I feel dizzy and weak. I’m trying not to be suicidal, so instead I’m wishing for a brain aneurysm or a terminal illness.
That second day of work really kicked my ass. I spent several hours helping in the busiest part of our company, and by the end of the day I was anxious and near tears, but I held on. I rested on Christmas Eve day.
On Christmas Day, we took things at a relaxed pace in the morning and opened presents around 2 o’clock. It was just the four of us. Later, we played games. I didn’t go to my room to lie down at all, though I wanted to. While playing games, I began to feel “squiggly” inside. That’s been my shortcut expression to explain the physical sensation of anxiety mixed with dread in my chest when I’m losing the battle and sinking into depression. My sons, husband and I were sitting around the dining room table, playing a game called Code Names, when I kind of froze. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to talk without crying. I said, “I’m having a hard time,” in a shaky, tearful voice. All three of them stopped and paid attention. My husband asked what could be done to help and my younger son questioned what had caused me to feel unsteady. My older son held my hand.
Now, I don’t want others to think these responses are automatic. When I suffered my first two episodes of deep depression, which I’ll cover in the Chapters of My Life, you’ll see that my husband’s responses have been far less sensitive and helpful in the past. I think that’s why it touched me so to have three strong, attentive men focus on my needs.
I’d scheduled a doctor appointment for the morning after Christmas to establish care with a new primary care provider. I knew I wouldn’t be drinking alcohol, so I figured it would be no problem to make a 9:00 a.m. visit to a new physician the day after the holiday. However, sitting there on Christmas afternoon, I felt tired and thought to myself, “I need to spend tomorrow in bed.” I immediately realized I couldn’t because of the doctor appointment I’d already confirmed. I explained this to my family, and we agreed that I should cancel the appointment and have a day of rest. I called the provider’s office, expecting to leave a message, but a triage nurse answered. She cancelled my visit.
This was the first time I’d spoken to my family as a whole while struggling, instead of hiding behind a smile and soldiering on in an effort to maintain a happy holiday facade. It was such a relief to say out loud that I wasn’t doing okay and have it received so thoughtfully by my guys. I felt less pressured then, and we continued to play games. My husband single-handedly prepared a wonderful surf and turf dinner while my sons and I continued to play games.
Now, a couple of things I want to emphasize here. I will describe my earlier major depressive episodes in chapters and you will see that the current support expressed by my family has not always been the response to my difficulties. The other thing I want to point out is, if you are a family member or friend of someone struggling with depression and/or anxiety, being there for the person, asking what you can do to help, and accepting that your loved one is experiencing a difficult time, even if you don’t fully understand, is a gift. I was so grateful and amazed at the love expressed for me. I opened up and was vulnerable, instead of trying to carry on and “not ruin” the holiday. Instead of ruining our time together, we actually worked through what was bothering me most and went on with our evening.
We may not have had lots of expensive gifts or a large family gathering, but this was undoubtedly one of my best Christmases ever.
It also occurred to me throughout the day that, had I followed through with my suicide plan, Christmas Day would have been the one month anniversary of my death. I hadn’t thought of that when preparing my departure, but now it made me feel like such an asshole. I’m so glad I was spending the day with my family, giving and receiving love, rather than having devastated them all.
My writing is in a notebook currently and I’ve mixed journal entries and chapters. I just realized I’d failed to include the complete entry for 12/10, so here it is.
My husband opened up to a friend about what he’s been going through. I asked if he’d told everything. He said, “Yeah, the whole thing. My wife was already depressed and then she went over the edge, planned her suicide. I would’ve found her when I got home from work the Monday before Thanksgiving. Yeah, I spilled it all.”
I thought to myself, “Wow, hearing him say it aloud, I really sound like an asshole.” I also felt a twinge of embarrassment at someone knowing. Figure I gotta get over that if anybody is going to read this.
