The time I lost my mind

Just over 2 weeks ago, the day after Mother’s Day to be exact, I drew a glass of water and set it next to a bottle of pills. I was done.

I had simply had enough of everything I do in life being futile, taking the high road only for it to bite me in the ass while the low life, pieces of shit seem too multiply in numbers daily and always seem to come up smelling like roses. It’s sickening.

Im sick of watching my kids hurt and to be sincerely helpless in curing what ails them. There’s something seriously fucked up about your kids’ “father” (I am using that term VERY loosely) walk out of their lives to avoid child support and drug testing. Even more so…trying to find words to comfort your 11year child cope with his best friend being terminally ill with cancer? Simply unfathomable.

I cant process it but somehow a semi supportive babble finds its way out of my mouth to this young man’s mother, whom I have developed a very close, personal relationship with. My husband has befriended the Dad. We go to the hospital and treat them to a meal in the cafeteria or sit during chemo, where my jedi being this amazing, other-worldly creation who gets in the over-sized hospital bed, where no kid should occupy, next to his friend, reading letters from classmates, playing video games….

And if none of this was enough, I lost a baby and the majority of eye sight. Enough. Who is this God who will never give us more than we can handle? Why can’t I get my shit together and suck up when this boy’s Mom, she’s a tower of strength?

How any higher power found it fitting to grace me with a baby, only to decide it wasnt meant to be after all the down in the muck, bullshit I’ve been through, OH! and then slap me with a life altering disability which rendered me unemployed and completely co-dependent on others is just…beyond words. Watching the horror of this cancer ravaging a child’s body…no words.

Honestly, if you had told me a year ago that I, ME, would ever come remotely close to a suicidal thought, much less developing a plan and acting on one I would’nt have believed it, but then this world had always been too cruel and my heart too tender. Long ago, before….well I had considered suicide to be the most cowardly, selfish way out, but Ive gotta say that in my mind that day, in my nightgown at 2pm, eyes bloodshot from crying all day and my trembling hand holding that glass of water, I believed in my heart of hearts that I was a burden to my family and that they would be better off without me.
THAT IS CRAZY! It is. I know it is. Killing myself would destroy my husband and kids, and my Jedi…that is the most horrific thing I keep thinking about now.  How the hell I arrived at this conclusion is a really good question, but one I may never be able to offer any reasonable explanation for.

It really is a miracle that I turned and walked away. I have a sneaking suspicion that my Uncle was the angel on my shoulder that made the difference. He committed suicide two years ago this fall. Im convinced he too was trapped in error thinking that made him feel his own disabling condition rendered him a burden to his wife and that he was relieving her from a burden she would not otherwise walk away from. What a lie!! Everything that happened after his death was nothing he would ve wanted for her, the love of his life.

Just like him the issue in my case isnt a lack of fulfillment or love. I have a wonderful husband. Honestly, the man should be nominated for sainthood. He calls me beautiful when Im in sweats and no makeup, he whole-heartedly loves “our” children as our children, he’s a good man who I adore and am completely devoted to. My beautiful children, my world, are the most precious, delightful people I have had the great privelege of not only knowing, but raising and watching become AH-MAZING, productive, well-adjusted wonders. You see it wasnt that they werent good enough for me, I didnt feel worthy of them.


My husband found me locked in our bedroom, balling my eyes out. To say he was scared for me is a severe underestimate. He spoke to my doctor and they both convinced me to go to the ER to be checked out. I was admitted. After talking with a psychiatrist at length, it was determined that the combo of medication a neurologist had prescribed to aide with the severe eye pain which accompanied my vision loss, migraines and “consequential depression” was what actually pushed me into this emotional breakdown.

As I have known for awhile, I get manic and guess what? Manic AND depressive people need different medications than tranditionally depressed people! (Oh, and its not manic depressive anymore, its just bipolar or bipolar II in my case, but nobody wants to say that because people will think they’re crazy. Just FYI.) What ensued from that AHA! moment was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever experienced, withdrawl.

oh.         My.       GAWD.
I had mind altering migraines and electrical shocks that corsed through my whole head, down my spine and extremities. I had terrifying dreams and waking nightmares, nausea, dizziness and the worst body aches EVER. My joints, muscles and skin hurt. I literally hurt to the touch, which made it very difficult to sit, sleep…anything, everything hurt. That’s pretty much all I remember of the first five days.

