Monday, June 23, 2008

I died on Friday. I drove fast, crashed through the guardrails, flew over the edge, went through the window, hit the ground below and my truck flipped on top of me. Atleast that was the plan. I felt crazy that night, like my last bit of patience with myself twanged and snapped. I couldn't stop screaming, I could barely see past the tears and the hopelessness seeping out of me could have drowned a million rats. I don't want to talk about why just yet; I'm not ready for that.
Although there must have been something sane, a fine thread holding me back. I wanted help, part of me wasn't ready to die. I called for help, scared the bejesus out of a woman working dispatch who couldn't find a crisis line quick enough. I told her to send the police because I couldn't drive without crashing. What are the odds, the one night that I remain sober and I try to commit suicide. It took them half an hour to get there... I couldn't stop thinking, they could be picking up my remains with the time it took them to get here. Would it hurt them to know that they were too late to save a life? Whats the difference for them between driving a suicidal to the hospital or cleaning up a car crash? More paperwork for the car crash I suppose. When they pulled up I started crying hysterically again - I was so scared. They had their top lights pointed right at me, like a criminal. I didn't want Mary to stop talking to me on the phone; I wanted her to tell them to go away. I knew I had to say goodbye to her and face them. I couldn't even look up. They were timid around me, but very cop-ish. They were worried everything they said would make me snap, but I suppose they didn't realize how much they scared me. By the time they moved my truck onto a side road and I was in the back of the cop car, I was exhausted and confused. I didn't know what would happen in a situation like this. How do you fix a suicidal? Its not like rewiring me in an hour. The police officers kept joking among themselves in the front, unconcerned. They must deal with this a lot. They put me in a room right in front of the front desk, so they could watch me. By that time, I had texted my sister to tell her what happened and that I'd talk to her tomorrow, then I shut off my dying phone. Fortunately, when by the time I had sat down on my hospital bed, she was on the phone with the front desk. She was going to drive out right away, it was about 4 a.m. Knowing that made me feel safer, and much happier but it seemed like forever waiting. I talked to a nurse, I talked to a doctor, I talked the cops, I talked to bloody well everyone and they all asked the same questions. After a while the answers come out in a monotone voice. I felt numb sitting there, staring into space. I either couldn't think or I was trying to decide what sticking my tongue in an outlet would do. Boy did I regret the girls picking that Friday as dress night. It would have been nice to be wearing sweats. My sister was there when I woke up. I've never felt so happy all at once. But like she said, she can't be there all the time and she shouldn't have to be. They told me I need to stop drinking and that I can get help for that. They gave me a crisis line to call at any time. They said I just need to make it till the 30th when my first psych appointment was. I was happy all Saturday, then I was down most of Sunday. I'm up and down again today. I'm either thinking about how great it would be to have a dog, or I'm thinking of ways to kill myself. I have a hard time not letting it sneak into conversations. People seem to find it weird when you randomly start talking about drowing yourself. I can't help it. I dont know how to stop it. I feel like things are going to get better and then at times I feel like no matter what I do, I keep sinking. I don't know the answers and I never understood the point of writing unless you could answer your own questions. Which makes writing pointless to me I suppose, but it also feels like everything in my head can't be contained any longer and it needs to go somewhere.

Wednesday, June 4, 2008

The Rollercoaster Goes Down But It Also Goes Up

I've never been so up and down before. On a day when I would expect myself to be down, I'm happy. Working from ten to nine at two different jobs - I would expect to be depressed. Who wouldn't? I'm happy to be back at work again, both of them. Even though I feel more than lost at both, atleast I'm doing something. I had two whole weeks off - to think about what I wanted to do I suppose, or maybe to fix myself or just take a break. Well I can't say that's what I did. Instead, I crashed. I was awake until five a.m. and then slept all day which for me is a huge sign that I'm in trouble. Basically (and everyone I explain this to laughs) I stay awake late as a way to keep away tomorrow. I don't want to face a new day. Hell, I don't want face any day. Then I sleep all day in an attempt to avoid admitting that tomorrow is now today. If I could, I would sleep a life time. In a sense, that sounds suicidal, but its not. I'm just saying I want to fall into a permanent coma. I really dont think it's unreasonable. Who doesn't like to sleep? Anywyas if I wasn't sleeping, I was either with my horses or drunk. Eventually at the end of the two weeks, my body foiled me and I got chest pains every time I drank. I'd be a poor alcoholic. I wouldn't say it was too weeks well spent. I didn't do anything that I should have done. I didn't work out, eat well, fix my sleep schedule, figure out what I wanted in the future, I didn't even plant my poor plants in the garden. Today though, I feel better. I called my doc (on maternity leave again, jeez you'd think she'd know how to use birth control! Another one?!) and decided to get help. I don't know what form that will be exactly, but I know even with a good day, I've crashed through the floor and I'm sinking into the basement's unset concrete. I need to talk to someone. To me, paying someone to listen isn't a bad idea. Let's face it, no one cares if you're depressed. I know that no one will continue to read this. Well I atleast know one will; it seems blogging is a good way to keep in touch with what eachother's thinking. It's not that no one cares, it's that people only care to a certain extent. If it causes them grief or time to listen, then they don't want to be involved. No problem. I understand. But it hurts. I think I'm somewhat used to it because now when people want to know how I'm doing, I have a hard time telling. What's the point? Its like bad sex, they're already planning what they're doing tomorrow in their heads. In the defense of seeing a therapist, I think I would listen to someone if I was paid. Or atleast pretend to and maybe that's all I need. So I can't say it was a two weeks well spent but I think being able to come back to work gave me the jolt to atleast make a phone call. Wow it may be almost three a.m. at the moment but atleast it's not five and I did just come in from a run in the rain.

Monday, June 2, 2008

Getting an Eye-full

I can't even look at myself anymore; I see nothing. I used to be able to look into a mirror, into my eyes, and see my future. Now I just see empty, tired eyes looking back. I've felt lost before, but I never thought I'd see myself so helpless. It scares me now to see myself. It's like a wound, you can't stand to look at it yet you can't look away. I find myself looking at pictures, zooming in, trying to find something but seeing nothing. I'm trying to find when I lost myself. I don't know if it was a year ago, three years ago; maybe eight years ago, when I didnt have any responsibility. The answer isn't in my eyes, but I know I used to see something there - hope, a successful future, ambition. They're all the things that I don't feel anymore. I dont know where I'm going, maybe thats why it was in my eyes that I searched. They should be able to see where I'm headed. If a persons eyes are a supposed window to their soul, does this mean I'm soulless? I feel nothing and yet I feel everything. At times I like the pain. After nearly ten years of it, I'm used to the pain. It's familiar. Even when I've felt so alone, its there. Its always been there, even when I'm happy. Its waiting on the outskirts, expecting that bare second when I let my guard drop. My soul can't be missing, even if I can't see it anymore. A soulless person wouldn't feel pain. They would feel nothing, love nothing, care for nothing. I'd like that better. If my eyes are empty, and I'm void of a soul, then I must be on my way to feeling nothing. No hurt, no broken shards ripping up my insides - just black, bleak and hard eyes staring back. I can't wait.