I’m still giving a lot of thought to whether or not to actually publish this. I’m pretty sure I’m going to because I want to make it easier to talk about. I have to start with myself. I practiced yesterday. I was standing in the street out in front of my house because that’s the only place I could get unobstructed sunshine. I stood next to the neighborhood mailboxes with my coffee cup in one hand, my face turned up to the bright blue sky, soaking up some vitamin D. It felt so good. My neighbor, and friend, brought out two chairs and blankets. Even with the full sun, the temperature was probably in the 30’s. She set up the chairs, handed me a blanket, and we sat together. I decided I was going to use the opportunity to say out loud that I was suicidal. It was hard and I cried. Another neighbor saw us out her window and joined us. The conversation turned to lighter topics. I was relieved. I wiped my tears, blew my nose, and made my exit, or should I say entrance since I went into my house?
I’m going to wait a while before I try again. It’s difficult and stirs up all the emotions. I’m trying to even out and work my way up out of this deep hole of darkness, so I need to get stronger and give it more time before I try to talk about it conversationally, for sure.
The Christmas party on Friday went well. I started back to work yesterday and it was okay. I was really nervous about coworkers’ reactions and about helping customers. I hoped I could talk without crying – and I did! It felt like a really long day, after being away for nearly a month. Back at work today and then I have four days off.
I’m going back to work on Sunday, 12/22, and I’m very nervous. Tomorrow night is my husband’s company Christmas party. That will be good practice to make sure I can talk without crying. We have a room at the hotel where the party is being held, so I’m planning to attend only the dinner and then go to the room.
I feel shaky and nervous. I met with Dr. Liz last week for an emergency visit because after initially feeling like I was getting a bit better every day, I found myself in a panic that I no longer had the suicide plan I’d put together. I’d had to hand it over to my husband. My mom and sister came over Thursday, and I admitted to them I was sorry I’d let my friend at work know that I had a plan and the means. My mom and sister talked to me about how much they love me and want me to stay. My mom told me she could not handle it if I took my own life. The thoughts kept running through my head until I came up with a new plan. I didn’t have the intent to carry it out, but it gave me a sense of relief to have an alternate plan. When I woke on Friday, I felt terrible. Then I remembered my new plan; it made me feel better and worse at the same time.
Dr. Liz had me set up a buddy system with an identified person to whom I would reach out if I began to feel suicidal again. My buddy is my husband. I was reluctant to call him with this latest suicidal thinking because he was at work. I texted and asked him if he wanted me to ask my sister to be my buddy instead. He suggested that maybe they could both be my buddies.
I called one of my sisters, explained the buddy system, and asked if she was willing to be one of my buddies. She readily agreed but said I’d have to tell her how to be my buddy. I explained that I’d come up with a new plan and felt relief to have an option. She encouraged me to call Dr. Liz, which I did. Another patient had cancelled for later in the day and she offered that time to me. I asked my husband if he’d be home in time to take me, and he said he’d make sure he was.
When I told Dr. Liz that I was again having suicidal thinking and had a new plan, she explained that the antidepressant I’d been on long term, and that she’d increased the dosage of, must have worn out its effectiveness for me. She began me on a new medication that I have not been on previously. So, now I am on the medicine I started ten years ago, the one she’d started me on in November, and a third. She said we’d work me off the one I’d been on since 2009 when I stabilized on the other two.
By Monday, three days later, I felt like I’d turned a corner. The prescription she’d started me on when I saw her initially was taking effect. When I saw Dr. Liz for my already scheduled appointment on Tuesday, I wasn’t feeling great but I wasn’t feeling suicidal any longer. She had me take a depression inventory, and I scored as only mildly depressed versus the serious condition I’d presented with on the day after Thanksgiving. My anticipated return to work date had been 12/22. When Dr. Liz asked me if I felt ready to return to work or if I needed another week, I requested that she decide. I have trouble trusting my own perceptions and judgments right now. Dr. Liz said I will be getting better every day now and she thought I should try returning to work. This coming Sunday, I will be back at work. I’m nervous but I trust Dr. Liz and I’m following her advice.