After 8 days, I was properly medificated (yes, thats my word) and discharged into a partial hospitalization therapy program. Its all group based which has been difficult for me. I either feel like I need to help save everyone after hearing their stories or feel much more depressed. I guess the one big positive is that everyone comes from different walks of life with different problems, but we’re all there and we’re not alone.

(You’re not alone. If you or someone you know needs help, please call: 1-800-273-8255 National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. Let your story TO BE CONTINUED, not THE END)

Ain’t no easy way out

I’m being discharged today.

There is a part of me the is obviously, very much looking forward to getting the fuck out of here and going home. I miss being in Jer’s arms. I miss my kids faces and perspectives on things. I miss my bed, fo schizzle.

Then there is a part of me that is anxious as all hell about going home.

This is a safe, controlled environment. You might surprised to know that there isn’t much that is out of control or at least unexpected (nothing is unexpected from crazy people, I guess) but I’m sick of the feeling of being out of control.

One thing’s for sure, this won’t be easy. The doctor has made my discharge contingent on my attendance and participation in the partial hospitalization program. Supposedly, its an intensive, all day program. He did give me the option of attending every other day so I can have a breath in between. (sigh)

Lord, help. Give me strength. I know I’m walking right into fire when I walk out of here. Also courage, wisdom and discernment. My kids need me now.


Tales from the psych unit

I definitely woke up on the wrong side of my hospital bed this morning.

I slept well, but I woke up with really bad eye pain, the all consuming kind, and it just set me off. Everything was aggravating to me… noise, people. I tend to get really ballsy when I’m irritated. I’m a lot less likely to bite my tongue. Today was no exception. Not necessarily a bad thing, but it’s pretty much fuel to everyone’s fire on a psych unit.

Most of what led me here was suppression of my thoughts, feelings and emotions. Obviously that needs to change. Can we call this progress, doc? Can I be discharged now? Although I’m not sure how everyone is going to handle that outside.

Jer has told me that I need to find my “fuck it” button and stop putting up a front for everyone, himself included. As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.

Having said that I approached the Heroin Bear (another patient) about his shit ass attitude and child like antics. As suspected, his shit had everything to do with withdrawal and not me and we moved on after a few choice words. It seems crazy in the moment, but it more people were as honest as we all are here, there’d be a lot less problems in the world.

I’m realizing more and more that if it’s uncomfortable, its working.

Also, sometimes validation and self-worth does not come from the places we want it to.

The End.

Going off the rails on a crazy train

Its easier to make jokes about this, but I guess if I were dealing in full reality, there really is not much humor to be found in an admission to the “stress management” unit of the hospital.

They (the staff) keep acknowledging the trauma that has gotten each of us here, however, I am having a harder time identifying it. Maybe instead of one big trauma, its a lot of little things that have all built up. The chemical dependency counselor called it “hay bale syndrome”. The idea that a piece of hay is not difficult to deal with, pickup, toss aside, etc. Hell, you could even stick it between your teeth and have a little mystery added to your persona if you pull off the look. BUT, when a bunch of pieces of hay are baled together, the weight is enormous and difficult to manuever.

After nearly a week here, Im better able to be present without dissolving into tears or staying in bed all day, but there is a lot just beneath the surface. When a topic of conversation starts to pull away at my superficial layer, my leg begins to shake uncontrollably and tears brim the edges of my eyes. I dont quite understand the orgins of this emotional crisis/mental breakdown, but I know repeating the same actions/thoughts that led me here will not yield different results. IF there was ever a time for change, it is right now.

I know its going to be uncomfortable and challenging, but Im convinced it will also be completely worth it. I AM COMPLETELY WORTH IT. This is the end of the world as I once knew it, but not the end of THE world. Im still terrified. I will not entertain any psycho babble bullshit. I am keeping it real. Only God knows what that is going to allow to resurface and be plucked from suppression, but its honestly now or never…sink or swim…live or die.