for it to get better.

I thought well shit this is probably a good time to make sure I get in this evenings dose of mood stabilizers. Except then I thought "or i could...". It doesn't work out so well to drink large quantities of liquid with an entire bottle of antidepressants, you end up vomiting duh. Xanax will make you sleep for a really long time and then you wake up strapped to a gurney on a psych hold.

I thought about going on a nice leisurely binge... which lead to a thought of making a nice laaarge serving of rice with some butter and mixing into it 100 crushed tablets of depakote at 250 mg's a piece and roughly 100 left in the bottle that should be about 25000 mg's of the stuff. If I survived that then a psych hold would not only be appropriate but would be welcome.

Do you have any idea what stopped me? Oh it was most definitely not the will to live or the pain I'd cause. It was this idea that Mike would be left to clean up my mess once more. Not only that but I would be leaving him totally destitute without my pay check! What a crock of shit right? Mike would survive because as much of a lazy man as he can be, he's a strong, persistent, smart person who would heal and live a long life with his next wife and have babies and live happily ever after like his mom would like him to (especially the babies part).

I cried harder every time I thought of another way that I could do it. It breaks my own heart to think those thoughts. Some people can talk about it in the theoretic way, like well if i did it I would OD on heroine kind of way of thinking. I wasn't thinking about that or like that.

I emailed my doctor, just a few lines. Just that I was scared and I didn't want to ruin Mike's plans for the weekend by having to check me into the unit and thus I was stuck. I asked a few friends to hang out but I didn't want to say hey I'm fucking suicidal will you please be my friend and hang out with me? I asked a few people to just hang out. I didn't get many responses... I rode my bike to my wonderful friends house and sat with her puppies and tried to put as much space between myself and my thoughts as I could.

My friend had a friend who had a friend commit suicide a while back. The deceased person had asked that person to hang out with him and she declined. He died. That survivor probably carries that pain with her still. I wouldn't want any of those people who heard from me last night to feel to blame had I gone through with it. It wasn't your fault, I didn't tell you why I needed you. But I would also hate for you to feel I was selfish in my decision. Because it wouldn't have been about you, or my family or any other one of my friends. It wouldn't even have been about Mike. It would have been because the pain is so heavy, the darkness so unimpenetrable, the rabbit hole so deep... that I just got lost.