I’ve decided if I’m going to blog about being depressed and suicidal, I should get comfortable with saying it to people who care about me. I’ve changed my mind. They can read about it on my blog. Oh, wait. One of my goals is to make it easier to talk about suffering from depression and being suicidal. I’ll have to work on that.
If I was diagnosed with cancer, I wouldn’t be embarrassed. I wouldn’t feel like it was my fault. I want people to be able to talk about what they’re struggling through and ask for help.
So, in the hot tub the other day, I thought of some things to follow up on later.
First, I was having a hard time deciding where to start to describe how I ended up writing a suicide note and gathering the necessary supplies. I’ve decided to start with the death of my dad in April of 2019. See Chapter One.
Next, I discussed the idea of my blog with Dr. Liz at our appointment Friday. She’s behind me 100% and gave me permission to refer to her as Dr. Liz.
Lastly, I’m not always in a position to write down what I’m thinking about for my blog, like sitting in a hot tub, but it’s okay. The thoughts will stay in my head and maybe I’ll even be able to recall them when I have pen and paper later, which is not a given.
I’ve never followed a blog or even checked one out. I thought about doing that before I started mine, but then decided to just plow ahead. I’ve also started this blog in a notebook to be published online later. This gives me time to think twice before posting or considering whether or not I should even have a blog at all. I’m going to publish the dates of my journal entries and they are accurate to when I actually wrote them.
I’m fine with my closest friends and family knowing what I’ve been through, and I’m not worried in the least about strangers reading this. The thought of friends, acquaintances, coworkers, people I run into in the community reading this – I’m not going to lie – that makes me nervous.
I’m feeling better every day. It helps that I was already on an antidepressant and we increased the dose. I’ve also started on a new, complimentary medication. I continue on bed rest for the most part. This will get more difficult as my condition imrpoves. I know this because my m.o. has always been to do too much, too soon, when recovering from any illness or injury. The first couple of days of rest, I kept running a “should” list through my head. My sister recently listened to a podcast on which anxiety was discussed. One person said he tells himself, “Not now,” when he starts should-ing. I’m trying that. Now, a week in, it is such a relief to know I’m not supposed to be doing anything. When I woke up this morning, my first instinct to go through a to-do list was easily brushed aside.
Because I’ve been dealing with depression for 25 years, the story of how I got to the point where I was planning my end has a very long version, but also a more recent chapter. I’ve decided I’ll start with the most current set of events and circumstances, later giving a full account of my initial experience and extended journey with depression and anxiety, as well as the effect on the stages of my life and relationships.
I sat in our hot tub today for the first time since shit hit the fan on 11/24. Much as I tried to be fully present, my mind kept returning to my writing. I can’t get it all on paper right now but as a reminder to myself:
- Chapter One
- See what Dr. Liz thinks – am I crazy to put this out there? What if trolls come out and say terrible things?
- Relax, it’s all in my head and I can remember later
It’s really hard to talk about being suicidal, especially with someone who has a legal duty to report if a person is suicidal or homicidal. You have to choose your words very carefully.
I feel relaxed for the first time in a very long time after five days of bed rest. I have to resist the urge to begin doing, planning, and worrying about what comes next.
I’ve thought about suicide more times than I could ever recall. It’s one of the symptoms I get when my depression increases, along with decreased appetite (I call it the depression diet), troubled sleep, crying easily, etc. In my younger years, thoughts of suicide really scared me, but over the decades it’s become a gnat I can swat down, chalking it up to just another symptom. Until a week-and-a-half ago.
I’m not going into details about what my plan was, but for the first time I had a real plan. I wrote a suicide note. I assembled the things I would need. I couldn’t beieve I was actually doing these things, but I was; so I believed I really would carry it out. Then a friend asked me to meet for coffee later in the week and I said, “I might not be here.” Of course, I wasn’t in my “right mind” but I thought this friend might not interfere. I was wrong.
She told me I couldn’t go through with it, and I asked her, “Why?” Because she loves me, my family and friends love me, she explained.
The problem was that for all those years I’d had suicidal thinking pop up, I swatted them down with that exact thinking. “I can’t hurt so many people who love me.” But it wasn’t enough to tip the scales this time. This emptiness was bigger than the pain, disappointment, and anger I knew would follow for my husband, our children, my extended family and friends.
My purpose in life, which had buoyed me through many down times, was that I’m here to weave love and compassion into the fabric of life. I’ll write more later about how I found that purpose. But the weekend before Thanksgiving 2019, this was no longer a credible defense because I was empty, unable to give love or compassion to anyone.
I literally felt a “whoosh” as the last vestiges of myself were spent after I wrote my suicide note. I had nothing left to offer. It occurred to me that I had served my purpose. I’d done what I was here for and used up all of myself. If there is nothing left to give, I must be done.
I would include my suicide note here but I’ve offered my family and one of my closest friends the opportunity to read it, and they’ve all declined, with the exception of my husband. Maybe I’ll publish it later.
I have an illness, have had for about 25 years. It goes into remission but recurs at the worst of times. The illness is depression with a side of anxiety. If you’ve experienced either of these, it’s my hope you find company, understanding, encouragement, maybe something to hold on to. If you love or are involved with someone who suffers from depression and/or anxiety, I’m trying to give you a glimpse into what it’s like to deal with them. I know from my husband and my best friend that if you haven’t had clinical depression, it’s very hard to relate. Perhaps walking with me for a while will improve your ability to empathize with and support your loved one more effectively.
As administrator of my site, it’s fine with me if you disagree with something I say. It’s not okay to call names, judge or bully (me or other readers), any of which will not be published.
I don’t begin to think I speak for anyone else who struggles with clinical depression or anxiety. I’m sharing my thoughts, feelings and experiences, which may or may not resonate with others. Like I said, if no one reads it, I’ve still written it and gotten it out of my head.
Depression is just as much as illness as diabetes or heart disease. It requires treatment and lifestyle adjustments. It’s much more than a bad mood or a pity party. It affects me physically, mentally, and emotionally.
So where am I right now? As I write this, I’m under doctor’s orders to sleep as much as I can for two weeks, complete rest, because I came very close to taking my own life 10 days ago. I’m receiving professional help including medication and therapy. I’ve signed a contract agreeing I won’t hurt myself. I’m on a leave of absence from work with some time on my hands, so I’m documenting my experience as I move forward, wanting to memorialize this time in my life while the thoughts and feelings are fresh. I want to be real. I’m afraid I might give out too much information. I know I’m vulnerable right now, so I’m nervous. Because I’m choosing to share events and situations as closely as I can to how they play out, I’m not going to use the real names of my friends and family; they didn’t choose to be part of this.
For years, one of the things that has helped me maintain balance is having a purpose in life. My purpose is to weave love and compassion into the fabric of life, regardless of where I am, who I’m with, or what I’m doing. Recently, however, I found myself empty with nothing to give. This blog will be a way for me to sort out how I got here and how I work my way up and out, putting one foot in front of the other.
Some people may find topics I discuss disturbing, so this blog might not be for everyone.
I’m tired. Enough for now. I’ll leave you with a poem I wrote three days ago.
A paper cut out of a person with nothing left inside. The front and back still look the same so it's not too hard to hide. Keeping up appearances, play acting on life's stage is lonely and exhausting, an effort to turn each page. Meanwhile, cares and troubles trip along, no break I get from juggling until I cry, "Enough, enough," and admit that I am struggling. Aware that I am more fortunate than many with family, friends, and a good physician who will help me on the path to healing, there is hope on the horizon of my limited vision.
Here I go, starting a blog, my first. I’m here writing in spite of myself. I am sharing my experience as I move forward, healing from my third, and worst, episode of major clinical depression. I welcome interested readers who would like to walk through this journey with me. If not a single person chooses to read my words, I’m okay with that. This is my real time experience as I travel out of darkness and into light.